Of Elves And Humans
by Merilsell
Summary: Trust is a delicate flower that needs to get nurtured and time to grow. Even more so love. A tale of two disparate Wardens forced together, of finding a way to overcome the distrust, and their own painful past in the time of the Blight. An in-depth exploration of the Dalish origin and all DA:O characters. Alistair/F!Mahariel. M-rated for mature/sexual themes. Cover-art by Santafer.
1. Prologue: Regrets

_**PSA:**__ Please note that the first part of the story (about 30 chapters) is about three years by now old and hence doesn't meet my standard and concept I now have of this story -and writing in general- anymore. I plan a rewrite of many parts within for the first chapters to give it more focus and fix the many little things. Though for this to happen I need to have completely finished this story first. Priorities, you know ;) _

_I'm also aware that Lenya might be a character hard to appreciate in the beginning, but this is done for a reason. There are far more sides to her character than shown first, and she will change in her own way as the story progress. I like to take things slow but steady, no matter if it is character development or the relationships to each other. It all makes it more realistic, imo. However, I hope you enjoy my monster of a story and work of over three years of writing nonetheless :) _

_All disclaimer apply of course._

* * *

_***~Home is behind  
The world ahead  
And there are many paths to tread  
Through shadow  
To the edge of night  
Until the stars are all alight...~***_

_- Pippin; LotR, Return of the king_

* * *

**Prologue: Regrets**

_._

_"Keeper, don't send me away, I beg you!"_

_"You know that it kills me to do this, da'len, but I don't have another choice. It would hurt me more to see you succumbing to the disease, to have you slowly dying without the chance to help you."_

_"No, I will rather die...than to leave! My clan is all I know! Please, don't do this!"_

_"Do what you must, Duncan."_

_"I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription."_

_"And I, as the Keeper of this clan, acknowledge this Right."_

_"Nooo! Ar din'him sa dorf'len! Ar din'isala ven shem'alas!"_

Lenya stared into the crackling fire before her, observing how the flames were vigorously dancing within its red-yellow light. Shortly she had to suppress the urge to let herself fall into it, the sadness within too overwhelming.

Her head tilted up to the black, starlit sky, letting the blond strands of her hair fall over her back, where she still had both of her Dar'Misu daggers sheathed. She had stopped to count how often she had thought about to draw them and fight her way out of this camp, and back to her clan.

It was a futile thought in her desperation, she knew, one that would gain her nothing but maybe a fleeting moment of freedom. Her clan had already moved on to the north, to leave this lands behind, to find shelter from the Blight. Not to mention that within her raged a strange disease, which would ultimately lead to her own death. Even the magic of her Keeper couldn't fully save her, so the choices she had left were feeble.

"Abalas," Lenya quietly sighed under her breath and pulled her knees closer to her, embracing them. The surroundings of the camp were still, only the chirping of cascades and the faint 'uhuu' of an owl were audible. They were the sounds of the night that she was used to hearing, and normally loved while sleeping under the blanket of the sky. Tonight, however, they only added more to the sadness -and anger- she felt within.

_Right of conscription? Since when does his pesky rules apply to our people?_

Wasn't the Blight the problem of the shemlen? Why should she care at all?

Although the thought of jumping into the flames has been quite tempting only moments before to the young elf, she didn't want to die just yet. Death was normally something natural to her tribe. A given circle of nature they'd learned to live with, to respect. Nonetheless, she didn't want to die an unnatural death, due to her contact with a strange, tainted mirror in an old ruin.

_If only I..._we_ had never found this cave, none of this would have happened._

Feelings of remorse rolled over her like a tidal wave. Lenya had never been the most dutiful Dalish, often tested the patience of her clan with her shenanigans. But this one time she wished, really _wished_ that she would have listened to Tamlen and would have gone back to the Keeper, instead straight to the cave.

_Tamlen..._

Lenya's gaze wandered down to her knees as she wistfully twirled the thin, fine silver necklace between her fingers and eventually observed the oval-shaped silver amulet hanging from it. The white ornaments of a Halla were engraved in the ironbark, skilfully crafted with the old lore of her people. It was the amulet Tamlen had given to her, after she had undergone Vallaslin, the ritual of blood-writing which marked the end of childhood for her, only four moons ago.

Since that time she has a black-inked tribal tattoo on her forehead, intricate, fine lines whirling together, ending on the tip of her nose. This was what made and marked her as a Dalish for anyone to see. Proud and unyielding. Newer submit.

_Tamlen..._the features of her face contorted to a mask of pain at the thought on him. Tears welled up within her eyes, blurring the sight of amulet before her. "How could you touch the mirror? Why did this all happened? _Why?"_

Duncan kneeled down beside Lenya, who hadn't noticed him until he raised his voice. "I'm sorry. As little as it means to you."

Lenya didn't turned around to the shemlen she come to loathe so quickly in the last hours. She completely ignored his presence and continued to stare into the fire before her.

"You know there was no other choice but to leave your friend behind, don't you? Otherwise you would be dead by now as well."

Something snapped in Lenya as she turned around with a growl. She faced the elder man, her eyes blazing with anger. "So what? I didn't ask you to help me! I didn't ask you to rip me away from my life, from my people!" she screamed, hate clear in her green eyes. "If you and your stupid Grey Wardens hadn't brought those creatures to our lands, none of it would have happened!"

_And Tamlen would be still alive_...

After a moment of glaring at him, she huffed and added spitefully, "I hate you." With her breath still ragged, she turned around to start a staring contest with the flames once more.

"I didn't bring the darkspawn there. The Blight has come, and we are just the one who are fighting them," he explained calmly, well knowing that she tried to project the responsibility for her fate on him. "Normally the darkspawn remain hidden under the surface, but in times of the Blight, they leave the soil and swarm the land. That is why they appeared in the woods and those old ruins."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "And this should interest me because…?"

"Because you will be a Grey Warden soon..." He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, you have quite the temper, my lady. If you use half of the energy of screaming and biting for fighting darkspawn instead, you are good to go."

"Biting?" she asked innocently, one of her eyebrows curving upwards. When he turned away, Lenya threw a stolen glance over to Duncan, seeing dark-red teeth marks engraved in the flesh of his both arms. Obviously she had tried everything to stay with her clan, while Duncan did _everything_ to pull her away. Unfortunately the tall, strong and stupid shemlen has won because there she sat, in his camp. Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere.

Yet those tiny marks of teeth visible on his arms lightened her mood up for a moment, making her even smile for a blink of an eye. At least she had tried, she had fought and this was still visible now, even after all those hours.

"Yes, biting. In fairness, you have a natural talent as a Rogue, and you wield your daggers skilfully. With a little more training you should be able to wield swords the same way. Though I think when fighting Darkspawn, you should omit the biting part. They don't taste good, I have been told."

"Shemlen's tasting awful as well."

Duncan laughed. "Good, then we agree on letting the biting out in the future."

Lenya threw him a glare. " I haven't agreed on anything, human."

The Grey warden leader held her gaze and became serious, the tone in his voice authoritative. "You don't have to. You don't even have to like me. I don't demand that from you. But what I demand is that you listen on what I have to say. Even if you didn't want it, I saved your life, and becoming a Grey Warden is your only chance at living that you have. You are already tainted, and if you don't undergo the Joining ritual, you will change into something more horrible than you can ever imagine. Don't forget that."

The elf let a displeased growl out but didn't say anything in return. As much she hated to admit, that Grey Warden was right; without joining and becoming a Grey Warden herself, she would die. Or even worse. She sighed in resignation.

"Alright, I…understand," Lenya said meekly, while she kept her fists pressed together in frustration.

Duncan smiled, pleased. For hours he tried to talk some sense into that stubborn head of hers but had no such luck, so he was glad that he had finally reached her. Or so it seemed. "Good. Now have a little rest; it has been a long day, and tomorrow there will be another. We are going straight to Ostagar, to join the King there for the battle."

Duncan stood up and retreated to his tent, and as his gaze fell to the bite marks on his arms, he shook his head incredulously. Rarely did he see such a sturdy, proud and perturbing person as the elf. Then again, he hadn't got many recruits from the Dalish tribe so far. He just hoped that it was a good idea to take her with him at all.

When Duncan was finally gone, Lenya decided to go on with her sulking. Somewhere deep inside she began to understand that even if unwanted, tomorrow, when the sun would rise, a whole new world and life would be waiting for her. She had no idea where Ostagar was, nor what it meant to be a Grey Warden and a huge part of her didn't want to know and didn't care.

After several moments of blankly staring into the flames, she felt her eyelids grow heavier due the comfortable warmness of the fire radiating to her body, lulling her slowly into sleep. It had been a long day and although the young elf wished for the night to never end, she couldn't help but to lie herself down on the grass. Before sleep took Lenya away to the Fade, one positive thought about the traveling to Ostagar crossed her mind;

At least the battle there would mean killing a lot of Darkspawn, and Lenya had a lot to payback to those pesky creatures, after all.

.

.

* * *

.

The sun wasn't even up when they continued their walk from the previous night.

The weak light of the approaching dawn barely illuminated the path enough to see anything but rough contours. Not that Lenya cared for the scenery around her; she was too busy keeping up with the fast pace of the shem Warden. As a rogue, she was used to fast and fluently movements. She had trained that, since she had been a small child. Yet after an arduous night she found herself more stumbling than walking.

"Stupid long legs," Lenya muttered frustrated to herself, as she fell for the umpteenth time, so that Duncan had to stop. The Grey Warden leader turned around, giving the Dalish elf some time to catch up with him.

"I know that your night was rather unpleasant, but we have to keep moving to reach Ostagar before nightfall. The King and the other Grey Wardens there are waiting for my..._our_ return."

Lenya was finally standing before him and blinked, bewildered by his words. _How does he know that I had nightmares? Ugh,...was he watching me in my sleep?_

Duncan sensed her discomfort and let out a short bark of laughter. "Don't give me that look, young lady. After I took a short rest, I held vigil for the rest of the night. These are dangerous times and although I'm able to sense Darkspawn, I don't want them to surprise us in our sleep. However, it wasn't hard to overlook how you tossed and turned all night by the fire. You even spoke in your sleep. Tamlen was the name of your friend, I suppose?"

_Oh. So that's how he was able to know._

Hearing the name of her childhood friend, the expression on Lenya's face immediately shifted from confusion to a frown. "I...I rather not want to talk about it…" _Fewest with you,_ she added in mind.

_Tamlen..._Lenya's chest seemed to tighten painfully at the mere thought of him. She knew why she dreamed about him. She had abandoned him and left him behind to save herself. Had been _forced_ to do so. She glared at the shemlen's back. He had been the _one_who made her stop searching for him, although even her own clan told her the search was futile. How could they do such a thing? Why didn't they searched more? Why did they forsake him so easily?

Lenya knew that she should have tried harder to find him, instead she gave up and ran away to save her own life now. She felt selfish for not wanting to die, whereas Tamlen had not been so lucky.

"Coward! You're damn coward!" she murmured at herself, gritting her teeth together.

She had to bite down the tears that urged to come up, but the bitter taste of guilt lingered in her mouth, no matter how hard she tried to swallow it or push it aside. _He_ was haunting her dreams and she _deserved_ it after all. Being so wrapped up in her heavy thoughts, She hasn't even noticed that Duncan has moved on.

"I see. "Duncan said, putting her out of her thoughts. "The sooner you leave your old life behind, the better it will be for you. The Grey Wardens should be all that counts for you now." Not pausing to see her reaction to his words, he sped up his steps again, leaving Lenya no choice but to hurry as well.

The rest of the march to Ostagar was over rocky, unstable ground and through the deep, foul-smelling swamps of the Korcari Wilds. Lenya and Duncan spent the whole of the walk in an awkward silence. He had at least one likable trait, she noticed. He didn't talk much or inquired her to talk about her feelings, when all what she wanted was to _forget. _What had happened to Tamlen. That she had been ripped away from all that she had ever known, thrown out in a world that was nothing more than foreign and cold to her.

It made it easier to focus on the walking, easier to bear what would come. At least for the moment.

As the sun stood high up in the sky and burned down on them, Lenya lost track of how long they'd been marching. She didn't know how much farther they had to go or where they even were.

Everything around them looked exactly the same; a puddle full of stinky water, a tree, then another puddle full of stinky water, another tree, then a - _Ugh._ Walking across those lands was a complete dull task. Lenya missed the beauty of her woods. How the fresh air whirled the leafs up and caressed her hair when she run with the wind, hunting for her clan.

This here was nature as well, but it was different, so cold and void of any life. Lenya couldn't help but to exclaim in joy when she saw how one single frog hopped across her path. Afterward she felt stupid for it, but at least it was another occupation than to glare hatefully at the back of that Warden's shiny armour, wishing he would instantly drop dead from her stare.

It hasn't worked anyway until now, and slowly she gave up hope that it would ever do.

* * *

**Elvish note:**

_Ar din'him sa dorf'len! Ar din'isala ven shem'alas!_ - I don't want to become a Grey Warden. I don't want to go with this filthy human.


	2. Refusal

_**A/N: **I do not aim to please with Lenya. She is impatient, tends to use violence rather quickly, blunt, sturdy, somewhat racist, grumpy, calculating and right now a downward bitter, confused person ...but she is/will be learning. Changing in time, that is. If you search for a cuddly, sweet Dalish girl this may not be the story for you.  
_

_**Thx to** BlacAngel once again for the brush up of this chapter again.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Refusal**

Lenya never thought that she would ever be glad to see a camp full of humans, but when they eventually reached Ostagar, she was.

Due to the non-stop marching of the Grey Warden leader, they ended up reaching the ruins ahead of the planned time. They had planned to be there before nightfall, but as they trudged into camp, the sun was still up. Its light covered the whole area in a blood-red gleam. Lenya stopped before a huge bridge to bend down, trying to stable her ragged breathing. She was utterly exhausted and could hear her heart beating furiously in her ears.

As Lenya rose, her cheeks were still glowing from the exhaustion, though her breathing had slowed slightly. Her eyes flitted from one site to another and she was completely overwhelmed by the scenery before her. Everything was so _huge_; the Dalish elf had never seen such massive buildings before. The white bricks of the stone wall were partly broken and scattered in pieces all over the area, yet still towering high up into the sky. The bridge before her seemed to be endless, reaching far beyond her sight. She let her eyes wander for a few moments, admiring the scenery.

After the first excitement had abated again, she felt how the tiredness returned to her system, causing every muscle within her to burn and ache. _Abalas, I would trade a complete herd of Halla for a bedroll or floor now. _

Duncan, who had been engaged in a talk with another man until now, returned to her. "I will meet the king now and I want you to accompany me."

Lenya made no effort to hide her displeasure. "Why would I want to meet the king of the Shemlen?" she asked, tapping her fingers against her arm in irritation.

The Grey Warden leader heaved a long, exasperated sigh."Because I say so."

"Oh of _course_. And then I will wash your clothes and polish your armour, just like a good, obedient elf like me should do for a human," Lenya remarked in a sarcastic sing song, her green eyes flashing at the tall man before her.

Duncan was actually speechless for a moment at the boldness of her disrespect for him.

He felt the patience he held up for her situation and person in general slowly fading away and getting replaced by anger. He tried to keep those feelings at bay, so they wouldn't cloud his words, but this elf was making it really hard. The Warden leader took a deep breath before he spoke, his tone sharp and adamant.

"Listen. First of all, you are a recruit of the Grey Warden now. Not an elf, dwarf or human. No social standards or titles are_ important_ anymore. Duty is all that counts to us. And we have the duty to fight the darkspawn. To end the Blight at _all_ costs. So you will come with me, that you will see and understand what will be at stake in the following battle. You must understand that if _we_ fail to win, Ferelden will get even more flooded by those creatures and will eventually perish. There will be no land existing for your people to travel to."

His voice rose to a even louder tone, staring at her. "Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"

Her eyelids fluttered rapidly as she stared at him in shock. Had she had crossed a line here, perhaps, that she wasn't allowed to cross? "Y-yes, you have," she stammered. "Then let us go to stupid shemlen king, so I can finally rest. I'm tired."

Lenya walked past Duncan, a small smile curving around her lips. Just because she was playing by their rules didn't mean she had to be nice...

Duncan stared dumbfounded at her retreating back. As Ferelden's Commander of the Grey, he was very experienced with dealing all kind of people and characters, but that Dalish was testing his patience once again. Her behavior was indeed unnerving him, despite of the fact of her probably not knowing better.

On the other side, maybe this reckless and blatant demeanor would bring her far as a Grey Warden, if she was willing to face the hardship resulting from it. Duncan only hoped that he could trust his normally reliable instincts this time as well, and that the elf would bring more than just a permanent headache.

They walked past the massive and long stone bridge, through the main camp until they had reached an entrance framed by scattered, white brick-stone pillars, towering in the sky.

_Remnants of some Shem ruins_, Lenya guessed.

A tall, blonde Shem come to them and greeted the elder Warden quite enthusiastically. "Duncan, it's good to see you my friend."

She didn't know the other human, of course, but judged on his appearance and the bulky, shiny, golden armour she guessed that this was the shemlen king. His armour stuck tremendously out from the two shemlen behind him.

"Your Majesty," Duncan said respectfully and bowed slightly.

_Bingo._

The king laughed and waved with his armored hand. "No need to be so formal, I'm just glad you made it back in time." Then Lenya felt his gaze resting on her. _Ugh._ "The Wardens here have already rumored that you've found a promising recruit on your journey. This is her, I take it?" Now the Shem king's eyes were following her more intensively, followed by a tiny smile which made Lenya only feel more uncomfortable.

_Great...just great._

"Yes, your Majesty. May I introduce to you..." he pointed at the elf, "...Lenya Mahariel from the Sabrea clan of the Dalish."

"A Dalish? How unusual..." Cailan gasped and blinked a few times, visible surprised. This odd, observing behavior added only more to her already delicate mood. _What am I? Some kind of rare animal to stare at? _Her eyes narrowed slightly.

_Irritating. _

"Well, my lady, it's nice to meet you," he nodded in her direction. "I have never met a Dalish elf before, I have to admit. Your people live in the woods far from here, right? I would love to know more about your tribe, as there is so little we know about the Dalish after all. So how is the life in the woods?"

"It was good until I was ripped out of it, human king," Lenya said and glared at him. Behind her Duncan couldn't help to sigh quietly. He should have seen _that_ coming. A moment of awkward silence followed.

"Oh," the king eventually said. "Well, but I'm glad you are here to join the Grey Warden, for they are still too few in numbers here in Ferelden. And I'm looking forward to fight alongside you and Duncan in the following fight..."

"I do not," she interrupted, her face dark.

Duncan cleared his throat, looking to her. " May I remember you that you speak with the king here? A little more respect..."

"Well, the shemlen is not my king, so I own him nothing," Lenya chipped in, matter of factly.

Any other royal person would have become furious of the obvious lack of respect displayed, would scream at her and let her know her place. But not Cailan. Instead of being angry, he even chuckled lightly. "You have quite the temper, my lady, but you should save that for the battlefield. However, Duncan... are the preparations set?"

"So far they are, your Majesty. The Joining ritual will be hold before the battle and then we are ready to fight. Your uncle has sent his troops into march as well. They should reach us within a few weeks."

Cailan ambled up and down, his armor rustled within his movements. " Ahh, Eamon. He just want to have a piece of the glory too. We don't need to wait for his troops, we will end the blight here and now. This is going to be a glorious victory, and I as the king will fight along with the Grey warden, like in the old legends." Cailan's eyes glistered with excitement, while he emphasized his words with huge gestures.

Lenya nearly rolled her eyes on that. This Shem king was more like a child who was excited about getting to play war than a grown up human. She couldn't help but to form one thought: _Fool._

"Cailan...Your Majesty, we should not take this battle too lightly..." Duncan tried to intervene, but got interrupted by the king.

"I won't, so fear not, my friend. Yet I'm not sure if this is a real Blight at all. Darkspawn are roaming the lands but there is no signs of an Archdemon so far."

Lenya blinked. _Archdemon?_ ...she decided to ask another time, as now she was simply too tired to care.

"Are we done now? I'm tired," the Dalish said and looked in the round, unabashed.

"Len..." Duncan halted as Cailan raised his hand.

"Then you should get your rest, my lady. I have to go back to my tent before Loghain sends a search party to find me." He laughed amused and nodded shortly to Duncan who bowed slightly down and to Lenya, who didn't react at all. He turned and left, followed by his two heavy armored guards.

Glad that was finally over, Lenya turned to go but was stopped by Duncan. The elf let an annoyed groan out, but halted eventually.

"What?" she sighed. "You have brought me here to show me that your shemlen king is a fool. Now that this is done, can I go rest as promised?" She was surprised how whiny that sounded, and cursed herself for it.

The Grey Warden leader sighed. "Don't be that harsh and respectless. He's a good person. However, he is the king and I can't tell him to judge the blight based on my feelings. But the danger is real and so is the blight.

Lenya tried her best to follow those words, to play by their rules but her mind was lulled by only one thought, repeatedly playing in her head; _sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep._

Finally the elder man recognized the weary look in her face and how her legs trembled of exhaustion."Let us discuss that another time, however. You may rest now. Tomorrow night the Joining be held, but before this there are some preparations needed. So be ready in the morning."

"Uhuu," she nodded numbly, not actually caring.

Duncan couldn't help but to smile at this motion. "Your tent is already prepared for you. You will find it across the mages at the main camp. It's the blue one." With those words, he walked away with fast paces, leaving Lenya on her own.

The sun was fully down by now, the stars and the glowing, round moon up in the black sky taking it's place. Lenya hadn't noticed how cold it has become within the last hour and her rather curtly Dalish armor did little to keep her warm. Normally she wasn't one who shivered of cold so easily, so she blamed the exhaustion for it.

Now the surroundings were still and Lenya was on her own in the huge place. She eventually recognized how lost she felt. She disliked the shemlen who dragged her here very much, but after all he was the only person she knew now. Her people had left her to travel to the north and she would probably never see them again. Her stomach made a turn as the realization hit her.

She was all alone. Lost in a world that was not hers and never would.

Lenya's breath quivered as she breathed out and struggled to fight the tears back, which wanted to come up. No, she would not cry. She would never let a human see her in tears. She wouldn't _never_ submit. They could take her life but they could not take her pride. Never.

She took several deep breaths before she felt brave enough to move again and to search her tent for the desperately needed sleep. The way to the main camp felt like hours, although the distance has been quite short. The main camp was already pretty deserted, as most of the men had retreated to their tent as soon the night had fallen. In times of war there weren't many opportunities to sleep; so one should use those wisely. Only a few scattered voices and laughter parted the tranquility.

As the Dalish mechanically moved on, she passed an elderly woman dressed in a red robe who greeted her, but she was too tired to care. At least she wasn't freezing herself to death anymore. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Lenya felt like she was burning, her whole body felt like as if it was in flames. 

_What is wrong with me? _

"Are you okay?" The woman behind her asked, sounding worried as she slowly approached her.

Lenya didn't notice her; she too focused on reaching the her tent which was now in sight, dragging her feet with sluggish steps. _Move, move, move_, her brain chanted, but her limbs didn't seem to share such enthusiasm. The surroundings that were furiously spinning around her wasn't helpful either.

_Stupid ground stop sp-_ her own thoughts were cut short as her body hit the ground, and she passed out cold. The elder mage who had observed her from some distance before, gasped in shock and ran to her side.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair loved the time in the evening when everything began to go quiet, the little hours where he could sit next to the fireplace and just be. After all this place had become unnaturally busy in the last past days with mages, the Chantry, the king... Maker, it seemed to Alistair as if half Ferelden was here in Ostagar.

_Sooo, only the Darkspawn are now missing in the big party. I reeeally hope they got their invitation letters. I mean, I even perfumed mine. _

He chuckled on his thought and ambled on to the centre of the camp. Suddenly his hackles raised and an odd feeling formed itself in his stomach; his templar senses were reacting...to the use of magic? But how? Why? Alistair was confused. Sure, there were a lot of magic used in order to prepare the Joining ritual, but they have already stopped for tonight and this was only a single source as well. Without noticing his steps became faster as the templar within him took over.

_Old habits die hard, huh? _Still, he thought it wouldn't hurt to check this out, just to be safe. As he finally arrived at the main camp, the source of magic had already ceased, but he still could feel the remnants vibrating through the air. And then he discovered something more odd; a person lying on the ground and seemingly not moving, while another person bended over that body. Of course the vibes of magic came exactly from that direction. _Uh Oh._

"This should do it," murmured the elder mage, pleased as she had finished her healing spell. "Poor girl." With one hand she compassionately drove through a strand of the elf's blond hair, tugging it aside.

"I've healed you, but how can I get you away from the middle of the camp? Even with you so small, I'm barely strong enough to carry you." The mage let out a sigh as she suddenly saw how a young man approached to her, running even. A smile curved around her lips. _Perfect. _

"W-what have you done?" _Oh great idea, Alistair. Talk to the mage, so she has enough time to frog-zap you. _

"I've healed her," the mage stated calmly and looked to the man, smiling.

"Healed? Her?" Alistair's brain needed a moment to process those words. Then he eventually looked down, and noticed that said person was a young woman who was lying on the ground, still unconscious.

"Oooh," he just uttered, feeling the tips of his ears burning for jumping on a rather more...violent conclusion. And a big part of him was relieved that he has been wrong. _No frog-zapping tonight. Good thing. _

"What else should have I done, young man?" she inquired, amused.

"N-nothing, ahaaha. Anyway..." Alistair stammered clearing his throat, "...what happened here?"

"May I suggest you ask the questions later? First please help me to get her off the ground and into a tent. This isn't exactly the place a young lady should sleep, don't you think? I would carry her myself, but I'm just an old woman and..."

"Alright, point taken," Alistair chipped in. He stepped closer to the small frame on the ground, bowed down to her and swallowed, as his train of thought hit him.

_Carrying means touching her, right? Of course it does, you idiot, _he chided himself right after and shook his head. This inner conversation surely would have gone on for a while longer, if there wouldn't have been a mage in front of him.

"So will you finally pick her up or want you just continue staring at her?"she asked, amused.

"I-I...wasn't staring a-at h-her. I w-was thinking." Although this has been the full truth, the way Alistair delivered those lines did little to convince the woman of it.

"Certainly."

"Ooookaaay," he said more to himself, and then tucked one of his arms under her neck to support her head, and the other around her knees. His eyes grew wider in realization.

_Oh Maker she's wearing a _skirt.

If it wouldn't have been for his splint mail gauntlets, he already would have dropped dead of embarrassment. So he was just glad that the light was only faint, and his blushing not so visible. At least he hoped so. As Alistair eventually heaved her slender body carefully up, he froze in his movements for a brink of a moment. She was surprisingly feather light in his arms. It seemed as weighted she almost nothing. And despite his Splintmail armour he could feel the heat of her bo- _Oh Maker._

"She had a high fever. I cured almost all of it, though she desperately needs rest now. Let's carry her over to my tent." The elder mage explained and stood up, motioning Alistair to follow her.

He just weakly nodded and obeyed. The light of the mage's tent illuminated their way from afar, so it was easy to find after all. "My name is Wynne, young man. I thought when you enter my tent, you should at least know my name." Smirking amused at the embarrassment this sentence caused him, she shoved the fabric at the entrance aside and entered, followed by Alistair with Lenya in his arms.

"I'm Alistair, Grey Wa-" he halted as his gaze unintentionally fell on the elf's face. It was the first time that he actually _saw_ the person he carried. The prior light had been too weak to make out her features. He felt stupid for staring at her tribal tattoo, which were artfully entwining around on her forehead and ended in fine, thin lines on the tip of her nose. One loose strand of her ash blonde hair fell back, and bared a previous hidden pointy ear.

_An elf? No wonder that she is so small_.

Her eyes were still closed and her breath came in calm and continuous intervals. She seemingly slept good and tight ...in his arms.

"Uuum..." He felt himself blushing even more.

_My how adorable._ "You don't do that very often, do you?"

"Well, actually I regularly pick unconscious women up to carry them around. It's a hobby of mine. ...Anyway..." Alistair muttered sarcastically, looking embarrassed, "...where..."

"Oh yes. I apologize, I'm quite forgetful at times. Must be my age." Wynne smiled innocently. " Lay her down here.." she pointed at her bedroll,"... but before that, unsheathe her daggers, would you?" The mage paused and watched Alistair carefully perform his task, as realization dawned on her.

"I thought I recognized her from somewhere. Now I remember. That young woman was following Duncan around, and I think they both arrived here at the same time. She is probably the one that everyone in camp is talking about because this doesn't happen very often, as far as I know. A female Grey Warden recruit. Yes, that's most likely her."

Alistair felt staggered for moment. _A recruit of the Grey Warden? That means I have to see her again? And even have to...talk to her after tonight_? _Oh great, the road to disaster is already paved. _

"Do you know where Duncan is? I think I'll have a little discussion with him. It's terrible that one of his recruits passed out due to sheer exhaustion and with a high fever as well. I don't want to think about what would have happened if I wasn't around at the time. He better watch out for them," Wynne muttered indignantly, adding several inaudible curses to her words.

"Err...no? I haven't seen him since his return."

"Well then, I will have to search for him. The area isn't big enough for him to hide; I will find him."

"Why have I no problems imagining that?" Alistair murmured to himself, the words not audible for the mage.

"Did you said something, Alistair?"

"No, no, no." _Please don't frog-zap me._ Wynne smiled one more time. "Good. If you excuse me now, I have an appointment with your leader."

"B-but what about her?" His voice was higher than intended, while he pointed at the small bundle sleeping on the bedroll. Unlike moments before, the elven woman wasn't sleeping that quietly anymore now. She had turned herself on one side, her hands under her head while her face twitched repeatedly. Alistair watched her somewhat worried.

_Is she okay? She looks like as if she is in pain..._

"She needs rest now to get rid of the remnants of fever and exhaustion. As said, I wasn't able to cure all her injuries, but she should be fine in the morning." Her gaze grew soft as it fell on the elf. _Well at least what concerns her physical health,_ she thought to herself grimly. "Look after her, while I'm gone, okay?"

"Oka- wait. What? No, no, no ….baaad idea, I …," he stopped when he noticed that the mage was already gone. Alistair sighed in an exaggerated way, but accepted that he would be babysitting the sleeping elf until the elderly mage returned.

"Oh Maker, what have I got myself into here?" He looked at her again and suppressed the urge to panic. Alistair has never been alone in a room with a woman before, let alone with a sleeping one. Well, there has been the Reverent Mother… but that didn't really count. The rational part of his brain told him that there was no need to be nervous; he was just watching after a fellow Warden, Nothing more.

Unfortunately, Alistair had never been good in listening to this part of him. So he found himself only panicking more as he got lost in another train of thought.

A loud and hitched groan passed through her lips, startling him out of those thoughts and making him look down at her. _She looks so small and ...vulnerable. I wonder why Duncan has brought her here?_ Caught between curiosity and concern, he bent closer to the elf, hearing her uttering strange, tiny noises. _Is this elvish, perhaps? _Between all the foreign syllables that didn't make any sense to him, she suddenly exclaimed a word clearly audible to him.

"Tamlen...no…"

Suddenly, her arm darted toward him and found his armored hand, clutching it tightly. This all happened too fast for Alistair to be able to react or back away, leaving him only to stare at his hand within hers in disbelief.

"By Andraste..." he exclaimed, shocked, his heart beating furiously within his chest and the colour of his face the reddest tone possible.

He didn't dare to breathe or even move, and since the Dalish seemed to have stilled now as well, a pregnant stillness fell over the place. Alistair's mind raced to find a solution how to get away from her without waking her up. The mage has said she needed the sleep, and so he didn't want to disturb her. His gaze fell onto the elf's hand, which held his quite firmly, reluctant to let it go, if at all. The feverish burn of her skin crept even into his gauntlets, making him gulp.

_Oh Maker, please strike me down with lightening. Now. _His prayer, however, remained unheard, so Alistair started tried to shake her hand off, but that only resulted in her gripping tighter. " By Andraste, this woman has quite some strength," he sighed and decided to eventually surrender to such stubbornness. Not that he had much of a choice anyway...

To make it him at least a bit more comfortable -if it were at all possible in this situation- he knelt down beside the bedroll, and began to wait.

The minutes until Wynne finally returned seemed to be the longest in his life, followed closely after by the most embarrassing ones as the elder mage stepped into her tent and saw their hands linked together.

"My, you are quite the charming one, hmm? I mean, I was away just a while, and you are already holding hands." She grinned almost deviously at the sight before her.

Alistair felt as if his head was about to explode. "I-I was n-not... she suddenly g-groped my hand a-and..."

Wynne raised an eyebrow, disbelief etched on her face. "Certainly, young man. However...I thank you for taking care of the young lady, and quite well I might add."

The Warden flinched.

_That evil, evil witch is actually enjoying this! Old woman? Maker's ass, I'm not buying that anymore. _

Alistair stood up, still struggling to get his hand free of her grip. Sure he was stronger, but he didn't want her to wake up; alone the thought of _her_ being _conscious_ in _this_ situation horrified him more than a whole darkspawn horde would ever be able to. So he rather tried it in the subtle way, or what Alistair thought would be subtle. After a few forlorn tries, he eventually made it, and dashed stumbling and heedless of Wynne out of the tent. Finally outside, he took several breaths of the mild air to appease his rapidly beating heart.

_Maker, what an evening..._

_._

_.  
_

* * *

.

"Alistair, there you are." A familiar voice crept through the storms of his thoughts, catching his attention.

"Duncan," he said respectfully to the man who now stood before him. Alistair couldn't help to grin, as he noticed the weary expression on his mentor's face. "Hard day, huh?"

Duncan sighed. "You have no idea..." Together they walked over to the large fire and sat down on a log across from it. Alistair felt how he was calming down again.

"Well, actually I have." Normally the thought of Duncan getting lectured by him, instead the other way around would have put a wicked grin on Alistair's face for weeks. Though after the happenings of the evening, it had somehow lost its charm for the young Warden. At this thought his eyes subconsciously darted down to his hand, which still felt warm for some strange reason, before he quickly averted them again.

"Alistair? Are you even listening? "

He looked up and cocked his head. "Hmm?"

Another sigh parted the night. "I have asked you, how is she?"

The Warden blinked. _How is she_...?

"Oh. Good...so far. Though, it seemed as if she had nightmares; the horrible ones."

Duncan nodded. "As expected."

Alistair looked up, confused. "What does that even mean?"

"Normally I'd get more than angry if someone stepped over the boundaries and into Warden business, but I've known Wynne for quite some time now, and therefore I am not. I appreciate her concern for the welfare of the recruits, and thus I've explained my reasons to her. Wynne now knows why we had to hurry in that kind of way to come here." He paused shortly to breath deeply. "She is already tainted."

"What?"

"Alistair, be quiet and let me explain. Deep in the woods we found an ancient ruin with artefact's of the old Tevinter… or better said of the darkspawn. She came in touch with it. In order to save her life, I had to bring her to Ostagar, as fast as possible. She's already changing..."

"Well, she looked pretty...elvish to me," Alistair chipped in, confounded.

"This is because the change starts inwardly; slow and creeping. And you do not want to see what becomes out of tainted women unlucky enough not to be able to do the Joining ritual to stop it." Alistair felt the chill at the thought. "That's why we traveled so adamantly, but I think I've underestimated the disease in her. So I'm really grateful that Wynne healed her, because it buys us the time to get the preparations for the ritual done. She doesn't have much time left… if the ritual can't be hold tomorrow night for whatever reasons, I fear I will have to kill her."

"No," Alistair snapped impulsively. Feeling Duncan's scrutinizing look burned on him, so he added quickly, "I mean, we've already lost so many people through the Joining. Last time only Relon survived out of four recruits, so I don't want to see more of them killed. Especially when it's not the darkspawn killing them."

"A nice sentiment, though not always feasible. What has to be done will be done."

Duncan's words halted Alistair, before he nodded. "I see. So that is why you brought her with you? I've already wondered why you took an elven woman, since she's is so small and...well small."

Duncan laughed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not collecting people out of kind-heartedness. She is a talented rogue with a lot of potential and-" he sighed at the memory, shaking his head, "-lots of stubbornness as well."

Alistair grinned. "Stubborn, eh?" He cocked his head. "More than me?"

"Oh, I've had it easy with you, Alistair. I had to use the Right of Conscription on her, and still she fought to remain with her people. I can understand _that_, but not the biting part..."

His grin grew even wider. "She bit you?"

The Grey Warden leader let out a slight noise of disapproval. "Anyway, tomorrow I want you to meet up with the three recruits as soon as possible. The ritual will be held in the evening, but I don't want you to waste any time to let _them_ collect the things needed." Alistair nodded. "Good, while we are at it... how are Jory and Daveth doing?"

"They trained well today."

Alistair paused before he formed the thought that had kept him busy since he had carried her into Wynne's tent. "Um...what is her name?"

Duncan didn't know exactly what made him aware all the sudden, but something did. Maybe it was the tone in Alistair's voice that indicated his interest beyond where it supposed to be. "Alistair..."

"Strange. I always thought that was _my_ name..."

His mentor sighed. "...don't fall for her. You will regret it, believe me. "

Alistair did his best not to blush...but failed miserably. "No, no, no! I'm not! Oh Maker, Duncan, I just want to know how to address her when I meet her tomorrow!"

Duncan scrutinized him for a moment. "I see. Still be aware that duty always comes first for you as a Grey Warden. We have no room for personal feelings. Those could cloud our ability to judge."

Alistair shot up from his log. "As if I didn't know that," The Warden groaned briefly. "Alright, forget I asked." With that he moved away from the fire and toward his tent.

"Lenya. Lenya is her name. Good night, Alistair," Duncan called after him, before he stood up and left for his own tent, shaking his head.

This made him stop shortly and a grin played into his features. "Lenya, hmm? Interesting."

Somehow the prospect of meeting her when she would be awake seemed suddenly less horrifying than before.

At least theoretically.


	3. One Archdemon short of a Blight

_**A/N:** Some parts of the chapter got newly edited at 07/22/11, because it didn't live up to my current style to write anymore. So I took a bit of the rambling and a bit of the overly rabid wording/action of Lenya off, that also didn't live up to the picture I now, a year later, have of her._

* * *

._**  
**_

**Chapter 2: One Archdemon short of a Blight**

**.  
**

"Oh you are awake."

When Lenya opened her eyes, she found herself looking at an elder, female shem face she didn't know. But why was this woman in her tent, and stared and smiled at her as if she were some kind of animal?

"What are you doing in _my_ tent?" Lenya said, but winced at the same time. Her head hurt, as if a Halla had trampled on it. Not only was everything a blur, and she couldn't remember what had happened, but also the sides of her temples were pulsing and aching like mad.

"My dear, you are in _my_ tent," the elder woman sitting before her explained. "I found and healed you, as you had passed out in the middle of the main camp last night..." The mage paused at Lenya's obvious dismay displayed in her features. "Are you still in pain? Let me help you."

Lenya's eyes widened, when the woman leaned in, a strange, blue light in her hand reaching for her head.

Instinctively, she backed away and tried to grab the daggers on her back, just to notice that they were _gone_. The Dalish couldn't hinder the strange light that swirled around and then merged with her. Suddenly, all pain ebbed away and was substituted by the clearness of mind and utter ease. A languorous sigh escaped her lips, eyes closed._ Magic,_ her mind asserted, ..._but the good kind. Just like the one of our keeper._

"Better now?" The voice of the elder woman put her out of her temporary reverie, and she just nodded weakly in response. The mage smiled. "My, you don't speak much, do you? Well, I'm Wynne. What is your name, young lady?" The elf looked at her critically and wondered whether to answer the question or not.

"Lenya," she quietly murmured and looked away. _Why is that shem so friendly?_ Suspicion rose within her. _What does she want?_ It was utterly confusing to the elf.

"That's a nice name. You are one of Duncan's recruits, right?" Wynne tried her to engage her to talk.

"Yes. Unfortunately." Lenya cursed herself for speaking so openly with the foreign woman, yet somehow it seemed as if she would do no harm to her. Still she decided to keep her guard up.

_Never trust a shem._

"Oh don't say that Lenya. Maybe this is a new chance for you, although an _unwanted_ one. I'd rather be at the tower now than participating in the war, but sometimes we don't have a choice and do what we must do." Wynne paused a moment before breaking into laughter. "Oh, look at me, I'm rambling like an old woman."

"It's because you _are_ old," Lenya shot out, all but tactful. This made the mage even laugh even more. "True indeed. Well, you are quite the honest one. A good trait, I suppose. Keep it. However, I'm glad to see you well and in full spirits today. You gave my old heart quite a startle last night."

The Dalish knitted her brows in confusion. A question forming within her mind found its way to her tongue. "Why did you help me?"

Wynne blinked. "Why should I NOT? I could hardly leave you there. Come on, dear, you really should eat a bit before you start with today's task," the elder mage said and reached down beside her to pick up a plate with a fairly large piece of sliced bread, cheese, dry meat, and fruits and presented it to Lenya.

She just stared, confounded, at the plate before her eyes, before she averted them again. "I'm not hungry." The growling of her stomach betrayed those words, and she felt how the heat rose to the tips of her pointy ears.

"I see," Wynne grinned knowingly and put the food right beside her. Uncertain what to do, Lenya's gaze wandered from the plate and back to Wynne... and again. But then the hunger took over the caution and skepticism she had held up to that point, and the elf took the plate.

_She doesn't trust anyone?_ It was more a conclusion than a question of Wynne's mind, as she watched her devouring the food after her reluctance.

Lenya hasn't noticed how hungry she was until she had swallowed the first piece of bread. Actually, hungry wasn't strong enough a word; _starving_ would fit better. She couldn't remember when the last time she had eaten something was. Two days? Three days? For her body, however, it has been too long a time, so she had no choice but to give in to that need. Even if it was shemlen-food, even if she didn't want any help.

"Today is your big day, hmm?" Lenya looked up from her plate, confused. "Well, I mean the joining," Wynne laughed. "Duncan told me that once you are ready here, you should search for a junior warden called Alistair. Though, first freshen yourself up and get ready. You'll find your weapons and needed supplies on the side. I, however, have to go back to work now. You know... boring mage things." Wynne winked at her, which perplexed the Dalish even more. "I wish you all the best and success for today, young lady." With a tiny nod, the mage left the tent, and a rather confused Lenya, behind.

She stared a moment in the direction the woman had left to before muttering, "Weird humans," followed by a shake of her head. After she finished her meal, Lenya decided to get ready, as she had been told, to meet that _shemlen_ named Alistair.

Whoever that was.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair's night had been rather unpleasant.

Being so close to a darkspawn horde, and the events of the last evening, weren't really the best mixture for a nice, healthy sleep. And now the Reverent Mother tried to make him look bad as well.

"'Tell the mages we have a message for them', she said. Yes, great idea, me and the mages are soo clooose after all," he muttered under his breath, while he tiredly scuffled to the appointed mage.

He saw the man standing near a ruin and only hoped he would get out there alive... and in _human_ form _after _the talk. Being a former templar wasn't really helpful in that case. More like a paved road to disaster, really. Another one. Seemed like he had developed a keen talent for discovering those.

Which reminded him that he had to meet that elven woman later. _Awake_.

Suddenly, Alistair didn't feel that brave anymore, as the pictures of last night flashed his mind. He sighed inwardly and stopped right before the man.

"What do you want?" the mage asked, scrutinizing him.

"To make it short so we can skip the whole frogzipping part and other ugly stuff: the Reverent Mother needs to see you. I know you are terribly busy with all the lightning that comes out of your hand and so, but I'm just the messenger, bringing... well… a message."

The mage stared disbelieving at him for a moment, before he found his voice again. "Do I have to remind you that we are here on the king's behalf?"

"Do I have to remind you that I'm just here to deliver that message?" he mimicked the mage's words. Okay that sounded bold even to Alistair's ears. Seemed like a restless night full of weird darkspawn dreams did wonders to his courage. He only hoped he could keep that up for later use, like elvish recruits and... well… mainly for that purpose.

If Alistair hadn't been so engaged in the heated talk with the mage, he would have noticed that said recruit had already come all the way up to him. With a mixture of annoyance and amusement Lenya was watching the spectacle before her eyes.

Eventually, the mage let out a displeased grunt. "Fine, I'll go to her then."

Alistair watched him leaving and, while still in a bold mood, he exclaimed, "Alistair one, Mage zero. Yaaay." Fitting to his words, he stretched one arm in the sky and turned around... just to look into the face of an elven woman. _That_ elven woman.

_Talk__ about awkward._

As if someone had cast a spell on him, he could feel all the bravery and boldness leaving his system at once. Alistair staggered, felt the heat rising to his cheeks and tried to find some words, but his head was suddenly empty. He saw how she narrowed her eyes - green, glistering eyes, he noticed - but didn't say anything, which left him only longer in such misery.

"I-I..." he tried to begin, but she interrupted him.

"Are you an idiot?"

Alistair gave in to the urge to blink, as her first ever spoken words to him sank in. It sounded more like a conclusion than a question. _Great. "_W-what?" he managed to bring out.

She let a sound out what resembled an agitated sigh. "You are that shem named Alistair, right? I was told to meet you. Unfortunately, it seems."

Alistair kept staring at her, while his mouth went repeatedly open and shut but no sound came out. He wished he could easily speak the thoughts that were flooding his mind.

_Calm down, you idiot. No need to be nervous; it's not like I have carried her arou- oh great _that _was a helpful thought. _He gulped and saw that she had suddenly turned around to leave. "N-no. Wait."

The elf reluctantly stopped but more because Alistair had grabbed her arm in a sudden reflex. She quickly discarded it with what sounded like a growl and faced him again. "Oh, I thought we were done here already." The piercing sarcasm in her voice made him wince.

Alistair sighed exaggeratedly and eventually found enough strength to speak. "I guess we had a bad start here, huh? Sorry about that. Yes, I'm Alistair, and no, I'm not an idiot... most the time." He weakly smiled at her, but she just continued to look at him, unperturbed. "However…" he harrumphed, "...you are the elf, right?"

_Oh great Alistair, you are one master of words. _

"No, actually I'm a dwarf in disguise." The Dalish rolled her eyes at so much obviousness. If she did that because it was obvious that she was an elf or because it was obvious that Alistair had made himself an idiot, he could not say for sure. Probably more of the latter.

He grimaced. "No, no, I mean, you are the elvish recruit Duncan has told me about. Lenya is your name, right? Nice to meet you." _Awake._

"And now, shem?" That question and the rude tone caught him off guard.

"W-well, now we search for the other recruits and meet Duncan. About the talk earlier with the mage..."

"I'm not interested to hear it." With that she turned around to go. _Ouch. _He stared at her for a moment, noticing her proud and elegant bearing as she moved, before the Warden actually remembered that he had to follow her. All of a sudden, she stopped and, he nearly bumped into her.

"Why are you following me, human?" The gaze she threw him was ice cold.

"Well, I'm just doing my job, you know. As the latest member of the order, I have to take care of the recruits today."

"And this includes following me around like a puppy?"

"Apparently," he grinned shortly, but since she didn't react on his joke, he tried being more serious. "Look, I won't get in your way, okay. So let us just find the other two recruits and then move to Duncan to get the things needed for the joining."

"That's the best thing you have said so far," Lenya muttered and moved on.

"Thank you, my lady. That is so kind of you." Alistair faked a bow. Lenya ignored the mocking gesture.

_Somehow, this woman was more likable when she was asleep._

"So where to find those shems?" Lenya asked him without to stop her steps.

"Huh? … Oh, you mean the other recruits, right? Well I think Daveth was standing near the merchant, trying to ... well never mind. And Ser Jory was somewhere near the sickbay. At least, the last time I saw them."

They left the ruin and were about to cross the main camp to reach the merchant when said man raised his voice and literally screamed in Lenya's direction. "Hey, elf. Yeah, you over there. Why are you dressed up that fancy and not delivering the things I've given to you?"

Lenya stopped dead in her tracks. Alistair saw how her whole body tensed as she glared in the direction of the merchant.

"Elf, are you _deaf_? I'm _talking_ to you."

_Maker, what an idiot. _"Umm Len-" Alistair didn't come any further with his words, as she suddenly ran toward the merchant, and with one swift move, grabbed that man by the scruff of his neck.

"Do I look like an elf you can order around, human? Do I look like one of those flat ears, who lick your boots?" She spat those words in his face, nearly screaming them. To emphasize the words, she drew one of her daggers and held it near to the merchant's throat.

Alistair's eyes widened as he saw the latest development and ran over to stop her. He didn't know how, but he had to. _By Andraste, that woman is nuts._

"L-Lenya, stop it. Please."

_Oh great, this will do it_.

Alistair stood by her side, waving hectically with his arms and felt completely overextended with the situation.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my lady. I have mistaken you for another... _person_. You are a Grey Warden recruit, right? I now see it. So, please... don't kill me," the merchant cried out.

The Dalish however, didn't move away... at least not instantly. She held him by his collar for a moment longer but sheathed her dagger again. "I never intended to kill you, shem... but if you speak once again in such a tone with me..." She paused to let the words sink in. "... I may change my mind."

The merchant gulped and simply nodded. Then, she finally loosened her grip, and with a final death glare, turned around to leave the scene.

Alistair stared at her for a moment longer, at a loss for words. As the shock had eventually ebbed away, anger made its way into his system. "What the maker _is_ wrong with you? You can't run around and threaten people with your weapons..."

"Oh no, I can't?" She blinked innocently and looked at him. "After all, that shem insulted me."

"By calling you an elf?" He arched an eyebrow. Somehow, Alistair had the feeling that by the end of that day he would have plucked half of his hair out or strangled Lenya to death. And right now, he liked his hair a lot more.

"No, by calling me a _servant_. I'm a Dalish, not one of those flat ears, who are living penned up in shemlen-cities and licking their boots for a few coins." Her eyes flickered with disdain at the last words.

Alistair was disturbed. "I... see. Still, you are going to be a Grey Warden soon. And we usually don't run around and menace people. Nope, we actually help them. By killing darkspawn."

"Hmm," the Dalish huffed, unimpressed. "So darkspawn I'm allowed to kill then?"

Glad to have a somewhat civilized conversation with her now, he even smiled a bit in her direction. "Very much so."

It wasn't actually a smile that he saw on her face then, but something close to it. It could be best described as a dark glowing of her features, like a threatening promise. "Good, I have many things which I want to pay those stinky creatures, and slicing them to pieces is _just_ one of them."

The way Lenya pronounced it gave him the chill, and Alistair couldn't even say if it was in a good or in a bad way. Probably a mixture of both.

Curiosity got the better part of him. "How come you hate them so much... okay they are stinky, gross, and want to kill all living things... no, scratch that. Actually I understand your hatred for them. Still, why so bitter?"

While she was previously looking at him and willing to talk, Alistair now had the impression she fell silent from in her previous demeanor.

_And here I thought we could be friends. Aww._

She didn't look at him, her voice quiet, unstable. "That's none of your business, human."

"I see..." He decided to leave at that. She somehow sounded sad, lost.

She took a turn to the left to reach the sickbay and ran into a person who crossed her way. "Stupid shems. Everyone is so tall. Irritating."

Alistair looked up, just to see Daveth standing before her, grinning. "Oh, you are that elvish woman Duncan has recruited. The whole camp is talking about you. And wow," he eyed her shamelessly like a piece of meat. _Ugh. _"… I can see why now." Alistair noticed how the elf tensed up again, yet remained uncharacteristically quiet.

Daveth reached his hand out to her. "I'm Daveth, a fellow recruit. And you are?"

Alistair saw how her gaze wandered from Daveth's hand back to his face before Lenya turned away. "...not interested."

Alistair couldn't help to grin on that. Sure, Lenya wasn't the first woman who had brushed him off, but no one had done it so thoroughly like she had. "Umm Lenya, this is one of the recruits we were searching for. Just mentioning."

"And? Should another idiot be following me around as well now?" Lenya hadn't even bothered to turn around, and went further up to the camp with the injured soldiers.

Daveth looked confused at Alistair. "Did she just call me an idiot?"

Alistair heaved a sigh, yet couldn't fully wash the grin from his face. "Yup." He patted the rogue on his back before he went to go. "Be a good recruit and wait for us at the fireplace, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah, and what are you going to do in the meanwhile, Alistair?"

The Warden shrugged and looked in the direction Lenya left to. "Damage control. Apparently."

Without waiting for any further reaction from Daveth, Alistair made his way up to the sickbay to follow an elf on the loose. Only problem was he just couldn't find her. The sickbay was overloaded with injured people, some screaming something about darkspawn and death, rambling incoherently in fever and pain. Alistair tried to tune the yelling out to search on for his own personal darkspawn.

_She's one archdemon short of a blight... that's for sure._ He sighed at his thought as he strode through the middle of the place. After another moment of fruitless searching, he found her standing in front of a huge iron cage. Without to say anything, she just stood there and stared at a skinny, dirty, and almost naked man without to do as much as even to blink.

"Umm, Lenya...?" he tried to address her.

"That shemlen... why is he in there?" came quietly from her direction.

"Dunno, sort of... vacation?" _Okay that was lame, Alistair..._

"Haha, very funny, big boy in splintmail." It was the man inside the cage who was speaking now. "Anyway, is that your elf who is staring at me like some animal? She better does her job like a good elf and get me some food. I'm starving here."

_Uh oh_. In his imagination he saw her already springing forward and slicing that man to pieces for indirectly calling her a servant. Though, to his big surprise, she remained calm, just deliberately took one step forward to the cage and asked with an almost too sweet-sounding voice, "Why should I want you to bring you some food... human, hmm?"

Now the man showed her a toothy grin, and Alistair saw that he was missing a few of them. "Well lady, because I have something you might want to have..."

The elven woman crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose, but decided to play along. "What, by the elvhenan, should a stinky shemlen like you have for me?"

"Well, you see the big, shiny chest in the mage area?" He pointed in the direction where the tranquil stood. "I got the key for it."

"U-huu. Stealing from mages. Very baaad idea." Alistair noted. Much to his dismay, he saw how Lenya was eying the chest in a very interested way. "You are not considering it, are you?" he added, and looked at her, almost pleading. But she ignored him completely. _Oh Maker..._

"All I want is something to eat and water for it and then you'll get a lot of shiny, helpful supplies. I'm sure, my lady. Just ask the guard for the food." The prisoner pointed at an armed man next to them.

Lenya wavered for a moment and looked to the guard and prisoner, waging the option. She shrugged. "Why not?" And to Alistair's horror, she walked over to the guard. Somehow the elf managed to persuade a portion of stew out of him, which the guard grudgingly handed over.

Alistair used the absence of Lenya to talk with the prisoner. "Where did you hide the key, by the way? I mean... in a way the guards didn't find it?"

The man snickered. "Well, you know, I swallowed it... and later it came back to me... in a natural way."

Alistair contorted his face in abhorrence. "That's just... _disgusting_." Lenya returned with the food and water in her hands. He turned to her. "Umm… not want to disturb your little trading party for stealing goods... but are you sure you want _this_ key? I think you probably may want to rethink it. BELIEVE ME."

The Dalish looked at him and blinked innocently. "Why is that?"

Alistair cleared his throat. "Well, let's say the key is not the _cleanest _one. And by the way, hurray for your sudden concern for a human prisoner and all that, but we still need to find Ser Jory..."

"Concern... for a shem?" Lenya raised an eyebrow. "Not really, I was just hungry. You must be stupid if you think I'd get a human - who indirectly called me a servant - something to eat at all." She shrugged and sat down right beside the cage and calmly began to eat the stew, well aware of the prisoner beside her.

"WHAAAAT?" the man in the cage yelled, while Alistair couldn't do anything but blankly stare at her. "B-but I have a key... you can't do that, you evil elf witch..." The man was caught between rage, despair, and consternation.

Heedless of it, she looked up from the bowl and glared at him with flashing green eyes. "You see that I can. When your people needed you, you ran away; that human told me." She pointed at the guard. "And I have no mercy for deserters. Keep your stinky key; I can pick the lock of the chest any time if I want to."

The cursing of the prisoner turned into incoherent crying as those words sank in. After a few more bits, Lenya put the bowl of stew down and stood up again, seemingly pleased with the meal.

She turned to Alistair, who was still at loss for words. "Can we go now? I've already found that other shem. He came to me and started talking. Told me the half of his life-story that I did not want to hear. He left in the direction of the leader, so we can go there now, too." Lenya went past the Warden and in the direction of the fireplace.

Slowly but finally, Alistair's mind started to work again after the unbelievable turn of events.

_Great not only that she's crazy, she's __**also**__ dangerous. Maker... what have I done to deserve to watch after such a recruit? _

After a short, silent pause of simply following her, he tried to speak with her about it. "Lenya, even if he is a deserter... that what you have done there was... very cruel." He made a mental note to get the prisoner at least one last meal.

"Oh, is that so? In my clan..." she started, but immediately stopped again, leaving the sentence unfinished. "However, what is this Joining ritual about?"

_A not so subtle change of topics_.

Alistair noticed the strain in her voice as she spoke about her clan... or at least intended to. _This is not so easy for her __as__ she wants it to look like, hmm? _Inwardly, he decided to ask Duncan more about her background, because he doubted that the Dalish would tell him when he asked. Sure, she was crazy and all, but also seemed kind of... alone. As far as Alistair knew about Ferelden's geography, the Dalish and other woods where her people used to live were far away from here.

"Umm, I'm sorry, I can't tell you more about it. You have to wait until it takes place in the evening."

"I see. But it involves magic, right?" Lenya said while looking over her shoulder. Pointing to the side, she added. "All those mages here, I mean."

Alistair felt dumbstruck, after she had hit the bulls-eye. Huh?.. Uhh... _an excuse, an excuse... _"They are here on the king's behalf... for the war..." It wasn't even a lie; still, Alistair has never been good with those kind of things.

"For the war, huh? So why are they casting spells now? It sure is for the joining in the evening."

_And I thought I was nosy._ "They are... err... practicing. Yes... that's it," Alistair tried to convince her. Though even _he_ recognized how lame that sounded.

Lenya stopped and turned around to him, rolling her eyes. "You really _are _an idiot, huh." Not caring for a remark from him, she walked on.

Alistair made a face but just _thought_ his answer. _Yes, maybe I really am, but you are crazy, dangerous and...unfortunately sharp-minded. Damn... _

He was just glad that it only took one more corner to finally reach the fireplace. He had never ever been more glad to see Duncan in his life than now, because that meant he made it through that Ostagar detour alive... despite that elven lunatic at his side. Alistair didn't know what face he must have made, but Duncan seemed to enjoy his distress. He wasn't showing that openly, of course, but the amused look of his mentor said more than enough.

"What took you so long, Alistair?" Duncan asked innocently. The two other recruits, Daveth and Ser Jory, were standing left and right on his side, eying him curiously.

Alistair frowned. "Ha, ha, very funny, Duncan. You know, Lenya and I..." he stopped, as he noticed that the Dalish was gone. Again. "Lenyaaa?" It sounded more desperate than he had intended it and because of that he could hear two recruits behind him snickering. _Great. Way to gain respect as a Warden._

"Oh great, another elf. What do you want?" It was the voice of one of the Ash warriors, who stood not far from the fireplace in front of his tent.

Alistair couldn't help but groan and roll his eyes at Ferelden's general impoliteness to other races. Not that he paid great heed to it until now, but, in Lenya's case, it would indeed be better if those people would remain quiet... or at least more polite. For their own sake. Though, much to her credit, she stayed calm again. It might only have been his imagination, but maybe she was heeding his advice after that merchant incident... at least a bit.

"Oh great, another human," he heard her hissing in a sharp voice. Alistair stepped closer and observed the somehow amusing picture before his eyes. She, as an elf, was reaching the muscular warrior only up to the chest, though what she was missing on height, she could easily compensate with her proud and sturdy posture before him, her hands provocatively stemmed in her sides.

"That animal over there... it looks sick." She inched closer to the kennel and much to Alistair's surprise, he saw how Lenya's features softened up, as she studied the trembling huge dog huddled in a corner.

The kennel master sighed, but seemed glad that someone actually did care. "Yes, because the mabari _is_ sick. He came in touch with the tainted blood of the darkspawn and will most likely die if he doesn't get the white, wild flower as medicine. Those are growing in the Korcari wilds." He looked at her. "You are not coincidentally going there, are you? Anyway, while you're here, you can help me to muzzle it. He doesn't seem to be afraid of you."

Lenya's eyebrows furrowed. "To muzzle him? What does that mean?"

The man rummaged shortly in the pocket behind him, just to bring a simple but thick black collar and a muzzle forth. "You go into the kennel and put that on the mabari, so I can treat him with some medicine to ease his pain a bit."

Alistair could literally see how she was contemplating this offer, with her face grimacing even more. But then she made a step forward and took the collar out of the Ash warrior's hand and opened the gate of the kennel.

The Warden caught his breath for so much boldness; what if the dog was confused and attacked her? A little voice within him told him that then, all problems would be solved, but he quickly discarded that thought again. What followed than was... odd, and yet quite fascinating for him. He observed how Lenya slowly stepped forward to the dog, her expression all soft, compassionate even.

While she moved forward, the Dalish quietly uttered strange words, spoken in a very gentle tone. Seeing her acting so differently reminded Alistair more of the peaceful, sleeping woman in his arms than the raving lunatic she was in reality. Or _pretended_ to be. He didn't know which was the truth, the lines suddenly blurring.

_"Lethellan, harel'din._ Everything will be good," she purred as she muzzled him. The dog made a noise that sounded like an understanding whine and eyed the elf in an appreciative way. _Unbelievable._ Once again she left him at loss for words, though this time actually... in a good way. As slowly as she had moved in there, she was also deliberate in her motions as she left the kennel again, almost as if she feared that fast movements would hurt the animal even more.

Alistair cleared his throat, as he noticed that he kept staring at her. "We will leave to the Korcari wilds in a few minutes. If you want, Lenya, we could watch out for the flower which cures that dog."

Her eyes darted up to his, and she simply nodded. "Why not? I doubt there will be any more than foul swamps and boring trees..."

"Ohh, don't forget the darkspawn..." Alistair chipped in, the corner of his mouth quirked up to a wry smile.

"Darkspawn, hmm? Well it seems like somehow this useless excursion suddenly starts to make much more sense to me. I love to slice those to pieces." Once again, there was that dark glow visible on her face which gave him a slight chill. 

_Right, dangerous, crazy woman. Don't forget that Alistair_, he scolded himself.

He didn't notice that she already had left, until she was addressing him. "What are you waiting for, Alistair?"

The Warden froze for a fraction of a moment. He didn't know if he should be happy that Lenya called him by his actual name for the first time, or frightened to death because she was really looking forward to _killing_ things. Alistair opted for a mixture of both, as he followed this little over-enthusiastic elf back to the fireplace and Duncan.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N: **A Dalish elf? Lenya. Letting her discover several irritating human things? Not that hard. Seeing Alistair aging a couple of years within one chapter? Priceless. XD_


	4. Into the Wilds

_**A/N:** Some parts of the chapter got newly edited at 07/22/11, because it didn't live up to my current style to write anymore. So I took a bit of the rambling and a bit of the overly rabid wording/action of Lenya off, that also didn't live up to the picture I now, a year later, have of her._

* * *

**Chapter 3: Into the Wilds  
**

.**  
**

"Here we are. Or at least I'm here."

Lenya rolled her eyes, as she saw that the Warden shemlen still hadn't arrived with her where their leader stood. She hasn't walked that fast, had she?

The Grey Warden leader looked at her, still quite amused. "Where is Alistair? Have you left him with the Mabari?"

The answer came not from the Dalish but from Alistair himself. "Again, very funny, Duncan. I might have been raised by dogs but that doesn't mean I have to live with them."

"You... were raised... by dogs?" Ser Jory asked, eyes widened.

Lenya gave him a look. Unbelievable; in order to survive, she was forced to surround herself with complete idiots. Fate indeed had a cruel sense of humor.

Alistair sighed in Ser Jory's direction, drawing her attention back to the present. "That, my dear friend, is what one calls a _joke_."

"Oh..." the man from Highever said, before looking away.

"Anyway, since everyone is here, let me tell you what you have to do now..." Duncan started but got interrupted by an overly exited elf.

"... Kill darkspawn?" The other two recruits looked at Lenya in bewilderment for her strange enthusiasm, but she couldn't care less.

"Yes, also killing darkspawn, Lenya." Duncan sighed. "Would you listen to me for a minute?" The young Dalish made a face but nodded. "Thank you. Alistair will accompany you into the Korcari wilds while you recruits collect three vials of darkspawn blood. Furthermore, I want you to retrieve some ancient Grey Warden documents, which should still be stored in a chest near the Korcari ruins. We will need those soon."

"Oh, ancient _and _important. And no Grey Warden got the idea to... well… get them before? How very clever of your people." Behind her, Lenya heard Alistair chuckle at her remark before a look from Duncan silenced him.

The Grey Warden leader sighed. "The mages have complained about you, Alistair. How many times have I told you that we need to stay neutral and shouldn't provoke one side?"

"And what concerns the documents, they were safe there for the past several years, but now, with the darkspawn rising, they aren't anymore. So I want you to leave immediately; too much time has been wasted already. Here, take the map and the key for the chest." He handed those things to Alistair.

"Alright." Alistair looked back to the three recruits. "Make sure you are properly equipped. I want to depart now, and we will surely meet darkspawn there."

Daveth shuddered. "Into the Korcari wilds, brr. I've heard it's a forsaken, rough place with witches of the wild and Chasinds running around.

Lenya raised an eyebrow. _Yeah, and I hope they'll eat you. _"I have everything. Can we go and kill them now?" She looked at Alistair, waiting for approval. Though, as he didn't say anything, she turned on her heel to go toward the huge, heavy gate by herself.

Behind her back, she heard them whispering. "Somehow this elf is scary." It was Ser Jory's voice, letting her smirk. Good; if those shems thought she was scary, they would keep their distance. Exactly how she wanted it.

Heavy-footed steps came closer, making her ears twitch, so she turned around just to look right into Alistair's face. He looked at her intently. "Lenya, out there, I want you to wait for... my command. I'm the only one who can sense the darkspawn and when we are going to be attacked. We have to work together in the wilds or we'll fail."

The Dalish pointed with her finger at Daveth and Ser Jory. "Does this also include those two?"

Alistair blinked, confused. "Well, of course. They are part of the team."

"Oh great." Lenya rolled her eyes and turned around again, leaving Alistair where he stood.

"Hey, we can hear you, elven lady," Daveth called after her.

She didn't even turn around. "Whatever."

Alistair suppressed the urge to slap his forehead. This was a disaster in the making. He nodded to the guard, who opened the gate for them. With one last deep breath, Alistair set his foot in the wilds.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya wrinkled her nose as she looked around.

She smelled the same heavy, foul air like when she was wandering through those lands with the Grey Warden leader. Withered plants entwined themselves around the countless old, huge firs and oaks, and their leaves were tinged with an eerie mixture of red, brown, and green. The sun was hidden behind a thick cloud of descending fog, which made it even harder to breath and see far from where they stood. The ground was greasy from all the moss that covered the stones and the grass underneath, and the unnatural green of the whole place hurt in her eyes.

Overall, it was a nice, cozy place Lenya couldn't wait to leave behind and never re-enter again.

"Ugh," escaped her lips, as she accidentally stepped into a puddle of smelling swamp water. She shook her foot a few times in vain, trying to get rid of that muddy water and dirt that enveloped her left calf.

"I couldn't have said it better, my lady," said Daveth, walking behind her and also wrinkled his nose. "The wilds are even worse than what I had it in mind."

Alistair grinned. "If you think that smell is bad, wait until you encounter a darkspawn."

"Hmm... I already had the pleasure, so no thank you." All the sudden Lenya stopped, tensed and drew her Dar'Misu daggers while her eyes nervously flickered around the inhospitable scenery. "Draw your weapons," she commanded.

"What, but I sense no darkspawn..."

"No, but wild animals, probably wolves. I saw them moving through the coppice just a second ago. They have been following us since we left the camp."

Alistair stared at her in disbelief, but unsheathed his sword and held his shield ready, as told. The two men behind him did the same and no second too soon. Once all had their weapons ready, five wolfs ran fast toward the group, snarling and ready to rip them into pieces.

Two wolves circled around Ser Jory, so Alistair turned to ram his shield into the massive frame of the animal, which flew back with a growl. It had no time to recover because Daveth deftly pierced its sides with his dual weapons. Ser Jory crushed the head of the other wolf with his massive sword and grunted, pleased. Hectically, Alistair turned around as he noticed that the elven woman had been separated from the group, just to see how she literally danced around one wolf just to slit its flesh lethally in the next moment with her crescentic daggers.

Alistair took care of the one animal, which threatened to spring on her back and drove his longsword through it. Nodding, she ably whirled around and slit the throat of the last animal in one swift movement; the blood sprinkled high in her direction and covered her front side.

Then there was silence again.

Lenya sheathed her daggers again and tried to wipe the wolves' blood from her face with the back of her arm. "Nothing more lovely than wolf blood, huh?" she sighed, exasperated, as she noticed how they kept staring at her in disbelief. "I literally grew up killing those. No big deal. Though the wolves in our woods were smaller." She shrugged, unimpressed, and left them standing there as she walked past.

Alistair wiped the blood from his blade before he sheathed it again and chuckled slightly. He must have looked as stupid as he felt in that moment. Her tiny, almost fragile, frame could be really deceiving, but just moments ago, it was clear to see that she could fight. Sure, it was still rough around the edges and a bit too boisterous, but the talent was visible to him.

"So this woman can _really_ fight, ehh? ... Sexy..." Daveth's voice put him out of his temporary reverie.

Lenya walked on the top now, but Daveth's insensitive words were loud enough for her to hear, making her growl in anger. "No, I'm just here to enjoy the landscape, moron. By the Elvhenan, I really wonder how you shemlen were ever able to banish us from our lands. Maybe because you are all so tall? Well, it wasn't the intelligence, that's for sure now."

"You don't like... humans, do you?" Ser Jory questioned, unsure, as he heard her words.

"Wow, did it take _so_ long for you to find out" Then she added, more to herself then to Jory, "No, it was _definitely_ not the intelligence." The resigned sigh she heard from the Warden shemlen behind her amused her briefly, in contrast to the dull landscape before her eyes.

"Well, my lady, you could at least be a bit friendlier; we all have to work together here, after all," Daveth insisted.

"Sure we _have_ to. But I don't see how this requires being friendly," Lenya muttered, and her pace fastened, suddenly more eager than ever to put more space between that human and herself. The more, the better.

Daveth sighed, nerved and exchanged a look with Alistair.

They passed a small path enveloped by foul-smelling swamps at each side, and she could tell by the scenery that something was wrong here. As if someone had been attacked. A dead ox lay beside the scattered wooden wagon, slashes and blood everywhere. That much blood couldn't have come from one single animal, however.

A bit unsure, she threw a hasty look back to Alistair, but he didn't make any move to say that darkspawn were going to attack.

The Dalish heard Daveth and Ser Jory gasping, as they discovered a few bodies lying around on the ground, the air covered with the sickening smell of burnt flesh and blood. She was right; there had been an attack. Measured on the body height of the bodies on the ground, these had been humans once. Probably soldiers, who were unlucky enough to encounter the darkspawn rather unprepared.

Lenya became suddenly aware of what she was getting herself into by becoming a Grey Warden, but it's not like she would have had any_ choice_. Lenya sighed quietly. Sadly, it seemed like _this_ would become a daily picture for her all too soon. The fighting, the dead bodies, all the blood. It's not that she minded killing darkspawn – for all that they have done to her – or had great compassion for the dead shemlens whatsoever. But the overall prospect of being damned to a life in human society and fighting for _their_ peace wasn't really endearing to the Dalish. Not after all they had done to her people and race. She would never forget this.

"Let's go on. We shouldn't stay here any longer," Alistair coughed.

He turned to go but a groan and coughing from the ground stopped his motion. It was just a faint sound, but in the hollow stillness of the wild, clearly audible. Instinctively, Lenya drew her weapons, just to be stopped by Alistair, who grabbed her arm.

"Ouch, stupid human," she hissed and glared at him, while whisking his hand away. Alistair, however, ignored her rant and carefully stepped forward, pushing her behind him. From the corner of her eye, she could see how those two recruit humans came closer to them as well. _Oh great._

"Is he still alive?" Ser Jory asked in a hopeful tone.

Lenya blinked as she eventually recognized the human before her, severely wounded and covered with dirt and blood, most likely his own. With the last ounce of his strength, he crouched toward them, making the elf step back in disgust.

"Grey Wardens? Thank the Maker. I was here with my scouting troop when they suddenly came out of the ground and attacked us," the man creaked with a weak voice.

"Well, apparently they were successful, hmm?" Lenya muttered from a safer distance, and three pairs of eyes shot angrily in her direction. "What?" she added.

"Please, I have to get to camp to warn them... I..." the words of the soldier were interrupted by a gurgling, as he spat a great amount of blood.

"We have to help him; I have bandages in my pack," exclaimed Alistair, who was already rummaging in the little package he had brought along.

She stepped beside him, motioned him with a shove on his shoulder to halt. "Can't you see that it is already too late for bandages? So if you haven't any skills to heal his scattered innards with magic, move away."

Alistair did as she told him and made way for her. "You… can do this? I mean, heal him?"

Lenya heaved her dagger she was still holding in her hand up and bowed down to the man. "Well 'heal' isn't exactly the term I would use but... sort of." Before any one of the three men could react, she had already sliced his throat with just one move. The soldier gave in immediately with a quiet sigh, as his blood splattered in her direction.

She felt three pairs of eyes staring at her, but all appeared too shocked to say a word. Heedless of it, she turned around to stand up and was briefly startled to see the Warden shem so close before her.

"How could y... Does the term 'insane' say something to you?" he hollered, outraged, at her face.

The elf stemmed her hands into her sides and glared up to him. "No. But do the words 'I don't care' say something to you? He was beyond saving, human. Stop being foolish."

It has been the truth, and it kind of surprised her that the warrior Alistair appeared to be wasn't able to see the shem's multiple injuries. Only magic could have saved his forsaken life, and while she was adept in herbalism, she knew nothing about magic. In fact, ending his life here and now was the most benevolent way, instead of letting him suffer any further.

Ser Jory's eyes widened as the state of shock seemed to have ceased. "By the Maker, she... she killed him." His breathing became heavier as more facts had time to proceed, and he turned to Daveth. "Did you hear what the soldier said… before... before…" He swallowed. "When a whole scouting troop has been killed by darkspawn, how can we survive the task, then? We are going to die. I can't die... my wife and my baby."

Totally ignoring the crazy antics of that human, Lenya's face suddenly brightened. "Oh, I think I found the flower for that dog." Carefully she went to an old, withered trunk, which was overgrown with moss and plants, and plucked the white flower to take it with her.

Alistair couldn't believe what he saw. "Oh hey, I just killed someone. Never mind, just look how pretty the flowers here are." He mimicked her with a high-pitched voice, while still staring incredulously at her.

"Crazy Dalish. You can't just..." Alistair heaved his hands up, groaning in frustration. "Remind me to never get injured around you."

"Oh a pity, since I'm really adept in herbal lore, which could save your life." She shrugged nonchalantly, smirking. "Can I slap him or will he stop freaking out by himself?" The elf pointed at Ser Jory, who was still rambling incoherent things about darkspawn and his wife.

Alistair's face darkened. "Okay, Lenya, here are some rules for the wild. No slapping, no killing except for darkspawn, and we are getting along pretty good. Understood?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Whoever made you boss here?"

"Uuhm… Duncan? And I'm responsible that you all come out of here alive and in one piece. So can we move on? I feel darkspawn approaching." Hectically, he scanned the area with his eyes and fidgeted with his fingers at the hilt of his sword.

"Tell that to this human crybaby, not me." Again her fingers pointed at the still distraught knight not far from them.

Alistair cleared his throat, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the demand. "Ser Jory," he addressed him. "Pull yourself together. There are darkspawn nearby. No one is going to die, but we have to work together now, just like we did with the wolves."

"So, can you also feel how many are coming?" the Dalish questioned him while she held her weapons ready.

The Warden halted shortly and closed his eyes. "Hmm... yes, sort of. Feels like only a minor group of them, but they are coming along fast this way."

Lenya stepped aside him with a grim look at her face. "Oh, nice; you really are useful, after all. Let's kill them, shall we?"

"Uum, thanks... I guess?" He drew his weapon and shield, and then he looked back at the other two recruits to ensure they were fine as well. "And yes, good plan, so stick together and be ready." He knew that the first encounter with a darkspawn could be quite intimidating, but he hoped that Daveth, and especially Ser Jory, were able to deal with that view... and smell.

Concerning Lenya, he wasn't afraid at all; she seemed overly eager for this encounter, with the weapons twitching in her hands and the strained composure. Right before the tiny group of darkspawn attacked, he decided to watch out where her daggers were actually directed. You never knew, right?

Much to his alleviation their opponents were only mere genlocks, no stronger ones. They snarled beastly in their direction, and one of them hit the ground as Alistair charged his shield through it. Immediately, he let his sword follow and killed it, giving it no chance to recover. He turned around to see Lenya dancing around their two opponents, causing them several injuries, but the most disturbing thing was that she laughed loudly while fighting and dodging their attacks.

Laughing!

Maker, this crazy woman terrified him more and more.

He charged again, seeing Daveth assist Lenya, so he offered his help to Ser Jory, who was fighting with two darkspawn and had slowly gotten cornered. With its buckle, he pulled one back. With enough room to attack now, Jory drove his massive sword through the foul flesh of one genlock, which eventually slowly slid dead to the ground. Alistair took fast care of the remaining darkspawn and beheaded it. Looking around, he saw that Daveth and Lenya had already done the same. Covered in the black blood and gore of the darkspawn, she looked pleased to him.

"Good work, everyone." Alistair nodded. "Now, comes the unpleasant part. We need to drain them for blood and put it in these vials." He gave each of them a little vial of glass." Be careful while you do it, their blood is poisonous."

"Hah, I got one ready. And... yuck," Daveth said after a little while, and grimaced irked as he observed the black blood in the little glass.

Lenya sighed. "If I wasn't already covered in their blood, I would say that this is really the most gross thing I ever had to do. Wow, how I look forward to my life as a Grey Warden." She rolled her eyes on that and tried to get rid of some of the blood on her face.

"Well, no one forced you to be here, right? I was glad to escape those guards thanks to Duncan. They wanted to kill me, after all. And all because I have tried to steal the wrong and the right purse at the same time." He grinned at the picture in his mind. "That old man is indeed faster than he looks."

The Dalish stepped closer to him, her posture threatening, with eyes narrowed. "Actually, I _was_ forced to be here. It's not like a Dalish like me has a great wish to participate in your stupid shem war. But since this is something I cannot change, just spare me your boring stories, or better... overall presence." Exasperated, she turned around to move forward.

Daveth only blinked at that. "And you are aware that the Blight is more than just a "stupid shem war" I hope. It concerns all races and all people of Ferelden, so even you. So while I love women with fire and attitude, stop being foolish."

Lenya didn't have expected to someone talk back at her, least of all Daveth. So she turned round, only to glare at him. "Shut up."

"Yeah, right. This is all you can say, huh?"

Sighing, Alistair took up the rear after the rather quiet Ser Jory. He knew that this was still going to be a long day.


	5. Asha'belannar

_**A/N: **Before we move on to the joining next chapter, we have first to get some things done in the wild still, like meeting Lenya's new BFF and her chapter. Short chapter, sorry.  
_

_Some parts of the chapter got newly edited at 07/22/11, because it didn't live up to my current style to write anymore. So I took a bit of the rambling and a bit of the overly rabid wording/action of Lenya off, that also didn't live up to the picture I now, a year later, have of her.  
_

_Many thx to Ash for beta-reading.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 4: It's a kind of magic**

.**  
**

If she ever would have the chance to describe the rest of the journey through the Korcari wilds to one of her clan members, Lenya planned to emphasize the word _repetitive_.

Not only were they mostly running in circles due to the always identical looking environment and the inability of the Warden shem to read the map, they also encountered and killed so many darkspawn by then that the elf wondered if there were any left for the war at all. It was annoying, all of it. The place, the company, the _whole_ task. Lenya felt her temper rising once more.

"Give me that damn map, Alistair," she said harshly to him. "By the _Elvhenan_, if we run in a circle one more time, I swear I'll kill you."

"Oh, and make a compass out of my bones?" She glared at him for his snarky comment. "Okay, okay. I thought that would be more _inventive_ than simply killing me, but well... I don't want to give you the wrong ideas, oh crazy woman. I like to be alive, you know?" The Warden handed her the map, grumbling under his breath.

Lenya huffed. "What is the point of making a map, when everything looks the same anyway? This is most irritating."

"Oh, don't say that." He pointed at the tree besides them. "You see, that tree looks slightly different from that one here... if you look closely." Alistair sighed, as he saw the exasperation in her features. Again.

"Well, at least we have all three vials now; even more than that, to be honest." He attempted a wry smile. "You don't, perhaps, have some grumpy elvish friends who want to join the Grey Warden? I mean, we could hold hands, then, and sing some songs. _That_ would confuse the darkspawn for once."

If this has been an attempt to annoy her even more, it has been successful. "Shut up," she growled under her breath as she studied the map.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "If that makes you happy." Despite her bitchy behavior, he was glad that he had been alleviated from leading the group in... well, circles. He had never been good in leading, if he was honest.

"We have to get past the bridge; I've seen it not so far from here," Daveth interjected while observing the map as well. "Then we should see parts of the ruin; if we follow them, we should get to the chest."

"Finally, an intelligent sentence came out of your mouth. Wow, I'm baffled."

"Well, it's never too late for that, my lady." The rogue smiled and winked at her.

Lenya made an irked face, but ignored him. "However, let us finally get to this damn chest; I'm tired of this place... as much as I am of your company."

"Charming like always," Alistair said with a shook of his head, as he passed her by. The elf just threw him a look but remained quiet.

They walked on, now somewhat led by Daveth, and after another fight against a horde of darkspawn, the group finally reached the destination marked on the map. Out of breath and with her muscles burning like fire, Lenya eventually discovered the appointed chest, just to see it broken... and empty.

"Oh give me a break. This can't be real now, right?" She was startled how _whiny_ that sounded, but she had reached a point of exhaustion where she didn't care much anymore. "What is so damn important about those documents anyway?"

"Well, we need them," Alistair said lamely.

"Oh, _that_ explains all. Thanks for enlightening me."

He opened his mouth, but didn't have the chance to answer because a woman suddenly made her appearance in the ruin above them.

"What's this? Stranger? Intruder in a place they don't belong to? Searching for items deep in the wilds? Items of the long forgotten past? Let the dead sleep where they are now."

Entranced by her slow, catlike movements as she stepped down from the ruin down to them, Lenya decided to watch her more closely. She wore a black-red dress made of feathers, leather straps and fabrics that barely covered her chest. Her dark hair was roughly pulled back in a wild ponytail but framed her fierce amber eyes quite perfectly. The ornamented wooden staff on her back indicated pretty clearly that she was a user of magic.

Actually, Lenya could literally feel the danger seeping from the witch, but that did little to cease her fascination. She had heard stories among her clan about the witches of the wild. The Dalish elves knew very well about their existence in the Korcari Wild, but never would she have imagined meeting one of them in person one day. This woman was definitely human, yet at the time there was something animal about her that the elf could not exactly place. Fact was that she was much different from all the shems she had met so far, especially those frightened idiots behind her.

_Interesting._

After a moment of awkward silence, the witch raised her voice again and observed Lenya intently. "So, why are you disturbing the peace of the dead, whose bones were long dissolved into dust, I wonder?"

"Do not speak to her, she's a witch of the wild, and where they are, they are more for sure," Alistair whispered to her, yet not as discreetly as he thought it was.

"Witch of the wild? How lovely the name is." She laughed and approached forward, which made the men step back, somewhat alarmed. Lenya however, stood silently there, not leaving her spot, and continued to observe the woman. "Fantasies of men. Nothing more than legends. Can't you think for yourself?"

Instead of Alistair, Lenya was the one who answered. "Actually, no he can't. You know, what interests me more is what happened to the contents of that Grey Warden chest. I'm tired of running around in 'your' wilds for hours now, so I'm rather impatient. If you have to turn someone into a toad, start with the fools beside me." She pointed at Daveth and Ser Jory. "They are annoying anyway."

"Oh no, she will turn us into toads," the two recruits exclaimed almost in unison.

Amused by the unexpected answer, she turned back to the Dalish. "You seem to be quite unimpressed by all this, elf. But I shouldn't be surprised, since the Dalish elves know much about the Wilds themselves. I only wonder why a seemingly smart woman travels with such... _simple_ companions."

"I wonder about that myself," said Lenya dryly.

Right behind her, Alistair sighed. "Look, I really appreciate the beginning of your bonding and all, and maybe you can exchange herbals later, but we are here now to retrieve the documents. And I don't want to linger here any longer than needed. So, where are they, witch?"

The said woman raised an eyebrow, still amused. "Oh, you don't want to stay, hmm? Fear those barbarians could swoop down on you, if you would?"

"Yeah. Because everyone knows that swooping is baaad. Especially from those Chasind Barbarians," he stated in a matter of fact, eyes narrowed.

He didn't know the woman but already liked her not one bit. She was clearly one of the apostates, those who hid themselves in the shelter of the thick Korcari Wild to be unreachable from the arms of the Chantry or the Circle of Magi, where users of magic normally had to live. The tingling of his Templar senses nearly drove him insane; the itching feeling of magic in the air was almost unbearable.

He wanted to get away from that witch as soon as possible, yet he knew he couldn't leave without the documents. They were too important for that. The idle talk those two lunatics seemingly enjoyed wasn't very helpful for retrieving them, either.

She turned to Lenya again. "Well, to me it seems that you are the only person here with some manners. State your name, and I'll tell you mine."

"You can call me Lenya," the elf said and nodded politely.

"And you can call me Morrigan, if you like."

_Oh great, now they are starting an evil witch tea party_, Alistair thought grimly.

"For the Grey Warden items you seek, Lenya, they aren't here anymore, I fear."

"What? B-but you have stolen them, you... evil witch-thief," Alistair chipped in, tone angry.

Morrigan laughed, amused. "Stealing from the dead, I have? Not much. Those papers you search for have been claimed by another."

Lenya crossed her arms before her chest. "Care to fill me in on who this person is, Morrigan?"

"Of course, elf. " Her yellow eyes rested on her small frame. "Was my mother."

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Can you bring me... us to her, then?"

The witch smiled briefly at her. "Hmm, what a sensible request you have there. I like you. Follow me then, if you please." She turned to go and, regardless of her other companions, Lenya didn't hesitate to follow her.

"So, the evil witch tea party continues in the house of the evil witch, with her evil witch mother? Wow, this is getting better and better. Not. What by the Maker have I done to deserve a day like that?" Alistair sighed but already submitted himself to this disliked fate as he followed the eager elf to wherever Morrigan would lead them. Probably to doom. _Most likely_ to doom. He didn't like the prospect. At all.

"That witch will cook us in a pot, just you watch," Daveth muttered as he reluctantly moved forward with Ser Jory close behind.

* * *

The walk was not long but arduous.

Morrigan seemed to lead them further and further into the wild, where the trees towered more ominously overhead. The light was even more clouded by the thick mist and seemed to twist and dance around the group, making it even harder to breathe than before. Lenya was depite the eery scenery looking forward to whom she would meet. In contrast of the trembling cowards behind her, who whispered strange prayers to their god, she was not afraid.

After taking a last turn, the path cleared and they finally reached a withered hut. An old woman stood in front of it. She seemingly had awaited their arrival. _Could this be..._ Lenya gasped, as she observed the old woman more closely.

"Mother, here I bring you the four Wardens..." announced Morrigan but was interrupted by her.

"I'm not blind, dear. I see them," Morrigan's mother laughed and studied each of them. "Hmm, as expected."

"_Ash'belannar._ The woman of many years," Lenya murmured in awe.

Now she was glad that she paid heed to the stories she had been told as a _da'len_. Yet she never would have thought those stories would be true. In her mind, she feverish searched for the pieces of the tale, but her memory of it was hazy and blurred.

The woman's hollow gaze rested on the elf before her and cackled. "Is that the name the Dalish elves have for me? Most charming. At least I'm not called old."

"H-how do you know that she is a Dalish?" Alistair hesitantly inquired.

Daveth shifted uncomfortable from one foot to the other. "She is a witch. We shouldn't talk to her; she will turn us into toads."

Her eyes flashed almost wickedly. "Hmm, actually I prefer to cook your flesh, so I can tear it apart from the bones." She laughed as they shuddered, frightened. "Anxious little boys, they are, hmm? Though as the young elven lady said, you don't have to be. I'm just a woman of many years."

Morrigan's mother directed her word to Alistair, who felt more than uncomfortable as well. "Due to my age, I know a couple of things, but it's not for me to decide the larger scheme of things." Her look shifted to Lenya again. "What about you, young lady? You seem not to share those human legends, or their fear of things unknown. So what do you believe?"

The Dalish narrowed her eyes, her posture unyielding. "Of course I don't share a shem's view. But I do believe that you have something we need, _ash'belannar._"

She laughed and looked at her daughter. "My, she's impatient like you, Morrigan. Interesting, you are, my little Dalish friend, yet so much of you is unknown still. As for the treaties you indeed came here for, I've protected them."

"You... _protected_ them?" Alistair asked with disbelieve in his voice.

"Yes, Warden, I have. The seal was long broken before I claimed those documents."With those words she went to her hut and came back only moments later with the scrolls in her dreaded hands and handed them to Lenya.

"Here, my dear. Now you have what you want. Just remember to tell your Grey Wardens that this blight is bigger than they expect it. Or maybe they expect it. Who am I to know? I'm just an old woman, after all." She chuckled slightly before turning to her daughter. "Since those are your guests, Morrigan, lead them out of the woods, would you?"

Morrigan let out a displeased growl but obeyed to her mother's wish. "Very well then. Follow me. _Again_."

Lenya was pleased; finally they had all the weird things they needed to leave this pesky place behind. That, and she unexpectedly got to know that some of the stories she heard as a child weren't fairy tales at all.

_Interesting._


	6. The new clan

_**A/N: **Submit yourself to the taint. Or how Lenya would say: Again? XD Looong chapter ahead and...Alistair gets a nickname ;)_

_**Thx to:** Ash and Fluid Consciousness for beta reading and brush up of this chapter. Wheehee._

* * *

**Chapter 5: The New Clan**

.

Due to Morrigan's well versed knowledge of the Korcari Wilds, the party was able to reach the borders in half the time.

As soon they had arrived, the witch disappeared without a word. Sighing, and oddly regretting that Morrigan had left so suddenly, Lenya passed the doors of the Ostagar camp with her shem troop close behind. It was good to be back at camp, so she didn't have to endure their presence anymore. What concerned Alistair, well, he prattled on and on as they walked back, and even the icy glares she and Morrigan threw him did little to stop his antics about the danger of magic and his templar life.

_Whatever a templar is_, Lenya thought. Not that she was paying attention.

"Lenya." There it was. _His_ voice again. Ugh. A groan escaped her lips, but she turned around. "What, human?"

"Where are you going?" he inquired. While the other recruits moved directly to where Duncan stood, Lenya took quite the opposite direction.

The Dalish rolled her eyes. "Obviously putting space between you and me. Bye." She spun on her heel again but Alistair snatched her arm. She blinked at his face, briefly startled. How could he move to her so quickly? And that constant groping of her arm! Annoying. Inwardly she swore to herself that she would cut his hand off if he kept it up.

"I'm flattered, my lady," Alistair insisted with a sarcastic tone, mouth quirked up into a wry smile, "...that you could keep up with me for so long, but the bad news is that we aren't done yet; which means you have to endure me a little longer. It'd be too bad if you missed your own Joining, wouldn't it?"

"Oh yes, almost unbearable. How could I ever live on after having missed such a glorious event in my life?" she retorted in the same tone that he did; though the look he gave her -almost a frown- when she uttered the last sentence unsettled her, so she quickly averted her eyes.

_You wouldn't live on at all, _he thought, and Duncan's word's rushed through Alistair's mind after hearing Lenya's. _If she doesn't undergo the Joining tonight, I have to kill her._

Even though she nearly drove him insane with her rude, lunatic manners, he didn't want her to die. Nor Ser Jory or Daveth. None of the recruits, if he had his way.

There were already so many losses at the Joining, and there was no need for more. Sadly, it wasn't for him to decide who'd survive the poisoning by the darkspawn blood, and the chances of survival were always slim. But he at least wanted her to take that opportunity even though it might kill her. Either the Joining would kill her or ...Duncan, should she refuse to do it...This thought upset him even more. His eyelids fluttered, trying to dispel the heavy thoughts back into a corner of his mind.

"Let's get back to Duncan first, then later you'll have plenty of time to run away from me," he said softly, forcing a weak smile back into his features.

"Oh sure, it's not like you'd follow me then. Stupid puppy."

This time the smile reached his eyes. "Woof."

"Alright, you won't give up either way, right?" she muttered and sighed in an annoyed manner, yet turned toward Duncan's direction.

"Actually, no, you're right. I'm quite stubborn," he answered while following her back to the fireplace.

"..and annoying." She wrinkled her nose. "And you reek."

Alistair made a face. "Well, you aren't a sweet smelling flower yourself right now, but we'll blame it on the darkspawn blood. And the fact that I was raised by dogs. Big, flying dogs."

"Hmpf, that would explain _many_ things." Lenya turned away, ignoring him. Still, somehow this annoying human made her talk, even when she didn't want to. Also she nearly smiled at the image of that shem truly being raised by dogs, because it would suit him so well - the perpetually barking and annoying puppy with big eyes that he was.

"Lenya, there you are. I see Alistair was successful in catching you. Good." She frowned. Duncan's amused tone of voice did wonders to her previous, more lightened mood, letting it shrink back into a foul one. "So tell me, were _you _successful in retrieving what I asked for?"

_Oh great, now he's trying to be funny. _She glared up at him. "As if you couldn't tell by my appearance. Or rather _our_ appearance. Wanna have a piece of darkspawn? I think I still have some in my hair." She fiddled with her blond hair, which was now mostly tainted black-red.

The Grey Warden leader laughed. "No thanks, I fear I must refuse your kind offer. As for the items, I heard from Ser Jory and Daveth that you got them. Good work."

Lenya pouted. "Then why did you ask? This makes no sense."

Duncan sighed. "Because I hoped to hear about what happened from _you_." While observing this proud little elven woman in front of him, he had the feeling that it would be hard work to gain her trust. If it was possible to gain at all. Alistair's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I think I should mention that the documents weren't in the chest anymore. When we found the chest it was broken and was empty. We were able to retrieve the documents from an old woman and a girl in the Wilds. They were both witches, probably apostates."

Duncan looked at him with a stern face. "Yes, you were a templar once Alistair, but those women aren't our business. We should instead focus on the Joining ritual. I had the Circle of Magi prepare it so we could start immediately upon your return. "

"Y-yes, of course," Alistair stammered, daunted. The Joining, the point of no return, was close now and Alistair knew exactly what that meant. One or two, maybe even all of the recruits wouldn't see the sun rise tomorrow morning.

Duncan turned to the three recruits before him. "I won't lie to you; the Joining is not without danger. This is why it is so secret. Though know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten either way." His gaze returned to his Warden. "Alistair, bring the three recruits with you to the altar in the ruins above, on the west side. I'll be waiting there."

As soon as Duncan was out of sight, Ser Jory raised his voice for the first time after a long while and was about to panic. "By the Maker, what does _that_ mean? Even more tests? I thought I already earned my place..." His eyes widened and searched for the support of his fellow recruits.

In Lenya he obviously found none. "A place among the whiniest humans, sure. Among the Grey Wardens? Not so much."

"...but you think _you_ have?" He retorted angrily, drawing closer to her.

The elf shrugged. "No, and I'm not eager to have it, either. I wouldn't be here if I had the choice..." then added more quietly, "...but I didn't." Lenya bit back the bitter venom she suddenly felt seething up, yet wasn't fully able to as she almost spat the proceeding words into his face. "Since it appears to me that _you,_ stupid shem, are here on your _own_ account, you should be the _last_ complaining." Her voice trembled. "Back there, y-you have a family waiting for you, and know NOTHING about loss or sacrifices; so it's about damn time you were ready to make some, fool." This last word was hissed in a threatening manner before she literally stormed away, heedless of the other humans watching her, open-mouthed.

After a moment of stillness, where neither knew how to react, Alistair motioned for the other recruits to go to the area above the ruins, where the Joining would take place. The Dalish woman's behavior most definitely surprised him. She had muttered or complained before in a sarcastic and almost insulting tone, but never had he seen her so...emotional before. Acting so cold like she did all day, it was easy for him to forget what she had given up to be here.

Sighing, he led the men to their final destination... - in more than one meaning.

.

.

* * *

.

"Damn, damn, damn." Lenya softly banged her head on the thick trunk of the oak near the mage camp.

How could she lose her composure so easily? Why did she let it get under her skin? _It must be the exhaustion..._ Yes, the aching and burning in her muscles from fighting and walking all day were most certainly to blame for this. _Otherwise_, she gritted her teeth, _I wouldn't have shown such weakness to them_. Lenya swore to herself that she would never provide those shems with a target again.

Still agitated, the elf looked up to the starlit sky and felt utterly alone, which she was. All of the people around her either ignored her existence, or threw her odd glances and _then_ ignored her afterwards.

All but one.

"Young lady, what are you doing here all alone?" A soft voice made her head turn, and she saw the old mage in front of her. It was the one from this morning, which seemed like ages ago for Lenya.

_Wany...no, Wynne. Yes that was her name._

Lenya looked at the woman, scrutinizing her. She was an odd human, always so …friendly, which was more than confusing to the Dalish. Such behaviour only added to her mistrust, but still, she couldn't bring herself to exactly hate Wynne. She had helped her when she could have left her lying on the ground with the high fever, and no one would have cared. An elf didn't count for much in shemlen society, after all - Grey Warden recruit or not.

That was why she'd have to grow harder and tougher, now that she was outside the shelter of her clan and in _their_ world.

_Never submit._ She repeated this thought like a mantra in her head until she was able to keep her feelings at bay again.

"Shouldn't you be up there with the others for the Joining?" Wynne looked at her closely when she didn't react. "Are you alright, Lenya?"

_Oh, she even remembers my name..._"Y-yes, everything is okay. Just a long day," she muttered, feeling slightly confused.

The mage smiled and gazed at her blood-covered frame. "I can see that. Come with me to my tent. You can clean yourself up a bit there." Wynne shook her head. "My, Duncan is really impatient today, not even giving his recruits the chance to get rid of the darkspawn blood before the Joining."

Without giving it much thought, Lenya followed the woman to her tent. "How do you know this is darkspawn blood?" She inquired, mildly surprised.

"I might be old, my dear, but I'm not stupid. The color, the...pooh...smell, I've seen it before. Or rather, I fought against them. Not a whole group like you most likely did with the others today, but still, I have killed a few of them myself," she said and went in her tent, only to emerge a few moments later with a huge, white linen cloth soaked with water. "Since you really should go to the Joining soon and I don't want to keep you from it, this will have to suffice for now. I'm sorry." Wynne shrugged apologetically and handed her the prepared cloth.

Lenya stared at the fabric for a moment before actually taking it. The water felt refreshing on her skin and it also helped to feel at least a bit cleaner. She rubbed her face, her arms and legs with it, but winced as it made contact with her belly. Lenya looked down and saw a fresh, shallow but long scratch near her navel. It was an unnoticed and even more unwanted souvenir from one of those filthy creatures. _Damn, this is going to leave another scar..._

Before she could even curse about her own carelessness while fighting, a tiny blue light flickered around the wounded area and magically healed the flesh. When the light vanished, the scratch was no longer visible, nor was the stinging pain present. Lenya nodded gratefully to the mage, who simply smiled in return, as always. "It's okay, dear. Just make sure to not miss the Joining."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare miss so much fun," she remarked caustically. _Why is everyone so eager about it?_

Wynne suddenly pointed to a fast approaching figure in the darkness, and said amusedly, "It seems your personal escort service has arrived as well."

Out of breath, Alistair rested his hands on his knees and bent over to allow his lungs to get more oxygen. "There...you...are. We ...are ...in ...a hurry. The Joining."

_Oh great. The puppy found me in the end. _Lenya shrugged and pointed at him. "Obviously, _you're_ the one that's in a hurry. I'm ...not. Well, since I had time to clean myself a bit, let's go, puppy boy." She moved forward, her feelings hidden behind a mask once again. _Never submit..._

Alistair's mouth snapped open, bewildered. "Puppy boy? That isn't even a _proper_ nickname. ...It's embarrassing."

Much to his discomfort, the mage behind him start snickering. "Well, I think it's cute."

He knew this voice. How could he forget? That voice was part of what had been the most embarrassing night of his life so far, and being a person who ended up without trousers on sometimes, this meant something. Since he was blushing up to his ears, he didn't dare turn around, but he could imagine the amused look on the evil mage's wrinkled face.

No way he would face her now and give her that added pleasure. Instead, Alistair focused on catching up with this little, crazy elf who was such a huge part of his misery that day. The only salvation he found was in the thought that the day would be over soon. Fortunately.

Though, with the Joining and war still ahead, he couldn't exactly fathom how fortunate that really was.

.

.

* * *

.

In Alistair's and Lenya's absence, Daveth and Ser Jory couldn't do anything but wait for their return, since Duncan insisted on only starting when both of them were present. "Why is that elven woman always getting special treatment? _She _was the one that ran away, after all," Ser Jory growled, quite displeased.

Daveth shrugged. " So, you quit complaining about the ritual? Good thing you did, because I can't wait to get this over with so I can kick some more ugly, darkspawn butts." His speech trailed off in a hollering laughter, and the knight didn't quite understand how he could laugh at a time like this.

"You- you are not concerned in the slightest about the sacrifices the leader talked about? I have a wife back in Highever with a baby on the way. I can't afford to make such a sacrifice, no matter what that elven brat said."

Even Daveth seemed to have had enough of the man's rambling, and he tried to talk some sense into him. "You saw those creatures today. Maybe all of us will die. But wouldn't you make such a sacrifice if it saved this wife of yours? If I can help stop the Blight, I'm more than willing to make that sacrifice. You fear too much."

Jory's mouth flung open to answer, but he was interrupted by Lenya, who had arrived at that moment. Alistair, however, was nowhere in sight.

"Oh, now I'm an elven brat? Nice one, human. At least you're creative, I'll give you credit for that." She folded her arms and peered up at his larger frame.

Ser Jory felt caught. "How l-long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to hear what you said, obviously." She suddenly began to hate Ser Jory more than Daveth, and considering how much she loathed that grinning idiot, that said a lot. Looking between the grey, stony pillars and the rounded area where they stood, she could see that the Warden leader wasn't around. "Seems like I didn't miss anything, hmm?"

"No, that's because we were waiting for you. We _had_ to..." Ser Jory spat in her direction.

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Ohh, that was _most _kind of you, really."

"Where is that Alistair guy, by the way?" Daveth asked since he hadn't seen him around the Dalish woman as he usually did.

"How should I know, human? Stop looking at me." She grimaced in a disgusted manner. The Warden in question came running up to where they stood, out of breath.

"I'm here," he puffed and tried to catch his breath.

"Oh puppy there you are, I thought you got lost on your way down here. But it seems like you found us." Her sarcastic sing-song voice made Alistair frown.

"Why didn't you wait for me?"

Lenya blinked, confused. "Why should I? You knew _where_ I'd head to. There was no need."

"Rrriiight, forget I asked."

"Already done."

And here he'd been worried about Lenya while he was trying to find her? Seeing her here in her marvelous bitchiness, Alistair suddenly regretted his concern. What a fool he had been to believe there was something beneath the cold demeanor of that woman. A fool who ran across the whole camp to find her in time for the Joining, and that was how she thanked him?

Oh Maker, did she even _know_ that the Joining was the _only _chance for her to survive? And if she knew ...why was she acting like none of this should concern her? It was about her _life_, for Andraste's sake. The more Alistair thought about it, the more this elf confused and angered him. Mostly because it seemed that he was more worried about the outcome of the Joining than the affected person herself.

He straightened up when he heard Duncan's voice. "And so we come to the Joining, at last." With confident steps, the Grey Warden leader walked over to the little stone altar with a silver goblet in his hand. Alistair knew about the contents within the goblet and soon enough the recruits would not only know as well...they would consume it.

_Showtime,_ he thought grimly and walked over to Duncan's side.

Duncan focused his attention on the recruits. "Where you stand now, there is no turning back. You stand where all Grey Wardens once stood. We, the Grey Wardens, were founded during the first Blight, where humanity stood before its extinction..."

Lenya impatiently shifted from one foot to another and inwardly groaned. _Wait, a history lesson? This is why I rushed over here? _She had decided it wasn't worth listening to any further, when a few words permeated her train of thought.

"...and they drank the blood of the darkspawn and mastered their taint."

_What? WHAT-? _Her eyes widened and gleamed with disbelief. "I have to drink..._their_ blood?" Her stomach heaved at those words. She suddenly felt ill. _Very_ ill.

Duncan held her gaze and replied: "Yes, Lenya, this is what makes us into Grey Wardens. It is the source of our power."

"By _drinking _**darkspawn **blood? What a great clan you are..." The tone in her voice fazed from bewilderment to scorn.

He ignored the elf's ranting. "You will understand when you have consumed it. Though, you should all know that not everyone who drinks it will be able to cope with the taint within their body. But your sacrifices won't be for naught, so rest assured."

"Now, _that _is a soothing thought," she mumbled to herself, and again cursed the day where that shem dragged her to this place. And the existence of tainted Tevinter mirrors. _Mostly_ their existence. Standing here having to choose between death by the taint that was already within her or death by drinking darkspawn blood, Lenya began to question the sense in her coming to Ostagar.

_This_ was the cure the shem had promised her? The Dalish suddenly knew why humans were not to be trusted and Duncan was the proof. She heard the puppy Warden murmuring an oh-so-wise and ancient Grey Warden saying but couldn't focus on its words. Only something about "Join us in the shadows where we stand" made its way to her mind.

_No thanks..._

Aside from her general dislike of becoming a Grey Warden now that she had learned of the finer and more secret details of the Joining, she was far too occupied to be able to follow his words. The elf felt the urge to hit herself for actually believing what a shem had told her. Lenya looked at the goblet on the altar and bit her lip.

This wasn't a cure. Not in the least.

"Daveth, step forward." Daveth glanced at her one last time before he leisurely did as he was told, and took the goblet Duncan handed to him. Beside her, Lenya noticed how nervously Ser Jory fidgeted with the palm of his hands and how his feet moved from one to the other, as if he was ready to run away. For the first time since knowing this annoying human, she could actually _understand _his anxiety - because she felt similar. Not that she would ever show it, though.

Her eyes fixed on the goblet as Daveth took a sip. In the seconds that ticked by afterwards, the air grew tense and Lenya barely dared to breathe as she observed the results of Daveth's actions. For a fleeting moment it looked like everything would be fine as Daveth took a few steps back, but then his body cramped and convulsed profusely. He instinctively fought it for a few seconds, but she recognized the fight was futile as the man suddenly hit the ground and stopped moving. It was bizarre, even though she had wished him to drop dead so many times during the day, it was so odd to see him lying there, actually dead. It was like watching her own death scene. How it _could_ end for her as well.

_Another one,_ Alistair shortly lowered his gaze and sighed. He would never get used to this.

"I'm sorry, Daveth," Duncan murmured to Daveth's dead form before he turned to the knight, who was already backing away. "Move forward, Ser Jory."

His voice trembled. "N-no. I can't do this."

The Warden leader approached the man slowly. "There is no turning back." The tone in the shem's voice made her shudder briefly. It was ice cold and calculating.

"I have a wife and a baby in Highever, I can't do this. There is nothing glorious about it." The knight backed away again and eventually unsheathed his huge sword to point it at Duncan.

Although she thought he was a fool for drawing his sword, she never would have expected the events that followed. The Warden shem drew his rounded dagger and with two quick steps and the same amount of parrying Ser Jory's attacks, he was ramming his weapon into the abdomen of the man. Lenya could do nothing but shield her face with one arm to stave off the copious amount of blood splattering in her direction. She numbly watched his limp body sink to the ground.

"I'm sorry, Jory. Though, the Joining is not yet complete." Lenya felt the crazy shem's gaze fall onto her and feelings of enmity and hatred crept to the surface, mixed with utter bewilderment. Too many emotions were swarming her and she could no longer hold them at bay.

"Y-you...killed him," she screamed into his face. She knew what that meant for her - the Dalish was not stupid after all. If she refused to undergo this sick ritual of drinking darkspawn blood, the shem would try to kill her too. The proud, sturdy part of her thought '_well, let him try, he will regret it...',_ but the sensible part of her knew that she wouldn't stand much chance against a shem with so many years of fighting experience.

"It was necessary. I warned him about turning back. When he drew his sword I had no other choice."

"Don't come near me," the elf growled and much to her surprise, the leader actually stopped.

Tentatively, Lenya moved sideways to have more space of her own, while her mind processed the impossible situation she was currently in. The elven woman bit her lip and tried to calm her breathing down, and she eventually spoke. "So, this was the cure you promised me?"

"I'm sorry, there is no other way. In becoming a Grey Warden you will become immune to the taint already burning within you."

"Or a puddle of blood, like that shem," she pointed at Ser Jory's corpse.

"Please Lenya..." It was Alistair who raised his voice now, and their gazes met as she looked over to him. She was startled by the intensity in his big, brown puppy eyes, as if he was pleading to her rational part with just his stare. But her head was filled with too much chaos right now for rational thinking.

Her eyes narrowed after she looked away from him. "So let me get this straight," she repeated more for herself than the two men in front of her. "If I undergo this Joining, the blood of the darkspawn could kill me. If I don't do this, you...will kill me or the taint within will? Great, fate must be laughing at me now."

"This is what I meant when I said that we have to make sacrifices..."

Lenya laughed out loud, bitter and scornful. "Sacrifices? Oh shut up. You have no idea..." Her features contorted to a mask of revulsion, as she took the silver goblet into her tiny hands. "So, this is the only way to save myself, huh? Awesome. I'm just glad I haven't eaten much yet. Ugh." She hesitated a tiny moment longer before she put the cup to her lips and swallowed whatever was in there. 

_Tamlen, here I come,_ was her last thought before her mind and body were immersed in blazing flames.

He couldn't look, he knew he should, but he just didn't have the heart or bravery for it anymore. Not after the other two dead recruits. The moment that the elven woman pressed the goblet to her lips, Alistair closed his eyes and prayed to the Maker. 

When his eyelids fluttered open again, he recognized that she would make it. The process of Joining was different from Daveth's, more like his own. _This_ had been the point when he knew she would make it. _Maker's breath, _he thought with a sigh of relief.

Lenya was in chaos.

Her whole being seemed only to exist for pain and fire. Raw, incoherent pictures and sounds pierced her mind, making the entire, sick process even more torturous. She wanted to scream but her voice appeared lost in all those broken pieces of death and abhorrent creatures before her eyes. There was only agonizing pain left to feel. And at the point when her mind cleared again, but the torture still lasted, she thought she was going to die. Just like the other human before her. The elf hadn't even fully fathomed the thought as suddenly everything stopped, replaced by a peace of mind and easiness.

T_his is how death must be like. Yes I'm dying..._

"Lenya? Leenyaa, come on, wake up!"

But why could she still hear the puppy's annoying voice? She opened her eyes gingerly only to see Alistair's face hovering over her. She shut them again and counted to ten before re-opening them.

He was still there. _Damn._

_Perfect, I'm _**not** _dead. _Lenya didn't know if she should be glad, or if she should curse her strong will to live. Seeing those two stupid faces looming down at her, she opted for the latter.

"Welcome, sister. From now on you are a Grey Warden," Duncan declared solemnly. As he pulled her up from the ground, her body felt limp; there was no strength in her muscles anymore. Every part of her ached and burned, even parts she had no idea _existed_. All she could do was let out a grunt of pain. The Dalish needed a moment or two to steady herself on her wobbly knees again. Through the fog of her mind, she noticed that a strong hand grasped her on the underside of her arm and supported her with this apparently difficult task.

"How do you feel, Lenya?" Alistair asked, with a somewhat knowing smile on his lips.

_What kind of a dumb question is that, for the Creators' sake? _

Still not feeling strong enough to stand fully upright but strong enough for a glare, which she shot in his direction, she answered briefly; "Never. Felt. Better." Her mouth was as dry as dust and tasted worse...-ugh, she didn't even dare to swallow.

Alistair's grin grew wider. "Oh, be careful. Since you're able glare at me again, I may actually believe you."

_Unbelievable! The stupid human is enjoying this._

His amused look faded away. "No, seriously. I'm glad at least you made it. At my Joining we only lost one and that was horrible enough."

Duncan looked at her. "Did you see any images? Because that is what most new Grey Wardens experience during their Joining."

Feeling strong enough now, she roughly whisked the hand that was supporting her away. Apparently it has been the puppy shem's one, for he looked a bit hurt at her action. The elf was just glad that the bath was still ahead. She really felt dirty from the outside and also from the inside. A lot of scrubbing would be required later, that much was for sure. She just didn't know how to get rid of the taste in her mou-

"Lenya?" The leader scrutinized her with an expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

_Oh answer, right._ She shrugged. "Don't know, maybe. I was too busy feeling like I was on fire."

He nodded in comprehension. "I see. Well, you will be able to sense darkspawn soon. All the other things you need to know you will learn in the months ahead. So don't worry."

"Wow, I _just _can't wait." Then Lenya made the mistake of swallowing and she was suddenly aware of _what_ exactly the taste in her mouth _was_.

Remnants of _darkspawn_ blood.

Unbelievably fast, the elf dashed past the two men and behind a pillar to give the plants there some 'special manure'.

Alistair's eyebrow quirked up, and he felt himself caught between compassion and amusement. Compassion, because he knew that it was such dreadful taste, one that she would never be able to forget. Ever. And amusement, well, with her aboard now, Grey Warden life would be most certainly anything _but_ boring.

Wiping her mouth with one hand and looking even paler than before, Lenya drew forward. Upon seeing the way Alistair still beamed in her direction, she growled irascibly. "Don't say a single word, puppy."

At the word 'puppy' Duncan's head shot momentarily in Alistair's direction with an entertained expression on his face.

_A single day of knowing him and she has already given him a rather...suitable nickname. Interesting young lady indeed._

Alistair tried to ignore the stare but couldn't hide that he was blushing slightly.

Lenya sighed in the leader shem's direction. "Is there anything else, or do you simply want to continue watching me vomit my stomach out? Oh how great it is to be a Grey Warden. I'm already enjoying this...as you can see."

Her tone was seeping with bitter and piercing sarcasm, but Duncan thought it was a good thing that she had asked for permission to leave. Albeit in her very special way. "Of course you may rest now, if you want to. Just make sure to be ready for an important meeting with the king tomorrow."

Idiotic shemlen king or not, the elven woman decided not to care anymore. "Whatever." She was more concerned with finding enough water to bathe. Maybe even enough water to drown herself.

Anything that would make the aching stop would be fine.

.

.

* * *

.

She didn't know how or why, but later on in the evening Lenya found herself sitting near the huge fireplace in the middle of the camp. Maybe she was simply seeking the warmth of the fire after her long but much needed bath in the nearly ice-cold water. Or maybe it was because she couldn't sleep while the incoherent but terrible images were still fresh and so deeply burned within her mind. Or maybe it was the flavor of cooked stew, which tortured her nose and her empty, growling stomach.

Maybe it was a bit of everything.

Despite the late hour, the place was still bustling with activity. People were talking and laughing. Lenya guessed that most of them were Grey Wardens and soldiers of the shem king, enjoying what could be the last night of their lives. They weren't sitting far from her, yet they were not paying much attention to the little blond elf in the corner. Mostly because she had previously chased another human away who was brave enough to talk to her. The Dalish was aware that they were eying her like a rare animal when they thought she wouldn't notice. She was not only the new Grey Warden, but she was also a woman and elvish on top of that.

Tiredly, she rubbed her face with both hands, as if she wanted to dispel those dreadful Joining images from her mind. Lenya took a deep breath, the warmth of the flames had indeed a soothing effect on her mind, but they did little to banish the sadness she suddenly felt so keenly inside.

And the Dalish knew why.

She had crossed the line and there was no turning back. Her old life became lost forever at the moment she had put that goblet to her lips. Actually it had been lost a lot earlier - when she had first set step outside the camp of her clan, Lenya should have known that she could never return. This sudden awareness burned deeply in her chest, and she perceptibly missed each and one of her clan. Lenya's gaze fell onto the ring the keeper had given her just moments before she reluctantly had to leave all the people dear to her behind. It happened only a few weeks ago, but sadly to the Dalish it already felt like a lifetime. Like another life, indeed. Her mind wandered off as she continued to stare into the dancing flames before her.

_Before you leave, let your clan embrace you one last time..._

This fragment of memory startled her and she refused to think on it any further, literally willed it away from her thoughts. She had to. Otherwise she would fall to pieces immediately, which was the last thing she could allow herself to do. Not in front of these people, even though they were her new clan now.

_Her new clan,_ Lenya laughed scornfully at this thought. _This_ was no clan; this was just a bunch of idiotic shemlen who stared in awe at her ears because they were pointy. She sighed and her shoulders sunk down to how little she felt at this precise moment.

"Here you go." A bowl of soup was almost shoved into her face. Confused, she looked up to the tall form of the apparently omnipresent puppy named Alistair.

Without waiting for an answer, said Warden prattled on. "You know, even _ice queens_ have to eat something; especially those whose last meal was a sip of darkspawn blood."

Lenya narrowed her eyes. "_What_ did you call me, human?"

Alistair flashed a wicked grin in her direction. "What? Oh that? Nice, isn't it? I thought giving you a nickname of my own was only fair after you gave me one."

He was rewarded with her frustrated groan. "How old are you? Twelve?"

His lips pursed in another boyish smile. "I kneeeew you would like it." Much to her complete and utter bewilderment, the shem plopped himself on a log beside her and seemed to feel comfortable about it. _Idiot..._

"Actually you're more like ten I think," the elf huffed and tried to ignore him. Lenya decided to eat the stew he had given her, even if it was just to silence her grumbling stomach. And since darkspawn blood as a last meal tonight wasn't really an alluring thought, she decided to deal with the overly salty texture of the shemlen soup, rather than eat nothing. The puppy beside her had grown quiet at least, which made it easier to ignore him.

Alistair simply sat beside her and watched her eat. An odd woman, she was. No matter how hungry she was, she would never ask for food. She even struggled to take the bowl he had handed her...despite her obviously growling stomach. He smiled to himself. Well now that she was a Grey Warden, that particular issue wouldn't be so easy to ignore, due to the increasing hunger, which was just _one _of the wonderful traits that came with the successful Joining.

The silence stretched and Lenya had nearly forgotten the human was next to her, letting her mind wander again. Out of nowhere he suddenly spoke again. Unfortunately. "Still, the Joining must have been difficult, so why are you still up, little ice queen?"

She gave no answer beside the sound of her swallowing the stew. Lenya willed herself to not throw the bowl in his direction just to make him shut up because that would have been a waste of food. And she was just too hungry for that.

"It's the images you saw, right?" Alistair noticed how she straightened up at those words and took it as confirmation. "Well, as disturbing as they are, I've been told that at the Joining they are the worst and get better afterwards. Not sure what that means in the times of a Blight, though. Since it only happens once in a couple of hundred years, I can't ask any survivors." His thoughtful expression shifted to a sarcastic one, when he added. "Wow. Aren't _we_ lucky?"

Patience had never been a virtue for Lenya and since all the ignoring didn't seem to drive him away, she turned to him angrily. "Stop acting like you know me just because I joined your stupid clan. I only did that to save myself. Nothing more."

The smile he flashed her irritated her even more. "Aww and I here thought we could be friends now. You know Grey Warden fraternizing and all. We've even exchanged nicknames. What a bummer."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Get lost, puppy. Go and play with your stupid human friends. Or couldn't they endure you? Hmm, I wonder why that is."

Suddenly serious again, Alistair stood up from the log. "Nevertheless, try to find some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day as well. The war is still ahead." With stretching himself and yawning loudly, he successfully destroyed that serious facade all too soon again.

"Whatever," the Dalish muttered after him, but the Warden was already gone. Finally. Still, in his annoying way he was right- she really needed to sleep soon. Otherwise she wouldn't last long on the battlefield and she didn't drink that disgusting stuff only to die tomorrow.

No way.

Sighing, Lenya eventually picked herself up from where she sat and retreated to her tent. Hopefully she was tired enough to be able to block out the pictures from the Joining.

There was so much the new Warden still didn't understand and while she mulled over several things on her way to bed, she completely forgot about the thoughts that had previously weighed so heavily on her mind.


	7. Not so important Warden business

_**A/N: **Yes, Lenya is **meant** to be the moping, human hating brat she is right now. I like my character flawed and let them learning from their mistakes thereof. So yeah, I'm doing this on purpose (she will change in **her** way during the story). _

**Thx to:** Fluid Consciousness for beta reading.

* * *

**Chapter 6: (Not so) important Warden business**

Lenya awoke from a sound and deep sleep - which was rather ironic considering the images of the Joining had haunted her late into the night.

For a split second she even thought the whole Grey Warden story was just a crazy dream she'd had. Though as her eyes focused and she became aware of the blue color of her tent, and as the loud voices of shemlen talking about the war reached her ears she realized that it hadn't been a dream, and was sadly reality. The Dalish groaned as she tentatively got up. It seemed that waking up with a headache was one of the new habits she'd adopted since entering the human world. Drinking darkspawn blood had been icing on the cake of doom.

As she gathered her few belongings to get ready for whatever disaster the day would bring, her gaze fell upon the almost withered white flower pressed between her Dalish armor.

_Right, I almost forgot about that dog. _

After she got dressed the elf decided to visit the ugly yet somehow cute creature before meeting with the foolish shemlen king. What fun it was to be a Grey Warden.

With a sigh, Lenya pulled the flap of her tent aside to step outside, only to regret it moments later. The sun already floated high in the sky and flashed its light in blinding rays in her direction, making her blink and groan almost simultaneously.

Had she really slept that long?

Either way, she needed a moment to get accustomed to it before she turned in the direction of the Mabari kennels. People around her moved about hectically in camp, orders were barked, and the atmosphere seemed tense overall. As much as she tried to ignore it, it was perfectly clear that today was the day the war would take place. Lenya stolidly passed all the frantic humans before she finally reached her appointed destination.

Emotionless and without greeting, she handed the flower to the kennel master, who stood in front of the cage that held the sick dog. "Here's the flower you asked for."

The man blinked and looked down at the plant that had been handed to him, looking slightly confused. "It- it's withered."

Lenya shrugged. "Well it _is _the flower you need, right? I hadn't time to pluck it freshly, human. I was too busy with surviving out there in the Wilds." _And running in circles_.

"Ahh, yes. I'm sorry for being so rude, Grey Warden. Of course you had more important business to attend to. I guess this one will do fine."

The elf scrutinized him, still without visible emotion. _Why is he so friendly all of a sudden? Humans are odd. _"So will the dog be okay now that you have that?"

"It's not a dog, exactly. It's more than that; a Mabari to be exact, my lady," the man corrected her.

"Whatever. Four feet and a muzzle. To me it looks like a dog," she answered, unimpressed.

"Yes indeed, but a Mabari is more than just that," the kennel-master insisted and pointed at the animal within. "A Mabari is far more intelligent than a mere dog. Now that you brought me his medicine, he can get imprinted on you. He has no master, so it's possible." When he saw her puzzled face, he added, "Imprinting means that he will only follow you, and attack whoever or whatever is attacking you. A Mabari is a warhound who specializes in fighting and is loyal to the end."

The Dalish woman inched closer and looked over the fence at the animal that still seemed to be in pain. "Actually, I kind of already have a puppy following me around." Lenya mumbled more to herself than to the man. 

_Not that it's of the intelligent variety. _

Though one word the man had said got her attention, and her eyes grew wide and pleased. "Fighting? Like ripping darkspawn apart?"

The kennel master tried to look unperturbed, but the woman in front of him obviously took great joy in fighting and it kind of ..._disturbed_ him. "Y-yes, my lady. If he's imprinted on you, he'll attack whatever you tell him to. He will protect you, no matter what."

Lenya was pleased. She was already picturing how that cute little doggy of hers- well okay, he was not _that _little- would chase the hell out of that puppy shemlen...and any other shemlen that annoyed her too much. A wry smile played across her features and she made her decision. It seemed to her that possessing one's own personal wardog could be... fun. "Please do so, then." She nodded, and then her brows knitted in confusion. "But...how does this work, anyway?"

The man laughed. "Don't worry about that, Grey Warden. Just come back here once the war is over. In the meantime, do you have a piece of cloth that has your scent?" Lenya's eyes narrowed visibly. "I-I mean for the Mabari. To speed up the process of imprinting, of course," he added hastily.

"I...see." Lenya reached for the little bag fixed to her side and rummaged through it. With her few belongings and rather scant armor there was not much she could spare. She held a tiny piece of linen out and looked at it wistfully. It was a handkerchief Tamlen had once given her. The handkerchief she had held close to herself during the nights at camp on the way to Ostagar, the pain of losing everything had been too much to bear.

Maybe it was time to let go of it.

She didn't need a constant reminder of what had been lost. Not when her heart and mind admonished her so frequently already. "Here." Reluctantly, Lenya handed the cloth to the man and turned on her heel, not looking back.

That dog had better be worth it.

"Th-thanks." The kennel master watched after her, puzzled for a moment. He decided to brew the antidote for the mabari and begin with the imprint.

_She didn't even want the reward for the flower,_ he thought and shook his head.

_Elves are weird, indeed._

_._

_.  
_

* * *

.

Lenya berated herself to stop her impulsive walk, which she eventually did.

Still, she needed a moment to calm down again. It seemed that letting go of that ridiculously tiny piece of cloth had an irritating emotional effect on her. Not that it surprised her much - the handkerchief had been a gift from Tamlen - but she couldn't afford to get mushy about such a little thing. The time would come when she could stop and grieve for him, but not now, when the primal goal was to survive the day.

The day of war.

As Lenya turned around the corner, she once again mused about the irony of being saved from the taint...by being tainted anew in the Joining yesterday. As much as she had wished that she wouldn't survive the process, her strong will to live had proven her wrong.

Now it was simply time to continue. She had to stay strong...if not for herself, then for _him_. She owed Tamlen at least that much. The Dalish didn't know where to go, there was no place she belonged to here at camp; and the puppy hadn't given her any directions on _where_ to actually meet the idiot king. Or _when_.

She sighed.

That was so typical of him, the noisy and annoying human, who acted without thinking at all. She must have done terrible things to make the Creators punish her with such an idiotic companion. Still as bothersome he was, strangely, when he was around her she only felt half as alon- ...Lenya shrugged the thought off, irked with herself.

"My child, do you want the blessing of the Maker for the war?"

Lenya looked up and was suddenly aware of where her aimless wandering had led her. Before her stood an elder woman in a simple robe who smiled warmly at her, while four huge warrior shemlen kneeled down, obviously praying.

Lenya huffed derisively. "There is nothing _your_ god could give to me." Out of the corner of her eye, Lenya saw how the priest turned red with anger and heard how she muttered words like 'blasphemer' and 'impudent elf', and it amused her greatly.

Though Lenya only spoke the truth, it appeared to be a touchy topic for humans. Why should she pretend to believe in a shemlen god? Just to please them? She wasn't one of those flat ears, after all. 

Once the elf had put enough space between her and the strange human religion, she looked around, unsure of what to do next. Neither the leader nor the puppy shem were to be seen anywhere, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it was somewhat weird. She had become so used to being pushed and pulled around by them in the past few days that freedom felt foreign to the Dalish.

She still expected them to pop up out of nowhere any minute. _Ugh_. But instead there were only unfamiliar faces passing her by, now greeting her politely with 'my lady' or 'Grey Warden' – where they hadn't regarded her at all the day before. Funny how much difference a sip of darkspawn blood can make in their view of her.

Humans were so predictable...and pathetic.

.

.

* * *

.

While pouring over the busy and crowded place, Lenya picked out a familiar face after all. Well, sort of. The quartermaster who had become acquainted with her daggers not long ago stood at his usual post and tried to look busy. Lenya searched in her bag for money, but much to her dismay she only found a few coins. Apparently darkspawn weren't the wealthiest creatures in Ferelden, but she was at least able to loot a few silver from their corpses.

And the man would surely give her a discount if she asked nicely, right?

With a honey-sweet smile on her lips she approached the merchant. "Hello."

"Ack," was all the man was able to articulate as he gaped at his own personal nightmare standing before him. "W-what do you want?" He tried to hide his fear, but failed miserably.

"You are a merchant, right? Merchants sell things. I have money..." Lenya pronounced each word slowly and deliberately, much the same as she would were she speaking with a child.

Pointing out the obvious didn't do much in quelling the merchant's discomfort. "O-of c-course, my lady. What can I offer y-you?"

Half-smiling at the shem's frightened reaction, she looked over the goods he had displayed near his carriage. She wasn't sure what to get, but _anything_ that helped her to survive the day would be fine. After some quiet contemplation - which made the man only more nervous - something caught her eye. "This sword, here," she pointed at a common, but well crafted, one-handed iron broadsword.

"S-sword?" the man repeated, as if he needed time for the request to sink in. "Y-yes. That is indeed a good choice." Reluctantly he handed her the weapon, his hands shaking.

Lenya tested the weight of the sword in her hand, unsure of which hand to take it in. It was definitely heavier than her dagger, but not too heavy for her right hand to wield. She unsheathed the other dagger and tried to wield it together with the sword. It was odd and she felt a bit clumsy with the unfamiliar weapon in the other hand, but all in all it worked. She would have better reach in battle when armed with a sword rather than only her daggers. Also, for a shem weapon this was decently crafted and balanced. Nothing could match the crafting her people produced, of course, but it met her current need for pointy things.

Contented, the elf glanced up from her appraisal, only to be met with a pale human face, ridden with sweat. She smiled. _Seems like getting a discount will be easy. _

"I want this. How much?"

He swallowed. "T-Together with the fitting sheath...forty silver."

Lenya held his gaze, unflinching. "I'll give you...uhh... fifteen. That's it."

"WHAT? That's a rip off..."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm a Grey Warden now, human. Selling this sword to me might save your filthy life. So it's time for a massive discount, don't you think?" It wasn't actually a question - it sounded more like a threat, which was exactly how the Dalish had intended it to sound. Seeing as the human had become even paler than before, it had the desired effect. "Fifteen. That's my last offer." To emphasize her words, Lenya started to stare him down.

"Isn't that sword a bit too big for tiny ice queens?" She knew that amused voice. She didn't even need to turn around. In fact, said voice raised her hackles and made her groan almost simultaneously.

Alistair came to her side and grinned. "Yes, I'm pleased to see you too." He craned his neck and recognized the nervous and sweating man in front of her. "I see you've learned your lesson. Now we're only threatening merchants with _words_, are we? Now _that's_ progress."

"Mind your own business, would you?" She hissed at Alistair without breaking eye contact with the merchant. "Fifteen." She repeated in the man's direction. "I killed a lot darkspawn for this amount."

Regardless of the staring contest she was having with the merchant, Alistair rambled on. "I was just walking by and got curious about what women like to shop for. Obviously swords are on the list of favorites. Well, at least on yours. ...He doesn't have cheese, does he?"

Lenya did what she did best since she'd met the human; she ignored him. Instead she focused on getting her intended discount. "Or maybe I should take it for free? After all you have insulted a _Grey Warden_. Not good for business. Especially when a war with _darkspawn _draws near." The corner of her mouth quirked up to a menacing smirk, and her eyes sparkled darkly.

Alistair heard the merchant swallow hard and could fully understand his reaction. That woman could be scary at times...

"J- just take it, would you?" He said between gritted teeth. "I can't believe I got ripped off by an elf."

Pleased, Lenya took the sword and sheath from the trembling hands of the merchant. Instantly her expression shifted from dark to happy. "Most kind of you to support the Grey Wardens for free." Then she turned to Alistair. "See, I got my discount!"

Alistair raised an eyebrow, but couldn't hide the amusement in his voice. "Discount? You rather robbed him..."

"Whatever. I got my sword and that is what counts." Proudly she observed her new, beloved object.

He gazed at her suspiciously while she whirled her new weapon around. "So you _really_ like swords, huh? Wow. That's...uh... nice." _And here I thought women were more into jewelery... _

Lenya stopped her practice and smiled. "I love the weight of steel and iron in my hand. This one is heavier than the ones I know but that's fine."

_Humans can't handle ironbark after all_, she thought wistfully.

Absentmindedly, the elf stared at the silver blade. "In my clan it's more common to use the bow to fight and hunt, not swords or daggers. Because bows are thought to be more graceful and fitting; the Vir Bor'Assan – the way of the bow ... but I never understood why. The way you learn to wield it matters, and this can be graceful too." Her expression changed to an almost melancholic one."...And where that is concerned, I learned from the best."

Alistair's mouth hung open for a moment. He was baffled to hear so many words out of her mouth and to see her...actually _smiling_. Only, the fact that talking about swords elicited such a happy reaction from her disturbed him a bit.

"Besides...it helps to kill things faster," she added with a dark scowl, now looking at him.

_Okay, it is more than a _bit _disturbing._

"I see," he managed to say and made a mental note to never make her angry. The more the Warden learned about her, the odder the elven woman seemed to be. Which didn't make her any less interesting in a bizarre, 'I love to kill' way. Yet Alistair had the feeling that there was more behind the ruthless, crazy attitude.

Or at least he hoped so.

Being a Grey Warden just like he was meant he would most likely spend more time with her. Duncan had said that he'd be training her after the war himself. But Alistair just couldn't decide if more time near her unpredictability was a good thing or not...

Lenya's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "So puppy, haven't you got better things to do than annoy me?"

Alistair gave her a wry smile. "To be honest? No. Duncan is preparing our brethren for the fight and he sent me to get you for the meeting with the king." He was momentarily distracted by the thick clouds which had begun to cover the sun, and he looked up." -Uhh, look at the sky, seems like a thunderstorm will be here soon. How very fitting for the battle huh? Really, nothing can come close to fighting darkspawn while the rain is soaking through every pore of your armor. ...Lovely. "

She stared at him, one eyebrow raised. "Why does that shem always send _you_ to get me? Are you the only Grey Warden around? It's odd." The Dalish paused a moment before she added. "Or does he send you on errands because you are so _disposable_?"

He clutched his hand over his heart and feigned a hit. "Ouch, that hurt, lady. No really, as I said, I _was_ responsible for the recruits..." Alistair's face darkened at the thought of the two men they'd lost." ...and since you are the last recruit of the three – and now the latest Grey Warden – the task fell to me today."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Oh, _just_ wonderful."

Alistair laughed at her blunt way of showing her annoyance. "Yeah, isn't it? Just wait until those wonderful tasks are passed on to you; though first we should try to survive the day."

"I agree with that. I didn't drink this disgusting stuff just to die today." She said, her tone determined and a bit forward.

Another smile. "Good to hear. So, ready for the meeting now?" Alistair had already started moving in the intended direction, but when Lenya didn't follow him, he stopped.

She pursed her lips. "No. I haven't eaten a thing yet. I'm really hungry. Stupid king can wait."

Alistair couldn't decide whether to find her behavior cute or childish. At that moment he opted for the latter, so he sighed. "Unfortunately, that's _not _the way things work. It's more like: the king calls and we come. That's why we're here in Ostagar. The king has summoned us – the Grey Wardens. Besides, if you make the king wait, then bad things will happen. He'll start to cry and stomp his feet on the ground and believe me...you _don't_ want to see _that._"

He smiled in her direction. "It's not like the war will start immediately after the meeting. We'll probably have five minutes afterwards, I suppose. So I'll get you something to eat once the meeting is over. I promise."

"Are you done now? Alright, let's go then, human. If the idiot shem king wants to play war, he better be good at it."

Suddenly remembering the blind enthusiasm the foolish king showed on that one evening, Lenya didn't have much hope of that.


	8. Calm before the storm

_**A/N:** Thanks to Fluid Consciousness for the beta read of this chapter. You rock._

* * *

**Chapter 7: Calm before the storm**

**.  
**

"Okay, where do we meet the human king and why do _I_ have to attend the meeting at all? I've only been a Grey Warden for a day; it doesn't make any sense..."

Lenya was_ not_ pleased with having to skip her meal just to see the shem king again.

Alistair's brows knit and he slowed his pace in order to face her. "Well, I actually hadn't thought about it to be honest...maybe because we'll get some cake, and since there isn't enough cake for _every_ Grey Warden, we're the only ones invited besides Duncan?" He grinned at Lenya, but she only responded with a frown and a growl. She was growing increasingly frustrated. "Not funny? Aww, I was just trying to lighten your bad mood, ice queen."

"Can't you _ever give _a _simple_ answer?" Fed up by his antics, the elf sped up her pace and passed him by despite not knowing where she actually had to go.

"Alright, then here's the serious version." Alistair sighed and cleared his throat. "I was told by Duncan that we should meet his Majesty at the north side of camp – to discuss a special strategy. I just hope he doesn't intend to keep us off the front lines," he murmured, then added thoughtfully. "Oh and Teryn Loghain will be there too."

The Dalish woman rolled her eyes, her tone seeping with sarcasm. "Special strategy? Now, _that_ makes me feel _really_ special_._ Anyway, why should I care about that shem?" She added, while moving more slowly to give him the lead again.

"You mean Loghain? Right, you probably haven't heard of him, eh?" He turned to face her and saw that she simply arched an eyebrow by way of reply. "Okay, I'll take that as a no. Teryn Loghain is Ferelden's war hero and an exceptional strategist. He will most likely be the key to the war today. With him on board, we can't lose," he said and tried to give weight to his words with exaggerated gestures.

"Oh wow." Lenya said flatly, obviously not sharing his enthusiasm. "Well, he better be_,_ because that king looked anything but strategically savvy to me. He seemed more... like an idiot."

Alistair stopped and something inside of him snapped. "Maker, woman, you are _never _satisfied with _anything_, are you?" He shiik his head, frustrated. She was asking him to answer her more seriously, but refused to do so herself. Or had she been serious about what she'd said about the king? When it came to Lenya it was _really_ hard to tell, if not impossible.

Lenya stopped as well, a bit baffled, yet trying not to show it. That he responded more seriously and actually _sounded_ annoyed was something the Dalish woman hadn't experienced so far. "If I could get something to eat...maybe I would..." she answered honestly, even though she knew his question had been more rhetorical.

_Oh, so hunger is to blame for her foul mood? _

He knew how dreadful that could be, especially so shortly after the Joining_. _Alistair couldn't suppress the laugh, which bubbled up in his throat. "Fair enough. Maybe if we're lucky, there'll be cake for real." Her head snapped at him, glaring; which made him raise his hands defensively.

"Hey, I'm just saying."

It wasn't really a long walk. Just through the main camp and a few turns left, actually. But when Alistair decided to start humming a melody that was as off-key as _possible_ after they had stopped talking, it felt like _days_ to Lenya; torturous, _ear-bleeding_ days. _Never_ had she cursed the fact that her ears were more refined than humans except in those long drawn out minutes.

She swore that if they didn't reach the meeting point soon, she wouldn't be able to refrain from stabbing him in the back. Thankfully they arrived at their destination. The load, discussing voices that came from the humans in front of her were _soothing_ in comparison.

"Loghain, this is my final decision. I will fight alongside the Wardens in this war." She recognized the blond shem in this shiny armor. It was the king, heavily gesturing to another ...older human beside him. Obviously engaged in what appeared to be an argument, they had yet to notice their arrival. Alistair threw a confused glance over to Duncan, who just shortly nodded in return.

"You risk too much, Your Majesty. Think of your country. Your duty is too important and the war too dangerous for you to play hero on the front lines." The older shem's words made sense to Lenya, yet his voice raised her hackles and she felt uncomfortable just _hearing_ it. Almost as much as Alistair's humming. _Almost_. She turned to said Warden and pointed at the man in the heavy silver plate armor. "Is that Loghain?" Now Alistair looked confused and nodded.

"I don't like him," she muttered in a low but assertive tone, eyes narrowed.

"...you shouldn't forget _who_ is king here." Due to her little exchange with Alistair, she missed most of the back and forth between Loghain and the king, only catching the last snippets of it.

_Seems like the oh-so-nice boy king is baring his teeth now to get his way._

Lenya wondered if he would start to stomp his feet on the ground to make himself clearer. She wouldn't be surprised.

Loghain covered his face with his armored hand, seemingly vexed. "I'm just glad that your father Maric isn't around to endure your talk. The Orlesians have enslaved us for a century, have you already forgotten that, Cailan? This thing you're fighting for is a fool notion."

_Oh, shut up._

Those words ran through her mind while she listened to the shem. Not surprising to the elf, she still stood waiting for them as unnoticed as air, wasting her time when there were much _more _interesting things she could be doing in the meanwhile. Testing her new sword, for example. Or eating. Trying to get an even _better_ discount from the scared merchant. She smirked.

But most of all; _eating_. By the Elvhenan, she was _so_ hungry that even the herbs growing on the side of the ruin looked _appetizing _to her.

"So since we're not waiting for reinforcements from the Orlesians, then our troops will have to suffice, right?" A complacent smile played upon Cailan's features as he said this. Frustration etched into Loghain's face, but only briefly. It was so brief that Lenya couldn't tell if it was just her imagination - which was as bored as the rest of her. She'd even toyed with the thought of singing in order to be recognized, but then the shem king finally turned around. To face Duncan of course, but it was a start.

"Are your people ready for the war, Duncan?"

Duncan nodded briefly. "They are, your majesty. They are."

Then the king turned to her. _By the Creators, after an eternity he finally decided I'm worth of his attention. I'm so lucky_. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at this thought. "And you are the recruit I met a few days ago, right? I think congratulations are in order."

"Thank you. I'm so unbelievably happy. I think I am the happiest person in the world right now." Everyone with at least one functioning ear could easily tell that the tone in her voice was more than just a little sarcastic. It was nearly derogatory. Duncan let loose a dissatisfied groan and looked at her sharply. This was easy to ignore for the Dalish – though the same could not be said for Loghain…and the way he looked at her…Lenya knew that look; she had seen it many times before in the faces of the shemlen these past few days. It was the _'what- do- you- want- inferior-elf'_ – look, and seeing it carved into Loghain's face gave her the creeps.

No, she _really _couldn't stand him.

Cailan's harrumphing broke the awkward silence. "Well, you _should_ be honored that you have joined their ranks, because every Grey Warden is needed now."

Loghain sighed exaggeratedly. "Your tendency for glory and tales will be your downfall, Cailan. We should concentrate on reality."

The king shrugged, his golden shoulder plates clinked with the movement. "Fine, the strategy then. Speak your mind, Loghain. The Grey Wardens and I will draw the darkspawn's attention by charging our lines. Then what?" He looked at the Teryn. Together they walked over to the table where a map had been lain out and they bent over it.

"It's simple, really. My men will remain under cover, and once the nearby beacon has been lit it will signal us to charge," Loghain explained and pointed to the strategy map.

Lenya sighed.

It was nice that both of these humans spent such happy bonding time together and discussed..._whatever_ they were discussing, but the Dalish was slowly losing her patience. Which hadn't been in abundance to begin with - but after standing there for another couple of minutes she really grew annoyed. Why must humans _always _talk so much? Her hunger was so distracting that it made it difficult to follow their discussion any longer.

"To flank the darkspawn, yes. Lighting the beacon? It's in the tower of Ishal, if I remember correctly. Who should do this task?" Cailan asked, while still bent over the map.

_Tasty meat..._

The Teryn looked up and directly at Cailan. "It's not a difficult task, but a vital one. We must be sure that the beacon is lit at the right time."

_with fresh herbs..._

"Alright, then send Alistair and the new Warden to the tower of Ishal to light the beacon. That way we can be sure that it gets done."

_and bread...WHAT? New Warden? _Lenya was dragged out of her food dream when she heard her name...or sort of.

She looked up at the king, confusion marring her features. "Err...just to make this clear, shemlen: you want me to walk up a tower …to light a fire? ...With _him_?" She pointed at Alistair. "_This_ is your special strategy? Wow."

Before Cailan could say anything, Duncan intervened. "Lenya, have you been listening _at all_? This is a vital task that needs to be done and if the king says you both need to do this, then you _will_ do it. Are we clear?" He threw her a warning look but the elven woman was unimpressed.

Something inside of Lenya snapped, which made her willing to confront the leader. She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. "Why don't you send Alistair alone? He's always doing stupid errands like that..."

"Hey!" Alistair shouted indignantly. "Although, I have to agree I'm not happy that you plan to keep us off the front lines. Also I don't get why you need _two_ Wardens to hold a _...torch?_ That doesn't make sense."

Alistair was obviously upset, his voice louder than usual. The direction that this whole special tactic discussion had taken was really bothering him. During this whole time, the one thing he wanted more than anything was to fight alongside Duncan and his brethren. And this desire had been destroyed by not only Duncan, but the king himself. This was hard to swallow for the normally good-natured man.

"Grey Wardens." Teryn Loghain huffed derisively at the arguing group of Wardens before him and turned to the king, murmuring to him in a low tone. "Just look at this, Cailan. Are they really capable? They are questioning your - and their leader's - decision. This only shows that you trust them far too much, and too easily."

"Enough!" Duncan barked loud enough to silence the two Wardens before him. "Orders have been given. The _king's_ orders, I might add. And BOTH of you will follow them." His stern look left no room for discussion. Alistair looked down, a bit ashamed of his own sudden outburst and Duncan's fierce reaction, while Lenya simply bit her lip, saying nothing. He took a deep breath before turning back to the royal man. "Your Majesty, during the battle you should consider the possibility that the archdemon will show itself..."

"There were no traces of a dragon in the Wilds," Loghain interjected quickly then looked at Duncan. "And even if that were the case, that's what your men are here for, right? Assuming they actually _do _know their place and purpose, of course." His gaze fell upon Lenya, disdain sparked in his eyes." Especially _this_ woman here."

However, upon feeling Loghain's stare burning into her side, the Dalish was only glad to return the favor and glowered back with her own display of burning hatred. Since her arrival this shem had made it all too clear that she was a lower form of life in his eyes. The few times that the human had regarded her at all were enough for her to recognize that fact, and it made her furious. Since he was standing close to her, Alistair sensed her tension and rested his armored hand upon her arm to keep her from doing stupid things.

Even more stupid things.

She made a face and brushed his hand away, but eventually relaxed a bit again.

Duncan sighed deeply. "Yes, we are here for that, Teyrn...and your Majesty. And I assure you that we will fight with full strength against the darkspawn."

"Good," the king concluded. "Then we'll proceed as planned. The Blight will end here and now. I'm looking forward to this glorious battle." Excited by his own words, Cailan balled his fist in the sky, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Loghain turned away from his king, his expression unreadable as he agreed with him. "Indeed glorious, my king. Glorious for us all."

.

.

* * *

.

"Well, that was...refreshing," Alistair remarked with sarcasm and sighed heavily, as he sat himself down on a log near the perpetually-burning fireplace.

Lenya did the same, though she was unusually quiet. She was just content to be able to sit down and feel the warmth of the flames against her skin after the annoying and loud lecture about responsibility and the Grey Warden code. In some ways it had been even more mind numbing than all of the boring history lessons Hahren Farvel had given put together, and _that _meant something. She wagged her head. Humans really seemed to love talking – even more than the storyteller of her clan, which was... disturbing.

After the moment of unusual tranquility had passed, Lenya looked up to Alistair, who stood before her, and he appeared somewhat sad. His head hung low and his broad shoulders sagged down in a perfect pouting posture.

"Guess you won't be playing war hero today, huh? Well...neither will I. So what..." She shrugged nonchalantly before mentally berating herself for making the comment. She had _actually_ tried to cheer him up. Damn the sad puppy look of that human – she just couldn't stand it. "So, can we eat now?"

That made him smile a bit, though only for a fraction of a second. Alistair was still too distraught about the former events to feel cheery again. Never had he been at the receiving end of Duncan's wrath before, and he knew now why he had been glad about this fact. After Duncan had said what he had needed to say, the leader had returned to his usual calm self and wished them the best for this rather...ridiculous task. His final words before he left echoed in Alistair's mind again.

_Remember that both of you are Grey Wardens now. I expect you to be worthy of that title._

Alistair swore to himself to keep that in mind.

He wanted nothing more than to be a worthy Grey Warden that Duncan could be proud of. Though, with this tiny troublemaker on his side, this task had become much more difficult. He sighed once again before eventually raising his voice. "So lighting a beacon, huh?" The Warden half-smiled at the woman. "Not the most glorious task but one that must be done."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Yes, Duncan already explained that... in far too many words."

Now his smile grew bigger. "True. But you weren't _entirely_ innocent in getting us lectured. You really like...trouble, don't you?"

The Dalish pursed her lips, her expression defiant. "No, I just don't like to be pushed around, or to be treated as a lower being – just because I'm elven."

This statement only caused Alistair to tilt his head and his eyes blinked in confusion. "_Who_ said that? We've never seen you in that way!"._...Or had he? _No, thinking back, Alistair was sure that he had never looked down on her because of her origin. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn't even _thought_ about it. Not only because every human that treated her poorly would have had a taste of her daggers all too soon – like that merchant – but also because it was simple common sense. At least for him.

Then her agitated reaction toward Loghain came back to him and realization dawned in him. "You are still upset about the meeting with the king and the Teyrn, right? I guess nobles aren't quite accustomed to someone that talks back at them in such a vehement and stubborn way." He snickered, actually amused now. "So it had nothing to do with you being a Dalish."

_Nor does it matter to me. A Grey Warden is a Grey Warden and a crazy woman is crazy, independent from her race. _

His grin flourished a bit more at this thought.

Lenya turned away from him. "Like I care," she huffed flatly.

The humor in Alistair's face slowly faded again. "You make it really difficult to like you. You know that?"

"I never told you to like me, human. So don't act like we're friends. We are not," Lenya stated as a matter of fact.

_Alright, the ice queen is back in camp._ "Hmm..." Alistair started, an impish expression graced his features "...and yet you're _here _and skipping out on the run and hide part, which you loved to do so much earlier. I really appreciate that, though. It would be hard to find you later in between all those darkspawn."

"I'm just here because you promised me something to eat." As if her stomach wanted to put emphasis on her words, it growled at that moment.

"Now that's one thing you haven't forgotten about, even through all your other complaints." Alistair laughed, raising one eyebrow. "I know the hunger can be annoying. You'll get used to it. Hopefully." In one swift motion he rose from his seat. "Just wait here and I'll see what I can get. _Don't_ run away. Think of the darkspawn," the Warden added in a half mocking fashion before he turned to leave.

Lenya didn't have any intentions of moving at all, so she simply watched him disappear into the crowd. A cold breeze rushed around her small form and she shivered despite the warmth of the fire. She embraced herself and rubbed the naked part of her arms above her leather gloves to warm herself up. The Dalish woman wasn't normally someone who got cold easily, but the wind had become harsh in the past hours.

It was unusually cold today, as if the Creators were aware that the place where she sat would be covered in blood in just a few hours. Lenya sighed and rested her chin in her hands. A week ago she was still hunting in the woods with Tamlen and blissfully unaware of the world and war outside the borders of her clan. And now she was right in the middle of all this chaos, and it would become worse once the horde of darkspawn charged. Lenya felt like she'd been thrown to the wolves. It was all too much, and she'd had no time to adapt to her so-called new life.

She startled up upon hearing Alistair's voice, whose head was pointed toward the sky as he spoke.

"Greeeat, the clouds are growing thicker by the minute. We _really_ will have fitting weather for the war, huh? Well at least we won't be freezing when we light the fire for the beacon. Should be warm and cozy after that. At least that's _something_ positive about the whole 'don't-fight-along-us'- thing." Then with a grin he turned to the elven woman and added in a cheery voice. "I'm baaaack. Did you miss me?"

Lenya let out a displeased groan as her answer. "I'll take that as a yes, because I brought food. It's not cheese – sadly – but in times of war you need to grab anything you can...and run. Rule number two. Just directly after the rule describing the part where you should try to stay alive. Here..."

With a contented smile, Alistair handed her a plate overloaded with bread, and pieces of dried meat on it. "This is called 'the Joining' ration. Hope it will sate your hunger a bit. Aaaand I was even able to talk someone out of eating the remaining stew, so _this_ is an added plus." After the plate, he handed her a bowl with steaming soup in it.

She blinked, profoundly confused, before regaining her composure again. "So... you annoyed people to get all of this food? Wow, you must be really good at that."

"Well, that's not how I would describe it...but yes," he admitted eventually. Lenya began to eat, but the human continued to stand in front of her, watching her as she ate. She scrutinized him for a moment and found it quite amusing that he so greatly resembled a puppy that was wagging its tail excitedly and waiting to be praised.

"What?" she asked when he still hadn't moved.

Alistair shrugged. "Nothing. I was just wondering if you know this little word which expresses gratitude for things done. Guess you don't." With that he slowly returned to his place on the log and concentrated on his own, smaller ration.

After she had hungrily chewed the first bit of bread and meat, Lenya raised her voice, her mouth still half-filled with food. "Well you promised, so I won't say thanks... exactly. Anyway, when do we have to go and light this stupid beacon?"

"Wow, that's almost a thanks." He laughed. "When it gets dark...well, even more dark. A horn will signal our departure. So don't worry. Anyway, there's quite a commotion around us here. I feel really stupid sitting around here and waiting."

"I like it," the elf admitted while chewing on another piece of bread. "But it's obviously the calm before the storm...there's this tension in the air that I only feel when I'm on a hunt." Lenya paused a while to contemplate her words and to took a sip of the still unidentifiable stew, just to make a face afterwards. "Eeew. Why do humans always put so much spice in their food to the point where it only tastes like salt?"

Alistair shrugged. "Well, that has nothing to do with human cuisine, just with Ferelden cooking. The way we cook is ….different here. I assume despite living in Ferelden you are used to different food?"

"Yes, I'm used to food where I know what the ingredients are." She frowned and pointed at the bowl. "What's in there anyway?"

"Well to be honest, I actually don't know." A grin sneaked into his features. "This is what makes Ferelden cuisine so special: We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook it for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. As soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing, that's when we know it's done."

Lenya scowled at him. "That explains a _lot_; especially this indefinable texture."

"Oh, so you don't want it? You can still give it..."

"No, no I'll eat it," she interrupted him quickly. "I can't believe I've already become so desperate for food. Damn this hunger..." With another sigh, the Dalish returned to the seemingly unending task of satiating the appetite within her.

Alistair snickered quietly at her reaction. "You'll get used to it. And not all food is bad here. Cheese, for example, is amazing."

He fell silent afterwards, tilted his head slightly as he stole a glance over at the elvish troublemaker, who downed the stew with such an irked face that it made him smile.

_Maybe she is not that bad_ _as thought._

After all, she could carry a normal conversation...when she _wanted_ to.

The rest of their meal was spent in pleasant silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. For Lenya the quietness was a nice change of pace, in direct contrast to the hectic movements of the humans surrounding them, which she mostly tried to ignore.

The chaos would come soon enough.


	9. Thrown to the wolves

_**A/N:** I suck in writing fighting scenes. Never done that before, so forgive if it's repetitive or left out *harrumph* __Once again many thanks to Fluid Consciousness for the beta read of this chapter *heart*_

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters of DA:O, just Lenya is the own creation of my mind ...and my prrreeecious :D_

_Chapter got newly edited in July 2011, to make it more fitting to the vision and style, I now have from and in the story.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 8: Thrown to the wolves**

.

"Lenya...oh thank the Maker, you're _here_," Alistair said, slightly agitated, as he barged into her tent. After their meal, each of them had returned to their tents to rest and prepare for the upcoming task.

"What?" she blinked confused. "Don't panic, puppy. I was just collecting some things that I needed. I don't think this tent will survive the battle." Calmly, she sheathed her sword and dagger on her back and packed the rest of her belongings, as well as some healing potions from the mage's chest in her tiny bag.

Just in case.

"We have to leave. Now. They've sounded the horn. We need to go to the tower of Ishal and light the beacon." He motioned for her to hurry, and only stopped as the Dalish shot him a glare.

"Alright, lead the way then, since you're so eager to do so. But you'll be sorry if we start running around in circles again."

"I know where we have to go, I swear!" Alistair tried to reassure her, and was the first to leave the tent." Holy Maker...it wasn't like this before." As soon as Lenya left her dry and warm tent, she immediately realized what Alistair was cursing about. A harsh wind lashed against her face, accompanied by heavy rain and thunder, causing her to shiver violently. The storm had reached Ostagar at the same time as the approaching darkspawn horde. 

_How very fitting,_ the Dalish thought dryly, as she followed the shem through the archway. She almost ran into him when he suddenly stopped.

"It begins..." he muttered, his voice shaking. "They are _everywhere_...I can _feel_ it." Lenya didn't need to ask what or whom he meant; she already knew. She could feel it too, not the darkspawn like Alistair – not yet – but the earthshaking vibrations, the thick tension in the air and the sickening drumming beat of an approaching army of death. Men ran past them and almost _into_ them, they were so focused on reaching the battlefield that they were unable to take note of their surroundings.

"Come on, we have to get moving," Alistair yelled against the torrential rain and clapping thunder.

They reached the long bridge and Lenya felt her heart sinking lower at the sight. They were in the center of the battle, or rather, above it. She could clearly hear the clanging of swords, the screaming of charging men …and the death cries of those beneath them.

The thunderstorm appeared to have gained strength in the past few minutes, the thunder growled overhead, while the lightening eerily illuminated the pitch blackness of the night in short, white streaks of light. While the sky was lit for only a fraction of a second, it was enough time for Lenya to take in her surroundings and she was able to discern the distinct stench of fire, smoke and...death.

Lenya shot a glance over to Alistair, more to ensure that he was still there than anything else. As much as the Dalish disliked him, she was glad that she wasn't _alone._

Catching his startled expression, he was probably thinking the _same_.

There were a couple of archers fighting on either side of the bridge, firing their arrows into the crowded battlefield. A few soldiers handled the heavy ballistae to fire missiles at the horde. Lenya stormed forward – heedless of Alistair – her sole concern was to leave this terrifying place, leave the battle and death behind her as soon as possible.

Explosions reverberated on her left and right, deafening in their crashing sounds as they ripped away parts of the bridge. The darkspawn horde was returning fire. Suddenly Alistair – who followed close behind her – ran and shoved her roughly to one side and away from where she previously stood. A second later a missile exploded right beside them, and it would have hit the elven woman, had it not been for Alistair's lightening quick reflexes. For a few moments Lenya simply stared at him at a complete loss of what to think or say.

He had just saved her life.

"Don't be so reckless," Alistair yelled, no less shocked himself.

She blinked a few times before her eyes eventually narrowed and her expression hardened once again. She ushered his hand away. "I'm still alive, so let's get going."

Inside, however, her heart was hammering in her chest and her stomach lurched at the thought of dying here. The Dalish could have been dead already and that thought alone made her sick. A silent oath rushed into her head, between ragged breathing and her own frantic heartbeat; Lenya promised herself she would not die here. She wouldn't let such carelessness happen again like she had with the missile, the one that had nearly killed her. Any opponent that dared cross her path would lie dead on the floor.

Everyone but _her_.

She needed to live on. For Tamlen, for her revenge – for her clan.

Finally they left the bridge behind, but she could still hear the thrumming drums, the eerie growling of the darkspawn interspersed with the screaming of humans. It gave her the creeps. As they reached the other side of the bridge, two men dashed toward them.

"You two. You are Grey Wardens, right?" The taller shem in full armor asked.

Lenya crossed her arms, regarding him disdainfully. "Really? Grey Wardens? Now, _that's _news." Alistair looked at her confusedly and then at the men before them.

"The tower...it's under attack. The darkspawn...it's been overrun. I'm a tower guard, but nearly all of our men are dead."

"Guess you weren't successful in guarding the tower then, huh?" Oh the sweet sarcasm, she could always count on it to relieve _some_ of the anxiety that had built up inside of her. The rest of her anxiety would have to be expended by killing a cartload of darkspawn. The tower guard blinked at her in bewilderment.

Alistair deliberately ignored her remark. "Then we have to light the beacon by ourselves."

"Wasn't that the plan all along?" Lenya groaned in annoyance, glancing in Alistair's direction. "Well, seems like our dull task just became a whole lot more ...invigorating. Let's go." She unsheathed her weapons and rushed toward the men without paying them any further mind.

"Wait..., we can come with you." the mage called after her. "We want to help, too. I'm Siru..."

"I don't need to know your name, you're not all that important, at least not in my opinion." Lenya snapped abruptly and turned around. "You want to come with us, shemlen? Fine with me. That way you can keep the darkspawn distracted, so _we_ can kill them. So, as of now, you are meat shield number one, mage shemlen. And you..." She glared at the tower guard, "….are meat shield number two. It raises the chances of my survival, after all. You may even be able to help the puppy survive as well. So go on, keep those darkspawn distracted."

"M-m-meat shield?" The tower guard stuttered in utter disbelief and glanced over to Alistair, who just shrugged in resignation.

"Just don't ask. It's for the better." Although she'd been totally rude to the men, Alistair couldn't ignore the fact that _he_ had been deemed useful in her eyes. At least he wasn't a simple meat shield for her anymore. He was more of an equal fighting partner, seeing as Lenya had used the term 'we'. If there hadn't been the all important task of slaying an entire darkspawn army ahead, he would have taken the time to celebrate this achievement.

Well, sort of.

.

.

* * *

.

Joined together in a group of four, they moved their way up toward the tower, only to find a few men fighting against darkspawn.

Though the remaining soldiers weren't terribly successful, and many painful screams were heard as they fell. Once the darkspawn had slaughtered the soldiers, their attention shifted quickly to the newly arrived group. Instinctively, Alistair took his surroundings in, his muscles tensed and his grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as he gripped the shield in his other hand.

"We have to stick together and fight them while standing side by side. It's the only way we'll be able to take down a bunch at once," Alistair yelled to the party behind him.

Lenya nodded curtly before she took a deep breath and charged into the group of Hurlocks. The creatures didn't last long, because the party had quickly developed an understanding of each other's role in combat. Alistair knocked them down with his shield, which Lenya took advantage of, and the mage cast some spells from a distance to weaken them. With that strategy they made quick work of the monsters all the way up to the door of the tower of Ishal.

Alistair already was about to pass through the entrance when Lenya abruptly stopped and looked at her sword and dagger, a bewildered expression colouring her features.

"Wait, why are my weapons _burning_, exactly?"

The mage cleared his throat. "That was my doing, a lasting magical spell. You won't feel the heat of the blaze even when you have your weapons sheathed. But our opponents... they'll definitely feel the burn..."

Lenya's mouth quirked up. " That's...helpful. Roasted darkspawn. Lovely idea, meat shield number one."

"Err, thanks...I guess."

"Now can we _actually_ go _into_ the tower?" Alistair sighed. "There's still a plethora of darkspawn between us and the beacon...And I plan on slaughtering each and every one of them."

The eyes of the Dalish glistened menacingly in the dark, as she passed her fellow Warden to enter the tower. "Well, make sure you don't make promises you can't keep, puppy."

The entrance of the tower was lit by very few torches, though the huge hall before them was bright enough for them to see the other end of it. Suddenly they saw a shadow moving from one side of the chamber to the other.

When she and her group entered the hall, all of the wooden barricades caught fire. The black smoke made it hard to see or breathe. It was a simple but effective trap, which aided in the darkspawn's attack. It made it difficult, but not impossible, for the party to fight the enemies, though they were always cautious about not venturing too close to the heat of the burning flames. Fortunately there were equal numbers on either side – four against four – therefore the darkspawn's surprise attack did little to hinder the party's progress.

"This is the right way." Alistair pointed to the hallway to his right and started to scamper toward it. "Be careful Lenya while walking here, don't come too close to the burning barricade."

She hurried over to him, mage in tow, and rolled her eyes. "Wow, now _that_ is a helpful tip, _really."_

"Well...there are two doors – left and right – ...so which one should we take?" The man asked the elven Warden.

"I guess it really doesn't matter, because behind each door there will probably be darkspawn waiting for us, right puppy?" She looked back at Alistair who simply nodded.

"Okay then meat shield...you go first and open one of the doors. You'll no doubt find plenty of darkspawn so it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise, right?" Lenya nearly shoved the man in one direction until he eventually gave in to his fate and groped the knob of the door to his left, shaking with fear.

Even before the knob had fully turned, a Hurlock stormed out of the door, apparently wanting to make use of the element of surprise. It failed miserably. The tower guard quickly dodged its attack and Lenya closed in behind him and seized the opportunity to ram her blades deeply into the flesh of the hurlock's chest. The hurlock let out one last snarl before falling into its own pool of blood.

Lenya barged through the door first, fully aware of the opponents lurking in there, ready to attack. She parried each attack that was sent her way with minimal effort, but her luck soon ran out as the force behind one particular blow sent her tumbling back a few steps and she failed to get a steady foot on the slippery ground.

The young woman lost her balance and fell hard on her back. The snarling hurlock stood over her. She cursed her recklessness again, her mind racing through different methods to escape from the enemy. However, in the end, the darkspawn hadn't had a chance to attack. Alistair pummelled the creature away from her with his shield and ran the hurlock through with his sword, killing it instantly. With one swift move, the elf was back on her feet and reclaiming her weapons. She nodded gratefully to Alistair. Together they got rid of the remaining darkspawn, with Lenya even angrier than she had been previously, the ire smouldering in her gut.

" Eww," groaned Lenya, as they had entered the last room of the basement, "...that is disgusting."

She wrinkled her nose and tried not to breathe in too much of the sickening smell, which lingered heavily in the room. The source of the smell was bloody human corpses, body parts wedged onto spikes. Darkspawn seemed to have a weird taste for interior design. Lovely. Not that she pitied what happened to the mutilated shemlen, but the overall picture was just disturbing.

The Dalish looked over her shoulder at her fellow Warden, whose face grew pale at the sight. "Well, you complained before that you wouldn't have the chance to fight, right?"

Alistair averted his eyes from the ghastly scenery. "Yes. But not like this. This is so wrong. The darkspawn shouldn't even be in the tower..."

Lenya's eyebrow quirked up at that. "Then you should tell them that they're in the wrong place."

"Yeah, I'm sure they'll listen to that," he remarked sarcastically. "Anyway, let's keep moving. We need to get to the top of the tower."

"Okay meat shields...you both go ahead and do your job, which is to protect us from the attacks." Once again, Lenya refused to move before the two shemlen were walking ahead of her and Alistair.

"I do not approve of this treatment, nor do I wish to be called a 'meat shield'," the mage scowled at her, eyes narrowed.

"Whatever," the elf muttered, unmoved by the mage's complaint. "As I said, both of you are expendable. So go on. Charge first, ask later."

Alistair sighed, his nerves getting the better of him. "If we had more time, I really would apologize for her rudeness but we still have a job to do. Beacon. Fire. Teryn Loghain awaits the signal." Then he turned and bounded up the stairs, taking the lead. Resignedly, both men eventually passed by Lenya, yet not before cursing under their breath as they did.

"That...woman...is crazy and ruthless," uttered the tower guard, as he gave in to his fate, shaking his head in bewilderment.

"I figured that much out, already," the mage answered, one cautious eye on the woman's movements behind him. If they all wanted to survive, they had to work together, yet this was definitely not the way _he_ would have imagined it happening.

After another floor full of darkspawn they finally reached the stairs to the top of the tower. All took one last breath before they stormed through the door, unsure of what would await them on the other side. All the party knew was that the Warden had warned them of a darkspawn presence, which wasn't really breaking news at that point for Lenya. At least every damn floor in the tower had been swimming with the tainted creatures that she loathed so much. Therefore the Dalish hardly expected to be able to peacefully amble over to the beacon without any problem.

Unfortunately, the elven woman had no idea how right she was in her assumption.

"I-it's huuuge..." the mage yelped and pointed in horror at the ogre that knelt down, feasting upon several corpses. The earth started shaking as it turned around and let loose a bloodcurdling roar. Within seconds it began charging toward them.

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," Lenya screamed into the mage's direction while gripping the hilts of her dual blades so tightly her knuckles turned white. Every fibre of her being tensed.

Alistair hurried to her side and a rush of biochemistry flooded his veins as the warrior within him took over, a well known mixture of adrenaline and fear. "We need to take it out. Stay together," he commanded, before muttering "Oh Maker..." He watched in horror as Lenya did exactly the opposite and started to dash to the side of the ogre, whose attention immediately shifted to the elf.

"Alistair, keep it distracted while I attack its back," she hissed under her breath while she gracefully dodged the monster's attack.

He didn't have time to be surprised at hearing his _actual _name from her lips, as his brain was too occupied by warrior instincts and reflexes. He started his charge against the massive creature. He knew such a bold move would gain its attention, but he hoped it wasn't _too_ bold. Surviving the attack would be great after all.

The mage conjured various spells from a safe distance, though when he called thunder upon the ogre it proved to be quite helpful. The beast was stunned for several moments and Lenya seized this opportunity to ram her dagger in the hollow of its knee with full force, slicing the thick flesh apart. The ogre cried out in pain but didn't fall as she had intended.

Instead, the pain and rage that the ogre felt broke the spell and it lashed out with its hind leg, taking a few steps back. It almost smashed the tower guard, who was fighting at her side._ S_he jumped back and out of the danger zone. Armed with only one of her weapons, Lenya attacked the ogre's flank while dodging its massive arms which repeatedly tried to grab and smash her. If she had to keep up this strenuous pace, the Dalish knew she wouldn't last long – not after having fought a whole tower full of darkspawn.

It was frustrating, really. No matter how often she sliced its flesh with her remaining sword it didn't seem to have an effect. Meat shield shem number two was either dead or playing possum. Which was just as well since the useless mage had run out of mana long ago. That left only her and _him _able to fight. _Just great._ A quick glance over to the puppy showed her that he was doing his best.

Unfortunately it wasn't enough to make this pesky, sturdy and utterly ugly monster fall. Now Lenya was the one who was getting pissed and had begun to ignore the aching in her strained body. She renewed her assault.

Alistair mimicked her moves on the ogre's other side, always making sure not to get crushed under its gigantic heels. As it stomped toward him, the Warden jumped back but had underestimated its claws. The ogre snatched Alistair from where he stood and heaved him up, his shield and sword clattered to the ground. Wide-eyed, Alistair faced the ugly grimace of the ogre, knowing beyond hope that he was unable to escape. He felt the increasing pressure of the ogre's meaty hands circling his waist. He felt several bones cracking beneath the monster's brutal ministrations. It became increasingly difficult to breathe. 

_This is it..._

"NO, YOU DON'T..." Lenya yelled and with her last ounce of strength she violently hacked her sword into the upper half of its leg, causing it to roar in anguish and fall to the ground. Guided by her instincts, when the ogre fell she jumped onto it and was finally able to reach its throat to slit it with her remaining blade.

Fountains of red- black blood splattered into her face and completely covered her small form. The ogre was taken by surprise and let out one last resounding scream before it shuddered and died. Alistair toppled out of its hand and landed roughly on the ground in a pool of blood, which, thankfully, was not his own. He gasped for air, it felt _as though he'd been_ crushed. His splintmail armor hung in tattered pieces from his body and yet he was...alive. _Thank the Maker... _

"Ahhh... – as in ouch," Alistair groaned, feeling as though every part of his body had been bruised. He was still too weak to get up on his own. Lenya stood close to him, bent down at her wobbly knees in a vain attempt at catching her breath. Though she was not exhausted enough to shoot him a knowing look "Don't be reckless, huh?" She mimicked his words from earlier. "Guess we're even now, shem."

"Thank you, Lenya. I seriously thought...oh Maker," Alistair croaked from the ground.

Still out of breath, the Dalish rummaged in her pockets and brought out one of the few magic potions she had and threw it to Alistair. "Drink this. I wouldn't carry your big, bulky ass all the way down afterwards, even if I could. Stupid puppy."

She hated how her voice wavered at the last bit, but she had seen enough death for her taste today. And although he was nothing more than a loud and annoying shemlen, he didn't need to be among the dead now.

Alistair winced as he lifted the little bottle to his lips. Every little motion was downright painful for him. He swallowed the bitter beverage in one swallow and immediately felt it start working, banishing all pain from his body. Just moments later he was strong enough to finally get up again and walk away from the smelly pool of blood. It was the first time that he actually appreciated that Lenya had picked the lock on the chest of the Circle.

Speaking of magic, the mage reappeared from behind the barrels, where he had sought shelter for the rest of the fight.

"Everyone okay?" he asked sheepishly.

Lenya's head snapped in his direction, glaring at him. "Oh look, the unimpressive and unhelpful mage shem is still alive." She looked at Alistair. "Mind if I change that fact?"

"Wait, wait. I'm sorry... but I ran out of lyrium and without it I can't cast spells. And without spells, I'm helpless and would have ended like the man beside you." he pointed at the dead and smashed body of the tower guard.

"At least he did his job." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"He's d-dead," the mage blinked, bewildered by her cold words.

"Yes he was a proper meat shield; unlike you." Without paying any further attention to the utterly stunned mage, Lenya turned back to Alistair. "Now light the damn fire, I want to get out of here."

"Yes, we better hurry, we must have missed the signal," Alistair said and scurried over to the fireside. "...which tends to happen when you almost get crushed by a giant ogre..." he added smugly. He bent down to light the dry wooden pieces within the beacon. "Yay, done." he exclaimed joyously. "And we're still alive, which is a _huge_ plus for me."

"Sooo, puppy what do we do now? Run in circles until the battle down there is over?" Lenya asked after an unpleasant and awkward silence had fallen over them. She felt like her muscles were on fire, and the Dalish knew that she was in no condition to fight...at least not without a nice long rest. After she had reclaimed and sheathed her discarded weapons again, the elven woman gave in to the need to sit down near the fire.

"Well let's just hope that the plan Loghain had will work, and then the war will be over soon." Alistair smiled and reached out to her with his hand. "Come on get up, this isn't the best place to linger. Dead smelly ogre and all."

Lenya pushed his hand away and got up on her own. As if she ever would need help with _that. _"Loghain, huh? I dislike..."

"Did you hear that?" The mage shem interrupted, his tone fearful. "There's something at the door..." The man went to the door apprehensively to find the source of the sound.

"Impossible, we wiped out all the darksp – " Alistair didn't finish his sentence. Suddenly a huge horde of darkspawn stormed through the door and killed the mage at once, kicking his lifeless body to the side.

It all happened too fast and too sudden for either Warden to understand, and before they could even react, they were shot down by arrows. Lenya tried to fight the blackness that overcame her, to get up and fight for her life but deep inside she knew that this would have been futile and she had no strength for any of it anymore, her whole body was growing so numb. So comfortably _numb_.

Eventually, she would die here along with a human. Not only did this make her angry, but she was also pissed that she couldn't even keep her own simple promise to survive after everything she'd been through.

_I'm sorry, Tamlen._

The darkness enveloped her and she didn't seem to care that the bloodthirsty darkspawn had approached Alistair and her and were about to devour them whole.


	10. Of ashes, guilt and whine

_**A/N:** M__any thanks to Fluid Consciousness for the beta read of this chapter.  
_

_Chapter got newly edited in July 2011, to make it more fitting to the vision and style, I now have from and in the story._

* * *

**Chapter 9: Of ashes, guilt and whine**

.**  
**

It was like a nightmare, but he simply couldn't wake up.

Alistair stood on the edge of the huge swamp and stared blankly into its water.

The water reflected the remaining daylight and his own image, but he paid it no mind. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, and he didn't care. 

_This can't be real..._the numbness and the shock had ceased and were replaced by waves of sharp, agonizing pain. Alistair took a deep breath, his lips trembling from the impact of such torturous emotions. Standing there, still alive and able to breathe…it just felt so _wrong_ to him.

Why was _he_ still alive, when every other Grey Warden was dead? 

_Duncan... _

The thought of his name brought a lump into his throat, and his chest tightened painfully. Eventually a soft sob found its way through his throat to his lips, but it brought no relief.

Deep inside he knew that he needed to stay strong. He was one of the last Grey Wardens, and the Blight in Ferelden was still ahead. But it was just too much to bear right now. He simply couldn't, his head was filled with too much chaos…too much _pain._

_Alone. Alone again. _

Alistair should have been used to it, he'd been alone all of his life – simply leading a bothersome existence in the eyes of others. The first and only person who made him feel like he _wasn't_ alone and who actually appreciated him was now _dead._ The Grey Warden order had quickly become his home and a place where he was accepted for _who_ he was – but now his world and everything he believed in lay in shattered pieces at his feet.

Once again.

Only this time the bitterness seemed too much to swallow. In earlier days he was able to bite back the bitter tide of loneliness. Alistair couldn't do it anymore. A weak, whimpering sound escaped him, and the raw emotion that had bubbled under the surface since he had awoken started to break free. He covered his face with his hands and cried. He cried for all he had lost. He even cried out of shame for being alive.

.

.

* * *

.

As Morrigan was on her way back to the hut, she heard a strange whining sound that didn't belong amongst the familiar noises of the Korcari Wilds.

She approached the source of the sound – only to discover the idiot of a Warden was standing behind tall, thick seaweed…and he was crying like a baby. The witch rolled her eyes and made a loud, annoyed huffing sound. Of course it was _him_ that was whining. It's not like he'd done anything else since he had woken up.

_And here I thought Grey Wardens were great warriors, but apparently those legends are nothing but fairy tales. _

She decided she had seen enough – definitely more than she'd actually wanted – and turned around to go into the hut. An angry, tear-choked voice called after her, causing her to stop.

"Enjoy watching me suffer,_ witch?_" The idiot had noticed her after all.

Morrigan turned around, one eyebrow raised. "You give yourself too much credit, really. I could care less about your sorrow. I actually wonder why mother saved you at all – the elf, now that I understand – but _you_? Not so much."

Normally Alistair would have shot a sharp remark back at her, but he was feeling anything but normal, so he stayed quiet. Yet the tears momentarily stopped their flow as his thoughts shifted to his fellow Warden, who had apparently been saved with him.

He wasn't _all_ alone.

Alistair remembered that she had been hit by more arrows than he, and how she had been the first to fall. He had tried to protect her for as long as he could, but it had all happened so fast…Her injuries must have been far worse than his own, and he was almost certain that she wouldn't survive.

"Will…will Lenya be okay?" Alistair asked, his voice was shaky, but held a hopeful undertone.

"You mean your little Grey Warden friend? Don't worry, there isn't much I can't fix, young man," a voice snickered beside him, startling him.

The old swamp witch had appeared out of nowhere, and was now observing the Warden with some amusement. "Morrigan is going in to treat her wounds now and she will change the bandages once again; so to answer your question, yes, she will be fine..._if _she wakes up."

_How very reassuring,_ Alistair thought bitterly, his eyes fixed on the little hut that Morrigan had disappeared into. 

_Please. Oh Maker, let her be okay._

_._

_.  
_

* * *

.

Lenya was dreaming...or dead. Considering her last unfortunate encounter with the darkspawn she figured it was the latter. But even if this was just a dream, she wouldn't bother to wake up. After all, she saw herself leisurely walking through her well known and beloved woods again – and with Tamlen at her side. Lenya's subconscious whispered to her that it wasn't real – just a faded memory in fact – but she didn't care.

She felt wonderful – free, actually.

Rays of warm sunlight shone through even the thickest branches of trees and danced upon her face. Lenya turned to him, a wicked grin playing across her features.

"I bet I can outrun you..." she heard herself say in a challenging tone and saw her grin bloom wider on her face.

Tamlen kept walking, the dry, wooden carpet of the forest crackling beneath his feet. "Lenya, we are here to hunt," he answered flatly. To give his words more weight, he pointed to the long-bow he was holding.

Lenya feigned a pout at her friend. "Ahh, always the voice of reason. How very boring."

"No I'm not, and you know that...but just think about what will happen if we fail _again_. I'm not in the mood for an hours-long lecture from Favrel or our Keeper about clan responsibilities." He shot her a wry and knowing look.

Lenya grimaced. "Okay, that's a good reason, I admit. They really do talk _way_ too much. It's like listening to water running down a creek after a while, if you ignore the actual words coming out of their mouths."

"I might try that next time, it might make it more tolerable," Tamlen laughed. "Still I have no desire for a repeat. The Keeper is still mad at me for sneaking into her aravhel."

"Thanks for covering up for me, by the way," she grinned and patted her friend playfully on the back.

"It was my pleasure. Though that means you owe me," Tamlen nodded matter of factly. "So let's hunt normally today. No games."

"Normally, huh?" Lenya contemplated the thought for a second before a mischievous smile graced her features. "Yes, alright. And now – " ,she started dashing forward, leaving a puzzled Tamlen behind – "...you have to hunt ME, _lame ass._" The sound of crackling dry wood mixed with her boisterous laughter as the Dalish woman ran away from him.

"Hmm, apparently I have to..." Tamlen's voice was suddenly cold and calculating. Lenya watched as the peaceful dream suddenly morphed into a nightmare. She saw herself attempt to run, yet her feet refused to move. The once friendly, light-filled forest had changed into a dark and eerie thicket. The green, leafy trees had withered away, leaving gnarled branches in their wake.

"...hunt you." Tamlen was suddenly in front of her, his bow strained back with an arrow pointed directly at her. She heard herself cry out in surprise, her lips quivering. "Fear?" The nightmare Tamlen tilted his head, bearing his teeth. His lips curled into a wicked, menacing grin. "That's so unlike you, Lenya. But I like it."

"N-n-n-oo, T-t-tamlen," she stuttered, eyes blinking repeatedly. She wanted to stop him, wanted to defend herself, but she found herself paralyzed.

"And now you'll die, like you should have in the cave. Like I did, when you left me behind to save yourself." With a mad laugh, he loosed his grip and let the arrow fly.

Lenya cried out as the arrow pierced her flesh – and suddenly, she was awake. She blinked, confounded by her surroundings as she found herself sitting upright in someone's bed.

She clutched at the spot that Tamlen's arrow _should_ have hit her...which was where the darkspawn _had_ hit her; but there was neither a wound, nor a simple scar where there should have been. _Why? _Her breathing was ragged, and her heart hammered steadily against her chest. Lenya needed a moment to adjust to her new surroundings. Her mind needed to catch up with her eyes. 

_Why am I not dead?_

"Ahh, you are finally awake." A somewhat familiar voice said.

"I- I had bad dreams," Lenya answered automatically, still too confused to grasp what was going on.

"Apparently so. With all that screaming and lashing around it was nearly impossible to treat your wounds. Are all Grey Wardens such traumatized idiots? Your stupid friend whines all the time, as well." After a sigh the voice added. "Wonderful, Ferelden is doomed, it seems."

Lenya turned her head in the direction of the voice. A familiar face was staring down at her. "M-Morrigan?" The witch's appearance only made her more confused.

"I see you remember my name. I am honored...," Morrigan said in a sarcastic tone.

The elf knitted her brows, bewilderment etched into her features. "Why? Why am I here in the Wilds? I should be lying dead on top of that tower..."

"And you would have, if mother hadn't saved you both," Morrigan chipped in.

"Your...mother saved ...us? Why?" Her eyes grew wide. "Wait, that means _he_ is alive as well?"

"If by 'he' you mean the pathetic, whiny excuse for a Warden – then yes. That idiot was saved as well. Only Mother knows why."

Lenya took a few deep breaths in order to calm her racing mind. Her chin fell against her chest. "Sounds like him," she muttered more to herself than to the witch. When she looked up again, her eyes pleaded with the witch. Dignity was not an option, not when so many questions were spinning round her head. "What happened, Morrigan? I mean, with the war...I don't understand..."

"Ah, the war." Morrigan started, taking a deep breath as well, "... mother can explain it to you a lot better than I can. I've only treated your wounds... – heavy wounds by the way. All I can tell you is that the man who was supposed to respond to your signal retreated and abandoned the battle field. The darkspawn won the battle."

Lenya's confusion shifted to raw anger. _That man...-Loghain._ "Filthy shem! I knew he couldn't be trusted! I _knew_ it..." She spat each word out with utter disgust. The Dalish cursed briefly in her own tongue before she was able to calm down again. "What about the others? The Grey Wardens?" She asked softly, already fearing the answer.

"They are all dead. You and your dim-witted friend are the last Grey Wardens left I fear." Morrigan was telling her all of this without any emotional inflection whatsoever. Still, Lenya felt like she'd been hit by an aravhel. She was too shocked to grasp the meaning of the woman's words. She was only able to continue to stare at the witch, completely dumbfounded.

Morrigan couldn't stand the way the elf was staring at her, so she averted her eyes and turned to leave. "Now that you are up and well, Mother needs to speak with you. So get dressed and meet her outside. My job here is done," she told the Dalish over her shoulder.

"Th-thank you...for everything," Lenya muttered absentmindedly, and the witch simply nodded her acknowledgment before she left.

As soon as the door closed, Lenya let a loose a shaky breath that she didn't remember holding. She buried her head in her hands.

Suddenly she regretted that she'd been saved by Morrigan's mother. Death would have been a more desirable option given the circumstances.

.

.

* * *

Alistair's head shot up. "Was that a scream?" His body tensed. _That was Lenya's voice... _he ascertained quickly. "Yes, that was a scream...By the Maker, what is Morrigan _doing_?"

The old woman cackled, amused by the young man's panic. "You _really_ worry too much. My daughter is doing fine."

"Fine?" Alistair glared at the old woman incredulously. "It isn't _fine_ when my fellow Grey Warden is _screaming._" He forgot about his own distress for a moment and stormed toward the door of the hut...nearly mowing into Morrigan, who was in the midst of leaving.

"Where do you think you are going, fool?" Morrigan's eyes narrowed and she blocked his way to the entrance.

"I- I...what have you _done_?" Alistair yelled, his voice shaking with fury.

"Done?" She laughed disdainfully. "Nothing, you idiot. She had just woken up from a nightmare. Now, out of my way." She roughly shoved him aside. "You Grey Wardens really are a bunch of morons," the witch muttered as she went behind the hut.

"Surely you want your friend to have some time to get herself dressed before you go in there, right?" The old witch asked mockingly.

"D-dressed?" Alistair blinked and stepped away from the door. The tension that had built up within him left his system at once. It was replaced with a bit of relief. 

_She's alive...and okay. _He leaned against the wooden frame of the hut and let out a shaky sigh.

.

.

* * *

"By the Elvhenan! What's with all the commotion out here?" Lenya stepped out of the hut a couple of minutes later, fully clothed in her Dalish armor and her two weapons sheathed on her back.

"Your friend..." Morrigan's mother pointed at Alistair, who still stood beside the door, "...wanted to rush to your rescue when he heard you screaming. It was quite an endearing sight for my old heart." Another laugh followed her words.

"My _friend? _He is not – " Lenya's mouth shut abruptly as Alistair looked at her, his eyes drowning in seemingly endless sorrow.

"Lenya...," his voice was barely above a whisper, "...I- I thought you'd be dead for sure. Thank the Maker you're alive."

The elf had a snarky reply on the tip of her tongue, but the honest and genuine concern in his face startled and confused her, so she remained silent. Before she looked down, Lenya noticed that his eyes were red – he'd been crying.

She had sworn to herself that she'd never ever feel empathy for a shem, but with the nightmare still fresh in her mind and all the different emotions stirring in between – she couldn't help but feel for Alistair. Lenya shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of the bothersome feelings, but it didn't help much.

"I am... – thanks to Morrigan's mother." The Dalish answered in a quiet, quivering tone.

"This...this is like a nightmare. It can't be real. The Grey Wardens...and the king…they're all dead. Duncan..." The Warden's voice broke and he swallowed hard before continuing. "...and we'd be dead too if we hadn't been rescued by Morrigan's mother."

"I'm still here and can hear you, lad," the old woman interrupted.

To Lenya the shem looked as though he'd fall to pieces at any moment. As much fun as it was to annoy him, she didn't feel like beating the already abused puppy right now.

_"Ash'belannar_," Lenya growled angrily and shoved Alistair aside to rush toward the woman. "I think we need to talk."

"Oh, you elves and your elvish names. They're all far too complicated, and they'll only knot my tongue. Call me Flemeth instead – if you need a name at all."

"Flemeth?" Alistair's eyes widened with awe as he approached the older woman. "_The_ Flemeth from the legends? You really are the Witch of the Wilds. And you must be very old and powerful."

"I could care less. What I really want to know is _why_ you saved us?" Lenya glared at the swamp witch.

"Impatient, are we?" Flemeth laughed at the Dalish woman. "I know a few things of magic, and as you can see, it served you both well. Also, I couldn't let all of the Grey Wardens die at once, could I? Someone has to take care of the Blight in Ferelden after all."

"Then...why didn't you save Duncan?" Alistair's voice grew shaky. "He is...was... our leader after all..."

"Sorry, lad, I couldn't. I fear this task lies with the two of you..."

"NO!" Lenya yelled. Both Alistair's and Flemeth's gazes shot in her direction. "By the Elvhenan, NO! I refuse to get dragged into this any further."

"Lenya..." Alistair tried his most reasoning voice but was immediately shot down.

"Don't Lenya me, shem," she yelled, full of rage. "I won't do this. End of story."

Alistair could feel his own anger seething, but he tried to swallow it down. If it was the last thing he did, he swore to himself that he would get her to _understand_. "You _can't _walk away from it. It's a Grey Warden's duty to stop the Blight, and we're the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden right now, so it's _our_ duty. Duncan would have wanted-"

"Duncan, Duncan, Duncan...is he _all _you can talk about?" The ire was pouring out of her mouth, which caused Alistair to frown. "What have the Grey Wardens - or Ferelden - ever done for me, huh?" she continued screaming. "I was ripped away from my clan, from my life! And now you expect me to save all of Ferelden and its filthy shems? By the Creators – NO!"

Maker, he was getting angry now – very angry. The very thought of her waltzing out on the Wardens after having them all die in Ostagar…it was simply too disrespectful to bear. "But becoming a Grey Warden _saved_ you. You're being ridiculous!" Alistair snapped.

"Oh I am, huh? So what?" Lenya's arms were held stiffly at her sides and she glared up at the shem in front of her, green eyes flashing with fury. "New life? Yeah, and what a _wonderful_ new life it is. I love coming _this close_ to death _three_ times in two days! And if you're so eager to play the great Grey Warden hero, then do it _yourself. _Just don't expect me to do the same."

Alistair took a few deep breaths to calm down. "I- I can't. For the love of Andraste, I can't do this on my own, Lenya. I need your help, so _please_ don't leave me now."

Lenya's mouth snapped open and shut, but no sound came out. The Dalish averted her gaze and stared into the water without saying anything.

That she was silent seemed like a huge success to him. Because that meant she would listen. At least, Alistair hoped it did. He continued speaking in the same calm tone. "You were there too, with me. You've seen all the death and destruction the darkspawn brought upon Ostagar. Do you _really_ want this to happen to_ all_ of Ferelden? Don't you want your clan to have a home to return to?" Alistair saw her frowning and he knew that he was finally getting through to her.

"Maker be damned, I'm NOT leaving Ferelden behind. Not when I can do something about it as a Grey Warden. ...I- I just don't know how..." he eventually confessed, his voice tiny. He felt tears threatening to well up again.

Oh, how she hated this shem with all of his unexpected logic, logic that made her waver in her decision. How she hated his whiny, puppy face looking at her expectantly. The very thought of travelling with him at her side for any extended period of time made Lenya sick to her stomach. But, once again she had only two choices - swallow it whole or die miserably. "Isn't this just great..." the elf grumbled.

"Are you done now? I didn't save you both only to have you kill each other. Now both of you be calm or I'll drown you into the swamp until you are." Flemeth said harshly. "You two have to work together to unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. There is no one else that can do this. It really is _that_ simple."

"Oh is that all? Sounds really simple, actually."

Alistair gave her a chiding look but swallowed his remark down. He was just glad that she was back to her old bitchy and sarcastic self. And it pained him to admit it, but in a way she was right. It was indeed a tremendous task for them to shoulder.

"But there's one thing I don't understand," the Warden started, "We...I mean the king, had almost defeated the Blight. _How_ could Loghain retreat and let all those people die?"

"Because he is a filthy shem. A backstabber." Lenya explained, parenthetically. "What else would you expect from them?"

"I-I wouldn't never stab you in the back, just so you know." Alistair assured her.

"Oh, _that__'s_ reassuring," The elf glared at him and added. "...and better for your survival, shem."

"You really do have an opinion on _everything_, don't you? You and Morrigan would get along very well, I think." Flemeth cackled. "To answer your question, Warden, I don't know what Loghain expected. The hearts of men are often thick with dark shadows. Maybe he thought he could spare his own men in order to defeat the Blight later on and earn all the fame and glory. Most likely he is blind to the _real _threat behind the Blight."

"The archdemon..." Alistair said, understanding dawning on him.

Lenya knitted her brows, frustrated. "Okay could someone _please_ explain to me what this archdemon _is_, exactly? I hear archdemon here and archdemon there, and I don't even know what it means!"

"Then let me enlighten you, elf." The old witch said. "An archdemon is one of the old tevinter gods, once sent by the Maker to slumber deep beneath the surface. They only resurface during a Blight. When one does resurface, the old god gets tainted by the darkspawn – making it into an archdemon – and it unites the horde, creating an army of death and destruction. History tells us that this creature is exceptionally powerful and immortal... and only fools ignore history."

"And to end the Blight we must defeat this archdemon. Only a Grey Warden can do it," Alistair added. "Not that I like the idea, exactly..."

"Thank you. I feel _much_ better with _that_ knowledge under my belt." 

_I had to ask, huh?_ Lenya repressed the urge to drown herself in the swamp. This Grey Warden business was getting better and better by the minute.

"Yes, you have huge task ahead of you indeed, of that I have no doubt. Though haven't the Grey Wardens a right to demand help from others in the times of a Blight?" Flemeth asked.

"Of course, the treaties," Alistair exclaimed. "We can demand help from the elves, the mages, dwarves and other places. They are obligated to help us during a Blight."

"You have them...?" Lenya looked up at him expectantly. "Because I…don't. Why would I carry stuff like that around?"

"I... – uuuh – oh Maker..." Alistair blinked as he thought hard. "Yes, I have them," he said after half a minute of silence. "I forgot to give them to Duncan and stuffed them into my bag. I wanted to give them to him after the war but..."

"Oh please don't start crying now..." Lenya sighed and rolled her eyes.

"...for the first time I'm glad for being a scatterbrain – that's what I _wanted_ to _say,_ Lenya." He emphasized the last part and glowered at her.

"Oh...okay. I agree then. Whatever."

"Elves, dwarves, mages – call me old – but to me this sounds like an army, and suitable help for you two to manage to defeat the Blight." Flemeth ascertained with a nod.

Suddenly Alistair's face brightened up and he looked over to his fellow Warden in a pleading way. "Can we do this? Go to all these places to seek help? It's always been the duty of a Grey Warden to stop a Blight, and since we _are_ those Grey Wardens…"

_Oh damn, just quit giving me that puppy face._ Lenya gritted her teeth and pressed out unwillingly, "my first impulse would clearly be to say no...but what choice do I have?" She sighed exasperatedly. "I will _sooo_ regret saying this – but it seems I can't run away from this, and I also can't stand the thought of those filthy darkspawn winning in the end. So yes, we can _try _this. Just don't get overeager, puppy, or I'll toss you into the next swamp I see on the way out of here– head _first_."

"Point. Taken. ...I'm the last person who'll get overeager here, really." Lenya stared icily in his direction by way of reply, making him nervous. "Okay maybe...I _was_ a little bit eager. You are a mean person. A cruel...mean person, you know that, don't you?"

Lenya smiled at him with mock sweetness. "Better get used to it. I'm just trying to stay alive. My sanity trotted off like a Halla as soon as I agreed to this foolish plan. So staying alive seems to be a nice alternative."

"Since you have both agreed on doing this," the old swamp witch interjected, "...I might have something else I can give to you before you leave." And with those words her eyes wandered to Morrigan's approaching (and clueless) form.

.

.


	11. Together alone

_**A/N:** Thanks to Ash for beta-reading this chapter. Chapter 11-16 are still unbeta-d, so there could be grammar errors left. Sorry, it will be corrected in time, however. Enjoy nonetheless. _

_Chapter got newly edited in July 2011, to make it more fitting to the vision and style, I now have from and in the story._

* * *

**Chapter 10: Together alone**

.**  
**

Morrigan always wanted to leave the wilds and see what was beyond their borders.

Though being literally thrown out by her own mother and bound to accompany their temporary guests on their journey was _not_ how she wanted it to happen. Morrigan peered curtly over her shoulder and watched how the two Wardens were following her like stupid little sheep through the sloping landscape of the Korcari wild.

Like two _brooding_ sheep.

Since they had left her mother's hut a little while ago, they haven't spoken a single syllable. Not that it bothered the witch – quite the opposite – but this pensive, tense atmosphere lingering in between them was nearly unbearable. So she did something very uncharacteristic; she raised her voice first.

"It will get dark soon, and we need to be out of the wild then or our journey will be the shortest in the Grey Warden's history, when the darkspawn will find us."

Since she had opened her mouth, that idiot seemed to react, whereas the elf simply walked on behind her. "You know, I myself wonder _why_ you are here at all. It's not that your magic will be helpful outside the wilds. You are an apostate, after all."

How she hated that idiot.

"So only magic approved by that damn chantry is good magic? Last time I checked, this _bad _magic of us apostates saved your pathetic life. Maybe I should simply leave you in the wild then." Morrigan shrugged nonchalantly and sped up her pace.

Lenya's head snapped up and she gleamed angrily at her fellow Warden. "Damn shem. She is here, leading us past the entire horde through the wild, and you have nothing better to do than _complain_ about it? What, by the Creators, is wrong with you?"

Morrigan smirked. _Somehow this elf is... reasonable._

"I-I..." Alistair sighed and hung his head. "I just don't want to draw more attention to us than needed. Who knows where Loghain has his men hiding in wait for us. He is insane, after all. And having an apostate in our group is like wearing a sign that says 'look at me'... or wearing no pants at all. Both have the same effect."

"I don't care if her magic is approved by your stupid human religion. When that magic helps kill darkspawn or men of that filthy shem, she is helpful. So she stays!"

_Very reasonable._

She led them over a bumpy path of the withered, dead roots of trees, far off from the easier but more insecure way. "If it eases your dim-witted mind, Warden, I have already been in Lothering a few times," the witch told him without turning around. "And since the templars don't seem to be the brightest fellows there, I'm not even recognized. Whatever they imagine a witch would look like, it certainly differs from me."

"Oh, I was once a Templar, well almost..." she heard him saying.

Morrigan scoffed. "_That _would explain a lot. Were the Grey Wardens already _that _desperate when they allowed someone like you to join? Or was the chantry just so eager to get rid of you? Unusual case of sanity for them, if so."

"I wasn't chased out, I was taken into the ranks of the Grey Wardens before I could make my final vows. Duncan was the one, who..." His voice broke to a whimper, before he fell completely silent.

The witch only raised an eyebrow on that. "Oh, so you even failed to complete _that_? How I'm so not very surprised. However, we probably won't make it to Lothering today."

Morrigan looked up to the deep afternoon sky, which had started to adopt a faint red color under the thick layer of wilds' mist. "Though, as said, we need to leave the wilds first before we can locate a place to camp." She gazed at Alistair. "You'll have enough time to fall to pieces later. Now we have to speed up the pace."

Morrigan heard that moron of a Warden muttering some incoherent curses under his breath, while the elf seemed to be quite unperturbed of all the things around her. That or she would only speak up when needed. Either way, the Dalish woman appeared far more bearable to the witch than her fellow... idiot.

She always wanted to leave the wilds, but doing so while saving the whole of Ferelden had _not _been her plan.

_Fate is often a tricky and ironical thing._

Morrigan's following laugh was mirthless, and she sped up the pace to leave behind the wild – and the life she had known so far – as soon as possible.

Becoming darkspawn fodder was far below on her priority list... or rather, it was not present, if she was honest.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya was fuming.

She appeared to be calm on the outside since their departure, but inside she had started to hate _everything_. She hated this damn wild they were still wandering through, those sickening, green colors of it. She loathed to hearing that shem speaking, and the bereaved bearings he made when he was _not_ speaking. By the elvhenan, even Morrigan's voice ticked her off right now.

Most of the Dalish despised her and her infinite idiocy to have agreed to this stupid suicide of a mission.

It was insane, really. Far from manageable.

And still she was the one screaming _'Me,me, me'_ loud and clear in the end, as it was questioned who was planning to become fodder for the archdemon. She had done some crazy things in the past, mostly harmless pranks together with Tamlen in the Dalish camp to annoy the elder for a laugh. But was she really crazy enough that she was willing to do _this_ now? As the Dalish looked left and right, seeing nothing but the loathed color of green and the not much more esteemed humans on the other, the answer in her head was _yes_.

Unfortunately.

A long sigh escaped Lenya that slowly transformed into an annoyed groan.

Her body itched; the blood was boiling. Normally, she knew such a state of her being only when she was on the hunt. Though the rage was within her, that tense feeling bubbled slowly but surely to the surface, even when no animal was in sight. And the Warden shem beside her showed no sign of awakening from his whining lethargy, which meant there were no creatures to kill within reach.

For once, the elven woman would have greatly welcomed darkspawn to slice all the wrath inside of her apart – by doing the same to the tainted monsters.

Lenya glanced over to the shem and was painfully reminded that she was bound to this human for a very long time now. Until they'd either completed this utter insanity or became crushed under the heels of the stomping horde or the teeth of the archdemon.

Either way, the Dalish would make sure that she'd let her fellow Warden defer to the two last options.

_Last two of the Grey Wardens, huh?A human and I._

Unfortunately, this loathing thought only added more nutrients to the already ignited rage blazing inside of her, and she began struggling to stay calm.

.

.

* * *

.

The disparate group wandered on through the thick-grown forest of the Korcari wild, stumbling over the bumpy path and their own thoughts.

Each of them was too busy with themselves to hold the simplest of conversations, and no one had the desire to. Alistair stared quietly on his boots while they moved forward, Lenya just made an annoyed groan from time to time, and Morrigan – who was still unwillingly leading them – tried to ignore the not so subtle antics from the companions behind her.

Inwardly, the witch was just glad that the threading path in front would be the last one before reaching the hinterlands… and it was neither the darkspawn, nor the approaching darkness, that made her think so.

The sun was about to set and only remnants of daylight remained as the party finally left the wild and entered a long road, which seemed to be a deserted piece of farmland. As attenuated as the light now was, it was blinding in contrast to the faint light the dense canopy of the wild let through. Lenya blinked and needed a moment to adjust her eyes to the new surroundings. The road was enveloped by a few stone ruins and, aside from a few normal trees, there was nothing to be seen.

Then suddenly the wind turned and the light breeze enveloped the elf, leaving a distant and slight prickling on her pale skin. Something was odd here; she could feel it. Lenya just couldn't grasp what it was exactly.

"Oh-uh." Alistair's head shot up shortly after, and he awoke from his boot observing-lethargy. "Warden senses tingling."

Morrigan peered over at him, yellow eyes gleaming in a sarcastic fashion. "Oh, so you are still alive? What a pity, indeed."

He simply ignored her comment about his gloomy demeanor. "If we are not ready to fight, we won't be soon. There is a large group of darkspawn approaching us." With that, he held his weapon and shield ready, staring straight ahead in the direction he had sensed them.

"At least you are useful for ONE thing," Morrigan muttered and she let magic dance and vibrate in her palms, ready to kill whatever came there with her primal skills.

Lenya felt the change in the air as well – only faintly, though – but strangely there was no sign of the horde yet. Her trained rogue eyes roamed over the area, taking in whatever was left of the daylight. On the right side behind the shrubbery afar, she could suddenly make out the vaguest of movements before it faded for a second and reappeared, dashing directly towards her. But it was too small for a genlock, rather like an animal and moving on all fours. Lenya's eyebrow shot up, and she relaxed her tense posture a bit again as she recognized the approaching form.

_A Mabari? _The elf bent down to the huge, brown, muscled hound, who was barking repeatedly and sounded alert.

Looking up again, the Dalish started to grasp why – the dog hadn't come alone. She counted a group of seven darkspawn with their alpha leader ahead. The hound growled menacing at the approaching creatures and positioned himself in front of the elf.

_Good, _a smirk graced her features, and the blood within started to boil with all the hatred she had contained. Until now.

"Oh look, he brought company. Baaad dog. Do you hear me?"

Lenya wasn't even aware of Alistair's words anymore as she leapt forward in utter rage, senses sharp and weapons ready to slice through rotten flesh. Just the slightest part of her sensed him behind her, barging and striking with his shield and sword in his usual fashion.

She danced around her opponents, letting them or their attacks run off and made them grunt in anguish when her blade cut through their flesh instead. It was a deathly dance the elf quickly found herself in, of sensible yet raw wrath, which she sank her two blades alternatively into them, and made them bleed for all the wrong that had happened to her.

For her, this fight was delightful, relieving.

One genlock fell at her hands, and she laughed darkly. Lenya quickly whirled around with her sword and took out another, beheading it with one strike as it dared to come into her wrecking reach. It fell dead to the ground with a loud thud, fountains of blood still emerging from its limp body, almost comically.

_This is for Ostagar, bastard, _her mind spat in anger as she turned to face the next, which Morrigan had momentarily frozen with her elemental spell.

The Dalish hauled off with all the strength and disgust left in her gut, and the hurlock shattered into hundreds of bloody pieces as her dual blades plunged into its frozen, massive body. Beads of sweats were forming on her forehead and her lungs screamed for air, but in the chaos of fight she felt at ease for the first time.

The dog beside her howled, growled, and tore darkspawn flesh apart. Her fast pumping heart leaped over with joy at that. She finished off another one with the already known pattern of support of Alistair, who took the last minor one down afterwards. The alpha hurlock was the hardest to kill of the pack and, therefore, remained as the last of its already dead companions. Using a moment of surprise, it passed the Wardens and barged directly at Morrigan, sensing the danger that was seeping from her very being.

Growling and snarling it ran to shorten the long distance in between but Morrigan remained calm in her place, not backing off.

"Surely not," she groused curtly, and just a short distance before the alpha could reach her, she ignited it with a blaze of fire, letting it grunt in pain as its flesh severely burned. Lenya dashed toward it, but stopped as soon she saw that Morrigan was casting a spell. Still, she was dangerously close to it and already felt the heat of the fire, as it uncontrollably stumbled in her direction. The elf just wrinkled her nose at the nasty smell and ably backed away from it - just to strike with her blades one final time. Eventually, the still blazing head came off and rolled like an odd torch a few inches on. Lenya coldly observed the path of rolling and how the coal-black, burnt-out corpse hit the ground with a dull thud.

_Served you right._

"How lovely. Anybody hungry for darkspawn alpha? It's roasted and well done. Sliced even." Alistair grimaced on the disgusting smell radiated from the creature and cleaned his blade on a few leaves of a bush before sheathing it, then directed his attention to the witch. "And Morrigan, just a tip. Next time you throw a fireball in my direction – warn me. Would be nice to know, after all."

Morrigan came closer and blinked innocently. "Oh, didn't I yell 'Back off, idiot?' Sorry I must have forgotten it. I feel very bad now."

"Yeah haha, very funny. See my laughing face?" He pointed at his face, expression complete serious. "Let's count the still existing Grey Wardens of Ferelden together, Morrigan. One – " Alistair raised his thumb in front of her face to make it even more obvious. "And... oh surprise, I'm number two here. That's it. Not helpful if you kill one off through roasting."

"I would be baffled in other times that you are able to count, idiot... but what is she doing there?" Morrigan's gaze passed Alistair and rested, puzzled, on Lenya, who was still repeatedly hacking and kicking the already sliced darkspawn corpses with her blades and feet.

"This is for getting tainted with your rotten, foul blood from the start." Another kick, full force, in the side of a bloody corpse. "And this is for ruining my life with this stupid Blight, you bastards." She hacked her another dead darkspawn, before loudly screaming, "I will kill you... kill you ALL!"

"Uuuhm," Alistair blinked, momentarily speechless at this sight. "... she is... motivated?"

"A more fitting word here would be _insane_, but that's just me," Morrigan shrugged. "Well, now go and calm her down. She is _your_ fellow Warden after all." She practically shoved him into Lenya's direction, not without Alistair protesting, of course.

"Hey, how by Andraste should I do this? She's going to slice me into pieces as well." His eyes widened as he recognized that the elf was still continuing her odd behavior.

"Yes, 'tis why it could get amusing. I stand over there and... watch. Amused."

Alistair shot the witch a hated glance before he cautiously inched closer to his fellow Warden.

_Great, the 'master of words' must talk the master of crazy now out of doing... crazy things._

For the first time he felt the urge to actually stand beside Morrigan, which felt definitely safer than being in Lenya's presence at the moment. And this said a lot to him.

"Umm, Lenya?" He started, insecure. "...they are... well... already dead." There wasn't a reaction from her, but at least she stopped her motion. Instead she just stood there and stared at the bloodied mush left of the darkspawn. Then as the dog came closer to her, yipped and licked her bloody hand, it was as if she had awoken out of some trance.

Her eyelids fluttered rapidly and she took one very deep breath before the elf turned around, smiling. "I'm good now."

Alistair still stared at her, bewildered. "That's... good. Done with doing... stuff?" Then his gaze shifted to the Mabari, who now sat beside her. "Seems like I'm not the only one concerned about you. Hey, isn't that the Mabari you have helped in Ostagar? I guess this not-so-little fellow was clever enough to escape before... before..." His voice trailed off and Alistair fell silent, swallowing hard.

The pictures of his inner mind made it impossible for him to continue and urged a few bothering tears to his eyes, which he quickly blinked away.

_Good that she wasn't looking right now. I have to... stay strong._

Lenya stretched her limbs, extensively. After that she shook her head as after a long, restful sleep, making content little sounds. "Yes, I'm _really_ good now. Can we go?"

Alistair forced a smile, but his voice revealed his discomfort. "So slicing and beheading things makes you... happy? Remind me to send Morrigan in your direction the next time you are in the mood for it."

"Too bad it didn't work with you now." Morrigan huffed and came closer to the group again, then regarded the Mabari close to Lenya. "What about this pesky ball of fur? He seems to be quite attached to our princess of slice."

"Yeah, you can call yourself lucky, Lenya." Alistair nodded in agreement. "This Mabari has chosen you as his master. I think he remembered that you have helped him. It's called imprinting and is actually a rare thing."

"Great, does this mean that mangy flee-thing is now following us?" The dog barked in agreement at Morrigan's annoyed words.

Lenya sighed, bowed down to the Mabari and stroked his brown fur, tinged with darkspawn blood. She observed his deep brown eyes as he tilted his head, understanding evident within.

The Dalish thought that he wasn't so different from her. That animal had also lost everything, now alone and only trying to survive. She decided quickly that she couldn't leave him here, alone at a deserted road with those darkspawn corpses. "You want to come with me, Lethallin?" The dog barked happily and wagged exited with his stumpy tail. "Okay, so be it. Then you need a name, right?"

"Oh, it's not Lethallin?" Alistair asked clueless, but the dark look she gave him made him think that he had said something very wrong.

"Hmm..." Lenya rose again and contemplated on a name, remaining still and quiet for a moment. "... how about Arai?" she eventually questioned the dog, who tilted his head and shortly barked.

"Fantastic. So now we have a dog." Morrigan sighed. "Yet Alistair is still the stupidest member of the party. So since this fact is settled, can we finally move on now? It's getting dark, and we still need a place to camp."

"Why don't we simply stay here then? There is wide land over there. Unused." Alistair pointed to the acre behind the fence.

Lenya raised an eyebrow, glowing incredulously at him. "Here? As in near stinky darkspawn mud? As in having no protection if the weather should change in the night? As in camping on an open field, so the darkspawn can easily find us? Are you really _that_ stupid?"

Regarding her tone, this wasn't really a question.

"See. He is doing his best to prove this fact." Morrigan said matter-of-factly and passed him by to follow the already leaving elf and dog and ignored his very presence.

For a moment he stood puzzled, all alone there, before the Warden set himself in motion again.

"Awesome. I've been outnumbered. By a crazy elf, an evil witch and... a dog. Life indeed is great, especially with such _supporting_ companions," he muttered to himself as he ran behind them to catch up again.

"So, Lenya... what is your fantastic plan for a camp then?"

"Obvious, shem. Finding shelter in the woods nearby," she answered flatly and equally nerved.

"Why doesn't that answer surprise me?" Alistair sighed and trotted, defeated, after them at the rear of the group.

.

.

* * *

.

Not soon after, they entered a small wood, which didn't lie exactly on their route, but with the approaching night close and the only dim lighted road ahead, they hadn't another choice but to stop there.

With Lenya's help and observing eyes, it didn't take long until the party found a sheltered and dry place to rest for the night. It was a relatively wide, round-shaped place, enveloped by thick and tall oaks, which only left one way out; the rest was completely blocked with massive roots and therefore secure in Lenya's eyes.

Alistair rested his back absentmindedly at one of those boles. Shield and sword were tossed aside and his head high up to the now glowing moon, he could only vaguely see between the thick boughs. His thoughts drifted inevitably back to the time before Ostagar, to a time where he had been happy.

This life already felt distant and blurry to the young man and his heart cramped painfully on those memories. He was still a Grey Warden – yes – but he has lost all that made it worth being one. Duncan, his fellow brethren, who had been more like his family he never had... _everything_. Everything but the silent oath he made to himself on that night of the war:

Being a Grey Warden worthy of Duncan's praise.

How could he ever forget that? Those words were the last... the last words Duncan had said to him. _Ever_. And he planned to keep those in mind, along with the desire to let Loghain pay for all he had done, when the time came. Alone for that he needed to stay strong, although everything in him wanted to break down still – the pain of loss yet too fresh.

Lenya wasn't exactly the supportive comrade he wished to find in her – especially now. Just having someone to talk with, someone who spared a good word for him, would be enough to ease the void within a little. But he knew he couldn't expect that from the Dalish, not when she was still distrustful and hating him so much outside of the fights together.

If he was honest, none of his companions has been very supportive so far, or just too occupied with their own problems. He sighed and his breath came out slowly and trembling. Even among the group, he felt alone. He should learn to get used to this feeling – like in other times before – and shut those other, bothersome feelings off, but this time it was just... _too hard to do._

The loud clacking sound of many fallen, wood sticks to the ground startled him out of his unwanted reverie.

"Here. Make yourself useful for once and start a fire with those. There should be enough for a while. You know how to make a fire, don't you?"

He could barely make out her features in the faint light anymore, but could imagine all too well the expression between disdain and questioning etched in her face.

Alistair blinked, confused. "How long have you been standing there?" He hadn't noticed her and if she wouldn't have _deliberately _made such a noise, the Warden was sure that he still wouldn't have.

_Damn those rogues and their roguish nimble-footed ability to sneak._

How the elf could move so soundlessly over the dry bottom full of rustling leafs, Alistair did not know... but concerning her origin, he wasn't too surprised that she was able to. "And yes, I know how to make a fire, thank you," he added, offended, after a while.

"Good. Once you are ready let Morrigan light this with her magic."

"What? I already have my own fire, and I'm not helping that idiot in any way," a voice came from the other, already lit side of their camp.

"So you'd rather us Wardens freeze to death tonight? I'm okay with it, spares me this whole, ridiculous saving Ferelden thing. Wish you a good place to watch, when its gets overrun by the entire darkspawn horde then." Lenya smiled sweetly-cold in Morrigan's direction, who groaned in annoyance.

"How heartwarming the support in our group is. Lovely. Say, why are you here again, Morrigan?" Alistair looked up from the ground, where he prepared the fire and was actually glad to have a task that distracted him.

"Okay, I will light the fire for him. Something else, Lenya? Maybe holding his hand while he cries?" The witch retorted in the same, cynical-sweet tone like her before.

"No thanks, I'd rather feed my hand to Arai." Much to his disturbance, the dog barked happily on that.

"Oh, I would like to see that, actually."

Alistair ignored Morrigan's remark, instead his attention shifted to his fellow Warden again, who turned to go. "Where are you going? Those woods aren't save for going deeper within alone."

Lenya laughed out loud once. "Who do you think I am, shem? I was born and raised in woods like these. Although this isn't the Brecilian Forest I'm used to... it's still a forest. Keep that gratuitous and unwanted concern to yourself."

As a matter of course, the Mabari followed her as she vanished in the thick coppice and the lingering darkness within.

Alistair stared briefly behind her in disbelief. Had he insulted her now? Why else had she reacted so harshly? That woman was an unsolved mystery to him, and most likely would stay one during their journey all the time.

He wasn't even sure if he ever _wanted_ to try to solve it.

On the other hand, the woman he was now alone with... _ugh_. Alone to think of Morrigan sitting in the other corner gave him the creeps. Irked, he followed her movements and how she unwillingly cast a little flame in the now prepared and dry firewood.

"Hope you are grateful for this, moron," Morrigan snarled before she returned to her own little and distant fireplace.

Alistair had tried not to hate her, but it seemed destined this way from the start – as a mutual thing.

"You know when I would be grateful? If you'd crawl into that copse over there and die. That would be nice, thank you." Alistair expected her to say something to that, but besides one annoyed sigh, the witch remained still. Therefore, the previous and hated silence returned quickly to the camp, making the Warden fall back into his prior, heavy thoughts again.

.

.

* * *

.

She knew it was nearly senseless to go on a hunt now with only the moonlight left, but Lenya needed to get away… away from that irritating human.

Actually she had planned to set the fireplace herself, something she always loved doing since she has been a young child. Yet, as she has seen him there, head up in the sky – he looked so lost, so sad.

So the elf made herself noticable and shoved the task on him. If Lenya had learned one thing already during her journey, it was that a distracted mind has no time to grieve. Still, the Dalish hated it how this picture of that shem reminded her on herself, as she had been on her constrained journey to Ostagar. As she had to leave all behind that mattered to her to become a Grey Warden – she had suffered in a similar way. Feeling all alone, she looked up to the starlit sky at camp and asked herself if all she had done had been right, or if she should've have tried harder.

Now where she had became a Grey Warden, she still hadn't found the answer.

The pictures of her nightmare earlier still haunted her - especially in those dark woods now, which resembled the ones in her dreams so much. Though everything was better than standing beside a human and pitying him.

_Pity a human – She!_

It was ridiculous even to think about it. Lenya huffed and loathed her own weakness. Even running away from a shem... how could she? It was not as if he was _anything_ like her at all. It had been stupid to think that. Still, he probably didn't deserve to be that sad; it was not as if what happened in Ostagar had been his fault at all. It had been another, slimy, treacherous shem who did this to her and all Grey Wardens, and it was also his fault that the elf had to do this impossible task.

Loghain was the very reason the Dalish knew humans shouldn't be trusted.

_One day, I will make him pay for all this._

Arai sensed her distress, yipped and licked her hand to send comfort in his own way. Immediately, Lenya's anger subsided and she scratched him behind the ear. "Seems like we won't find anything to eat tonight. I'm too distracted to hunt anyway. Let's get back, shall we?"

The Mabari barked one time and waited for the elf to move before following her. The young woman was glad that she had picked up the dog on the road earlier; he made her feel less alone. Even in the dark woods that had so much of her nightmare, she felt more secure with that reeking yet lovable Mabari by her side – and not in the slightest afraid.

They were near the camp and Lenya saw that human sitting there, lost as ever, staring into the fire.

Like she once had.

She shrugged to get rid off the picture and sighed. Yet an idea formed in her mind in the meanwhile, which she couldn't shrug off that easily anymore. So the elf bowed down to her dog.

"Arai, I'm sorry but could you do me one favor?" The dog raised his ear to signalize he would listen. "Your name means bravery in elvish and this is what you need now – to be brave. You won't like this, but do you see that dim-witted, sad human over there?" Lenya pointed over to Alistair who has been completely sunken to a miserable composure by then.

Arai growled quietly. "My thoughts exactly. Still, he is unfortunately my only fellow Warden, and I'm not in the mood to hear him complaining for weeks during our journey. So I need you now to get over to him and to... comfort him in his grief. He had lost his whole clan... like us."

Arai looked at her and whined curtly, as if he understood."Though your effort won't be wasted, I will get you a big soup bone for doing it, once we have reached this weird human village. Promised."

Lenya took one of his paws with her hand and shook it to make the promise valid. Arai licked her hand in return to make clear he would do this for her. Once she had put his paw back to the ground, the Mabari barked briefly and slowly walked over to Alistair for his task. Lenya preferred to immerse within the coppice again, leaving that picture behind. However, she swore to herself, this would be the first and the last time she helped a human. She needed him at full strength, after all, for her not yet so refined plan to survive all this.

.

~V~

.

Alistair didn't know how long he had stared into the flames.

He felt tired and every muscle in his body ached but he was sure he wouldn't find any sleep at all. And someone had to stay awake and guard the fire, right? He was not counting on Morrigan for doing this, where she was too busy with whatever evil witch things she was doing (he rather didn't want to know). Lenya also hadn't returned. Maybe the elvish woman really had had enough of all this human-ness around her and had sneaked out of the woods to follow her clan to the north.

Suddenly a cold, wet nose crept under his unarmored hand, shoving it up until it lay on a furry head. Bewildered, the Warden peered beside him, just to recognize Lenya's mabari sitting next to him, head tilted slightly to the side. Once the confusion ebbed away, alertness found its way to Alistair's system.

"Has something happened to Lenya? Maker, she is always so stubborn. However, always is a weird word for someone I barely know a week... or at all," he sighed and rested his head exhausted in the other hand.

Arai licked his hand to appease him, as if he wanted to show him that she was okay.

"So you ran away then? Baaad dog." A weak smile crept into his face. "Well I guess she is comfortable with the woods, more than I ever would. It's all quiet and dark around here. Almost eerie."

As if the dog understood his words he inched closer and lay one paw on Alistair's lap.

"You know you look like a warhound but could you be more the lapdog, actually? A far too big lapdog of course."

Arai barked in agreement and laid his head on Alistair's lap.

"Reeeeally? Too bad I have nothing for you. I haven't something to eat for myself. Hope we will find something in Lothering tomorrow, though."

Gingerly, the young man started to stroke the dog's fur and petted his head, feeling some tension within slowly ebbing away.

"You escaped from Ostagar, huh? Had more luck than we had... many of my friends, for example," Alistair noticed how his voice grew thick with tears, yet he continued speaking. "I miss them. It's ridiculous when you regard the fact that I've been a Grey Warden for only six months now and didn't even know half of my bretheren... but I felt accepted for the first time then. And now I'm alone again; among two women who hate me – okay it's mutual one time – and I'm talking to a Mabari. Guess the Grey Warden life isn't always as glorious as proclaimed. Still life was good with... with Dun – " His voice trailed off under now flowing tears, choking heavily.

The mabari watched him for a moment, whined emphatically and then suddenly stretched himself to slobber Alistair's face clean – or at least what a dog understood under clean.

"Ugh, Mabari slime. L-lovely." Alistair's voice still trembled but he had stopped crying. "Well better than having the darkspawn blood still in my face... I guess. Just remind me to use the first creek in sight tomorrow; your breath does not have the best scent, after all. But thanks, Arai... at least a dog is listening to what I have to say. Better than to have to sp– "

Suddenly a little stick cracked, not far from Alistair, and shifted his attention to the source of the noise. "Lenya?"

"Yes. Here, puppy," Lenya uttered in an unusual quiet tone and stepped forward but remained half in the shadow of the darkness. "I wasn't successful with hunting. Too dark for it," The elf added rather lamely.

"I... see," he murmured, a bit perplexed.

_How long has she been standing there and why didn't Arai notice her? It all fit too well, somehow. Has she been listening? _

Alistair felt caught somewhere between embarrassment and relief. "I'm sorry, Lenya. I know I should handle this better. I've been warned that this could happen one day... but to this extreme? No one could have prepared me for that..."

"Yeah, I know. That shem will pay for what he has done," she declared darkly.

"That shem… you mean Loghain?"

"Yes, he is the very reason I now have to do this absurd traveling all through Ferelden - with shems as my companions - to gather an army strong enough to face an archdemon, who is a giant, immortal dragon by the way. And all because I'm one of only two Grey Warden's left. If this isn't reason enough to kill that treacherous, pesky shem, then I don't know. However, I'm going to sleep now; do as you like. I don't care."

With that she turned around and vanished into the blackness of the night again.

Although her behavior had been the usual inclement one, Alistair felt better now – at least a bit. He wasn't as alone as he thought he was.

But they really were strangers to each other still. Strangers, who were only bound together by the tainted blood in their veins, and their shared hatred for Loghain.

However, it was a start.

.

.


	12. Observations

_**A/N:** Chapter got newly edited in July 2011, to make it more fitting to the vision and style, I now have from and in the story._

* * *

**Chapter 11: Observations  
**

.**  
**

Alistair still felt tired.

He hadn't slept much in the unfamiliar environment of the woods, and truly hoped they would find a better place to camp for tonight. They had left the wood's border now, heading for the bridge leading into Lothering.

Oddly enough had the dog stayed with him last night, despite Lenya's disappearance later on. Alistair still wondered if she had sent the Mabari to him. Or if she had listening what he had told the dog in his despair. It was not that he would talk to a _dog_ and yet he had been grateful for its unusual but soothing support.

His gaze drifted to the Dalish woman and it lingering secretly on her back for a moment. Lenya definitely had something, he had to admit.

Everything about her was so..._different._

The way she straitened her small frame up to a proud bearing as she walked up in front, light-footed. Or how she held her head up equally high that it appeared almost arrogant, but Alistair found it very fitting to her person. How her eyes were straight affixed to the front, concentrated on the road ahead – ...and now glaring at him.

_Crap. _

"What? If you have something to say, say it," she said, tone harsh.

Oh yeah, he almost had forgotten her extreme 'lovable' hostile behavior. Almost. And it never seemed to fail its intimidating effect on himself and his ability to form coherent sentences afterwards.

"N-n-nothing." 

_Great Alistair, way to start a conversation with your fellow Warden. First staring and then stuttering. No wonder she thinks I'm an idiot. _

"I-I was just wondering if you have ever been in a human village before?"

Her tone remained unchanged, rather added in annoyance. "Why should I?" Alistair felt as if he had asked her if she wanted to marry a genlock and gulped. In comparison to Morrigan – who was just annoying, but therefore predictable – Lenya definitely was the more daunting woman.

"Well it's just that there are some rules valid there. Means no slicing through everything in sight," he said in half-mockery, but her reaction to it was rather..._unexpected._

"Who do you think I am, shem?" Her eyes were narrowed to tiny slits and glowered hateful at him. "Some wild animal? One of the Chasind barbarian? We Dalish are refined people with manners...to those who deserve it."

"Apparently you think he isn't worth your more refined manners, I take it?" Morrigan chipped in, amused at the sight. "I really start to like you."

_Oh great, now she feels as if I haven't insulted not only her, but her _entire_ people._

Her furious stare bore a few moments longer into him, before she turned around and walked on. Mentally sighing, he quite didn't know how to reply on that. Alistair rather had the feeling _everything_ he'd say to Lenya would be mistaken by her anyway, and would make her only hate him more. He wasn't sure if he wanted that. She was his only fellow Warden after all, with whom he had to spent the whole time of their long journey together.

Now sighing for real, he decided to speak against his previous intention. "I-It's not like that, Lenya. It was a joke. Haha, you know. I didn't want to insult you. Look, don't expect something evil in everything I say, okay?"

"Well," Lenya started, without turning around. "You are right. I shouldn't expect that from your words. All the more, I should expect incredibly stupid things."

" 'Tis good answer," Morrigan laughed out loud, the sound of it pierced in his ears.

Alistair decided to hold on to his initial idea and not to talk to her or her evil witch sister again. He would simply walk after them in silence and look grim, while ignoring the first indications of a horrible, _horrible_ friendship forming in front of his eyes.

Lenya's head turned to the witch. "So Morrigan, what do we expect to find in that shemlen village, exactly?"

"Nothing exciting, apparently. It's just a small dot on the map of Ferelden. Though, we need to restock our supplies, catching up some news maybe, and decide how to proceed before taking the Imperial Highway leading farther away from it."

Alistair's head shot up on her words, offended. Damn, _he _wanted to say that. He had no time for sulking when his walking came to an immediate halt, right as they wanted to cross the last part of the bridge to reach Lothering.

A band of five men came closer to them, as they approached and were led by a shady looking guy who positioned himself before Lenya. "Oh look, lucky day for us, guys. More travelers who wanted to pass through."

He mustered the Dalish in a derogatory way. "And led by an elf, can you believe that?" His tone was seeping with disdain, and some of his comrades laughed amused on that comment. Judging on Lenya's tensed posture after hearing it, Alistair supposed they wouldn't have any reason to laugh when this would be over. The Warden lined himself a few steps behind Lenya, instinctively knowing that this wouldn't end well.

_Oh, Ferelden and its wonderful non-existing respect for other races. No wonder she is always so grumpy. _

"Highwaymen. Bandits who want to make profit from the refugees from the war, I guess," Alistair whispered to the elven woman before him.

"Oh, is that so? This means I can kill those humans, right? No one would miss that scavenger scum, anyway." Lenya retorted in a deliberately loud voice and made sure it was heard by the men in front. As if she wanted to give her words more weight, she drew her sword and tested its weight in her hand, while observing it closely.

This wouldn't end well. Not at all.

It however didn't miss its purpose, when one chunky-looking guy stepped aside his leader. "Err, boss? It looks like those aren't normal travelers, they are well-armed. Better to let them through."

The boss called his comrade off. "Whoever made you leader here? So shut up, I haven't asked for your opinion. The toll applies to everyone. Simple as that." Then his attention shifted back to the party. "Why so hostile, little elf? No need for it. All I want is ten silver and you and your friends can travel on."

Lenya flashed him her most sweetly smile, voice etched with irony. "Tell you what, scum. All I want is a life far off from killing darkspawn and pesky shemlen like you. But I suppose we can't always have what we want, riiight?"

"K-k-killing darkspawn? Is she a Grey Warden?...Boss? " The chunky man almost stumbled over his words in fear and backed away.

"'Tis useless. Let's fight them and move on. I didn't plan to spend my day on this bridge because of a bands of morons," Morrigan said with a sigh.

"See, you are even a nuisance to _other_ humans." The Dalish took a few steps forward. "So here is _my_ offer, scum. You give me all the money you have robbed today and I let you live in return. Let's call it a donation for the Grey Wardens to save your filthy, useless skin from the Blight."

The leader didn't seem to be impressed. All the more, he started to laugh. Again. Instinctively, Alistair's hand wandered to the hilt of his sword, ready for drawing it. Concerning the dead end this conversation had taken, he knew he would need it in a few seconds anyway.

"Haha, donation, she says. Uhh, look at me, I'm shaking in fe – There was no chance for him to end this sentence as Lenya made a sudden move and one swift turn around with her sword. The bandit's head rolled on the ground, and eventually accompanied his bloody, now limp body.

One moment passed in total silence, everyone too shocked of the sudden turn of events. Even Alistair stared at her in disbelief. It was her of course who parted the silence first, while looking down to the corpse.

"I hate shemlen scum like you. But even more I hate scum who doesn't take me serious." Calmly she cleaned her blade before glancing up again to the other four still shocked humans. "So who is _next,_ I wonder? Or will you be wiser than your boss, hmm?"

"Whaah, d-d-d-on't c-come near me. You a-a-are insane, elf. Take everything we have. In those crates aside." The chunky guy screamed in panic and ran away – along with his other comrades.

Morrigan followed the trace of the fleeting, panicking men, her yellow eyes gleaming with amusement."I like how you are handling things, Lenya. He practically begged for it."

Of course would Morrigan like this borderline psychopathic, bloody act.

Alistair was not surprised.

Although he counted on an ugly result for this highwayman from the point where he was acting like an ignoramus toward the elvish woman, he never would have expected _this_ outcome. Still baffled – and not in a good way – the Warden wiped the sprinkled blood off his face. "You know Lenya, I'm not saying it wasn't deserved for that – ...guy, but overall...way too gory. If you ask me._"_

"Good thing I haven't asked you then, right? Now let's search those crates for useful items and money. We will need those for restocking." Without another word, she sheathed her sword back again, petted briefly the patiently waiting Arai and focused her attention to the boxes.

"Of course you wouldn't," Alistair muttered, tone sarcastic, before he slowly ambled to the crates on the other side. With a sigh, he bowed down to the boxes to start this given task rather unwillingly. For him it felt just wrong to search through the belongings of unbeknown and miserable people, who weren't coldblooded enough to 'simply' decapitate the leader when crossing here.

Alistair made a mental note aside to never call her elf occasionally, also to distance himself from the thought to not take her seriously. He liked his head where it was, after all. And if she was one thing, – among being ruthless and insane – then it was determined. Although it went in wrong directions right now - he at least had to give her credit for that.

"I'm not touching those filthy things." Alistair could literally _hear_ how Morrigan was standing there – all scoffing – probably even having her arms folded and doing the exact opposite thing of being helpful. Not that it was that much of a surprise to him.

He reluctantly searched in another crate, but immediately stopped as he found a little doll in one of those boxes and his head screamed _'wrong, wrong, wrong_' all the way. Lenya however felt like a kid being on a treasure hunt and cheerfully continued to rummage in another one, detached from all moral. Alistair arched one eyebrow at the sight.

_Life must be good when you have no conscience._

At least this was the impression he could get when watching the happily occupied elven woman.

.

.

* * *

.

After Lenya had finally and shamelessly looted all useful items to her content, the group stopped shortly before entering Lothering, which lay in front of them now.

The cold morning had surprisingly developed into a relative warm and sunny day by now and myriads of ray of lights reflected upon the village. Alistair took a brink of moment to admire the peaceful sight, before raising his voice.

"I think after all that wonderful 'restocking', we should make a brief halt here to discuss how we should proceed."

Lenya peered defiantly up to him. "You have a problem with that?"

"No not at all," he countered, snidely. "We were just stealing from people who have being robbed of all her things from those bandits. There is surely nothing wrong with that."

He saw how her mouth snapped open and closed a few times, before the actual words came eventually out. "If it's robbed already, how is it stealing then? I'm sure we need it more than a few shem's." Arai barked, subsequently, as if he wanted to support his mistresses words. 

_Traitor._

"It's just..." Alistair sighed exaggerated, inwardly giving up the try to get a bit of conscience inside of her, "...forget it."

"So you wanted to say something and have decided to not throw yourself into your blade? Or can I still change your mind what concerns the latter part?" the witch chipped in.

Something inside him snapped and he grew entirely angry at Morrigan's words. His tone was bitter and harsh. "Excuse me, when I'm not overflowing with joy upon the death of _all_ the people _important_ to me. I feel so bad for having you disturbed with my grief."

"Oh you don't have to, Alistair. Because I couldn't care less."

"You know, _Morrigan_, I was told to not judge people by their looks, but you _are _really the cold-hearted _bitch_ you look like!" Subconsciously, Alistair made a step toward the witch, and glared at her.

"Ohh, so you want me to stare down until I drop death? Clever. Just don't expect me to tremble in fear in return."

"Enough now," Lenya interrupted both of her companions suddenly in a loud, resolute voice. Then her tone grew quieter again – soft even, as her gaze fell upon him.

"What do you wanted to say, Alistair?"

He gaped at her for a moment, dumbfounded. It was so unaccustomed for him to hear his actual name from her lips, all the more in that _kind_ tone. When he thought he had made it to somehow grasp her character, Lenya didn't fail to surprise him with new shades _outside_ the categories of being ruthless and crazy.

"I- ..uum," Alistair blinked, still puzzled, but cleared his throat in the attempt to shrug this feeling off. He was glad that he found his voice again before Lenya could fall into her usual exasperated posture again. "Yes, we should talk, where we head to after Lothering. Have you looked at the treaties?"

"No, why should I?" Her answer was flat and short. Finally something familiar from her.

"What your dim-witted comrade is trying to say in all his stuttering glory is, that we have treaties for the Dalish elves, the dwarves and the circle of confinement...err... Magi. "

At that, Lenya's confident voice shrunk to a tiny one, eyes downcast. "My clan has already traveled north. We won't reach them anymore." Arai whined and licked her hand, as if he wanted to spend comfort.

For a moment she looked so sad again, and Alistair quite didn't know how to react properly on that. "...Well there must be other clans we can visit instead for help, right?"

Another stretched pause followed. "Yes, there are other clan's in the Brecilian Forest, I suppose. But my people put value on remaining hidden within those borders, so finding them won't be easy."

"So, do you want to go there first then?" To Alistair this was the most sensible plan right now, because Lenya _was_ a Dalish elf after all.

Alistair could practically see how she hesitated and considered this option given to her. "I- I don't know." Her eyes wandered to Morrigan. "What do you think?"

"Well to be honest; 'Tis best to go to Denerim and lure this Loghain out. Kill him, then we have enough time for gathering forces in whole Ferelden."

"Oh how clever of you, Morrigan. He would never expect that from us there. And he has also no advantage or army. So let's head to Denerim immediately."

"Killing Loghain?" Lenya's face brightened up all the sudden, and as much Alistair appreciated her enthusiasm in that matter, it was the totally wrong plan for the beginning.

It pained him to admit but Loghain had to wait, until the time was right to let him pay. Blindly following the urge of revenge, – how a huge part of him desired – would only result in a quick death for both of them. Thus the Blight would spread in Ferelden and Loghain would have won after all.

Not a chance that he was going to let this happen.

"What I wanted to say is Lenya, it would be too dangerous now to face a Teyrn hiding behind an army and within the palace, while we are on our own right now. So let's find support in our allies first before dealing with this traitor."

The Dalish looked at her fellow Warden and sighed." Nothing ever can be simple, eh? This is annoying. All of it."

"Maybe we could simply ask the archdemon to wander on and leave Ferelden?" Alistair joked and felt Lenya's stare boring into him as response. "Hey just a try to light up the mood."

"But a lame one, human, so better spare me with those."

"Do I get at least one point for trying?" Unwanted, a small, crooked grin washed into his features, but he couldn't help it.

"No," she replied bluntly. Now that was the Lenya he got to know. At least she appeared less distressed now, or the paining hunger let him already _seeing_ things.

"So, if not taking on that Loghain first," Morrigan said, annoyed."...we agree to not have a plan after all these talking? Tis great, really."

Alistair tried his best to ignore the witch. "I think it's best, when we catch some news and food here in Lothering first, and a place to camp later on. _Then_ we can talk again. Anyway, whatever you decide Lenya where to go first is best, I'll follow. Though I can give you further directions for each of those routes, if you want."

Now where the offer has been made, Alistair only hoped she would take it. Especially what concerned the first part. _Please, Lenya._

Morrigan snorted. "Try not to be too useful, fool."

"Sounds good to me, " Lenya eventually said and started walking the path down. "Let's sell those goods off to a merchant, restock and continue with our travel. I don't want to linger long in a shem-village, after all." The elven woman made another few leisurely steps, before stopping dead track in her movements and turning around to Alistair, bewilderment etched in her features.

"Wait...did I hear that right? You want _me_ to lead?"

.

.

* * *

_**A/N: **Teeeagaaan, whooo is dis woman dat she is not telling about my husband? XD Arl Eamon is left out on purpose **for now **and for later plot reasons. However it will get explained within the story, so don't worry ;)_


	13. Full of crazy

**A/N:**_ Chapter is still un-betad but I edited it anew in August 2011. Hope it makes it a better read overall now._

* * *

**Chapter 12: Full of crazy**

.**  
**

Lenya still stared at him in bewilderment.

The silence in between slowly morphed into an awkward one, making Alistair feel uncomfortable.

"Well...yes," the Warden gave in. Her eyes narrowed. "When I lead we will only run in circles again – you know that. Would make a good laugh for the darkspawn but is -notwithstanding - _ineffective_." He would do anything to support her – if she would let him – but he never was and never would be a _leader_. The Korcari Wilds had been just one example for it.

Much to his torment, Lenya remained silent. Morrigan spoke instead.

_Wonderful. _

"You are the senior Warden of your order. And you step aside to shove the responsibility to the new Warden instead? Hmm, why am I not surprised, I wonder?"

Alistair glowered at her. He was still angry on her for distasteful and low comments earlier– and her overall presence. Though this was another story.

"Humans," Lenya burst out all the sudden, tone hateful. Everyone turned to her. "That's just so fitting for you to not take responsibly, when needed."

Alistair sighed and inched closer to the sturdy woman of an elf. "What? What do you want to hear? That I rather like to follow than to lead? That's it. And to be honest Lenya, you haven't been really the person who was following orders until now. So it's better for you to lead. I won't argue about it, anyway." Although her stare was fierce, he didn't avert his eyes. He had made his point clear and would not abide. Not this time.

Then she looked down and moments passed in silence again. "Alright if you say so..." Lenya eventually shrugged and turned around to go.

Alistair blinked, momentarily lost in astonishment of her sudden mood swing and in the try to make sense of her behavior just now.

He failed.

While he got what he wanted and the elven woman had agreed to lead after all, he felt like an idiot all the sudden. Maybe this had been what she had intended from the start? Defeated and still clueless of her actual intent, the Warden followed his group the path down into the actual village.

.

.

* * *

.

Lothering was _chaotic_.

There was really no better fitting word for it, as Alistair looked around. For a village so small it was truly overcrowded. In every corner there were people to see. The more fortunate ones had the luxury of an own tent, but even those were riled close together to buy space for yet another tent. The whimpering sound of crying children were audible _everywhere_, and an overall atmosphere of despair and hopelessness lingered in the air, giving Alistair a slight chill. Even Lenya seemed mildly perturbed by the sight as she stopped and took the depressing scenery in.

"Hey elf!" a farmer called out as they passed him by, making Lenya glowering into his direction.

_Oh no, here we go again. They'll never learn, will they? _

"What, shem?" she said annoyed and stepped closer, posture threatening.

"You look like trouble. We don't need trouble in the village. We have enough of our own, already. Just you know." the bearded man in simple clothes answered.

Lenya tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow raised. "Sooo – I look like trouble, hmm? What makes you think so?"

Alistair sighed, followed by a half smile. "It's probably the blood still smeared all over you. Just a guess, though."

Lenya let a sound out that was similar to a scoff. "Maybe the bandit scum should have been more cooperative then..."

The man's eyes grew wide. "You have ushered those bandits away? Great, now there is no one here anymore who stops the damn refugees from coming here."

"Tis how gratefulness looks like? Always glad to help then," Morrigan said, tone typical sarcastic.

"Don't mind her."Alistair pointed at a peeved Morrigan."I do that all the time. What is happening here in Lothering?"

The man's eyes narrowed and his tone gained a bit of desperation. "Can't you tell? The Bann owning this land has left us behind and took his army with him. We are on our own now – except for a few Templar's – and in a few days, everyone who isn't quick or witty enough to leave will be darkspawn prey."

"Well I suppose we should be quick with leaving this place too, then." Lenya shrugged. "Let's get on with business. No more time to waste." She started to move forward again, eyes roaming the area in the search for a merchant.

Alistair remained congealed where he stood. He couldn't believe that she could act so nonchalantly about what she just had heard. "Lenya!" he called after her, making her stop with an exasperated groan. "Shouldn't we help? Isn't there something we can do?"

"What do you want me to do? If you want to suggest that we should stay here and fight for this pack of shem's, you'll be the first I'll feed off to the horde. **No**! That's the answer," she pressed forth through gritted teeth, making it sound like a hiss.

"But we are Grey Warden."

"Yes the _only _Grey Wardens in Ferelden now and if you want to throw your life away for a bunch of humans that wouldn't even value the effort, feel free to do so. I, in the meanwhile, try to do something about the Blight which is _more_ important." She gritted her teeth in frustration. "Stupid as it was, I have sworn to do this and a Dalish never breaks an oath."

Her eyes fixed his for a moment, before she turned around to leave. "...not that a _human_ would know about such things, anyway." Without to wait for a reaction, Lenya dashed into the direction of the merchant she had justly discovered.

Morrigan gave the baffled Alistair a faint, gleeful smirk, before she followed the Dalish woman. "I do begin to understand, why _you_ are supposed to be the one who is leading here, Lenya. You are _far_ more reasonable." Arai barked, as if he wanted to agree to Morrigan's words.

Lenya scoffed. "Honestly, I thought his idiocy has limits. Guess I was wrong."

_Evil witch club one, Alistair zero, _he thought, caught between anger and resignation. Alistair didn't like the sudden team up of Morrigan and Lenya, even less how much the witch seemed to enjoy it. Maker, even the dog had agreed with that nuisance of a woman, which left him all alone and in no position to argue about something. Sure his plan of saving Lothering hadn't been exactly thought-out. He saw that despite her harsh words that she has been probably right with what she was saying.

Still, looking around and seeing all those dejected faces of people who have already relinquished all hope wasn't right. There had been so much death and anguish already in the past days and weeks, he couldn't bear to stand here and do _nothing_. Ironically, it would still happen that Lothering would perish in the end, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even as the Grey Warden that he was. In times of war one had always to choose their priorities and often has to sacrifice minor goals to achieve the greater one. He understood its principle but...hated it. Alistair didn't know what made him more mad; that Lenya has been right after all or that he felt so helpless about the whole situation in Lothering.

Most likely a mixture of both.

Alistair took a deep breath, which trembled in his throat and suppressed all feelings that urged to come up again.

_Would it be always like this? Seeing people dying, the whole journey long? _

Alistair was _aware_ that he was probably too emotional about it all and _should_ handle it better, but then again he couldn't help to _feel_ this way. These feelings of guilt and sorrow were still anchored in his being since leaving Flemeth's hut and couldn't be so simply willed away. Even if the situation would require a more pragmatic mind.

Lenya, however, seem to have no such problems. While he couldn't stand her cold and calculating way most of the time, it was better that she was leading. She possessed that practical way of proceeding Alistair was lacking at the moment – or so it seemed to him. Still in thoughts, Alistair took the corner to the right in which Lenya had disappeared.

"What?" he said perplexed, as a small group of lay sisters crossed his way, muttering and cursing something about a greedy elf. Alas, he hadn't even to ask whom they meant - he already _knew_ it. Lenya has been '_practical_' again. _Oh Maker_. With a frustrated groan the Warden advanced further, just to find the said elf happily negotiating with a shady-looking type of merchant, selling all the items, she had previously found.

_On the other hand_, he thought while watching her, _Lenya was maybe _**too**_ pragmatic._

"So," Alistair cleared his throat to announce his presence," ...funny story, I ran in a few people muttering about an elf and not in a friendly way. Guess you really know how to quickly find new friends, huh?"

Lenya looked up from the bow she was observing. "You want something to eat today, I take it?" She pointed at the man before her. "He is selling food. Also it's not my fault that those loudly bickering shem women couldn't outbid the good offer this merchant shem has made me."

"Now finally someone in this rat hole with the sense for business," the merchant agreed with a rumbling laughter.

_Way too pragmatic. _

"Though if it soothes your annoyingly goody-goody conscious, Alistair," Morrigan chipped in " – those lovely chantry women have cursed us to 'get what we deserve' before they ran off. Apparently we get that now. With a discount."

"Do I even want to know the rest?" Alistair sighed, nerved. From all the persons present, he supposed that he was most likely the only one blessed with such a thing called conscious. Then he noticed that Lenya was still testing the bow and couldn't help to ask. "A bow? What for?" Lenya looked up again, raising one eyebrow. "I mean, I _know _for _what _a bow is used," he added quickly. "It's just you are skilled with dual wielding, so why a bow now?"

Lenya sighed. "Obviously I want to use it for the hunt. We won't have the possibility to buy food most the time on our journey, and if you don't want to nibble the bark from the tree then, I'll need one."

"Oh." escaped his lips, mildly impressed. "So you are skilled with a bow, too?"

"Not really. I learned only the basics, was more interested in daggers and swords." A faint smile followed before she lowered her eyes. "That is why I never went alone to hunt. I was – " Lenya suddenly fell silent and for the brink of a moment a frown grazed her features. If Alistair had blinked, he would have missed it. "Never mind. My skills should suffice to hunt a rabbit or two," she added after a few seconds, voice and gaze confident as ever.

"I see." Alistair stated, puzzled of her saddened reaction in between. "That is ….thoughtful." _Surprisingly so, _his mind extended._ She is indeed planning ahead._

Maybe he was misjudging her.

"We should purchase right before leaving this shem place. I'm not fond of carrying a bag around while running back and forth." Then she looked up to the merchant. "And you better make sure that I will get every single bit, I have asked for then for the exact _same_ price as appointed. Here a little prepayment." She waited until Morrigan handed him a few silver coins of that shem money , which was all too confusing too her. "If you choose to betray me, " she added," just because you think I'm one stupid elf then I will make sure that this will be the _last_ thing you are doing in your life. _Ever_. My blades aren't for decoration, after all."

Morrigan smirked." 'tis true. She just beheaded a bandit."

"N-no." To Alistair it had the impression that the man just paled a few shades. "I would never betray a woman with such a good sense of business. Believe me. Your trust is well placed!"

"Oh sure, because you look so _trustworthy_ after all." Alistair groaned. "Anyway, where to head next? I would prefer to sit down and eat something ...but that would be a wrong thing to do between all those starving people. So scratch that."

"On the other side of the bridge is a tavern, we should visit." Morrigan already set herself in motion.

"Taaa-vern?" Lenya rolled this foreign word on her tongue and scrutinized Alistair with an inquiring look.

He gave in to the urge to smile on that. "Yes. A bad smelling place where humans gather and drink indefinable alcoholic beverage until they pass out. Though also a good place to catch the newest, wildest gossip. It pains me to admit but...Morrigan is right. We should go there to catch up with the events after Ostagar...since we were too busy with ..._not_ dying during that time."

"Oh, I see. Sounds disgusting." The Dalish made a face." Though I should have expected that. Humans and their strange usages," she added with a shrug before following Morrigan. Arai ran happily panting after her, leaving Alistair once again at the rear of the party.

Suddenly a small, red-haired boy grope Lenya by her arm, and more the surprise than the force made her stop. "Have you seen my mommy?" He asked her with eyes wide open, face and voice tear-struck.

Lenya blinked surprised, then her gaze wandered from her arm to the grime-stained child and back, before she harshly pulled her arm away. "No. Get lost!" The child winced, but she paid more attention to her arm which was stained by the child's snot now and grimaced in disgust. The boy peered shocked at her for a moment before he started crying again and ran away.

"No one is helping meeeee!" His yelp was still audible, even as he had vanished between a line of houses.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow and looked after him. "Amusing sight."

_Wow. Just wow._ Alistair needed a moment to stomach her new moment of coldheartedness before he eventually reacted. "Ice queen," he pressed forth under a cough, words not fully understandable.

Lenya turned to him, head slightly tilted. "Did you say anything?"

"N-No-" Alistair harrumphed. "You know, just got something _wrong_ in my throat. …just lead on." _Ice queen. _His eyes narrowed and fixed her angrily as he followed the elf over the bridge.

Right before the tavern Lenya stopped, eyes widened. "Wait. Where is Arai? He was right behind you, Morrigan. So where is he?"

"Don't look at me like this." The witch inched away, perturbed. "Do you think I care for your mangy beast? We already have Alistair, so is that not enough?"

"Haha, very funny. Not."

In that moment an excited tail-wagging Mabari came back and lay a slobbered, half eaten and muddy cake to Alistair's feet. Then he sat down and looked expectantly up to the Warden.

"Is that for me?" Alistair asked, voice etched with disbelief. The hound barked once. "Err, but it's full of ….things and old. Arai whined briefly and let his head hung down.

Lenya surveyed the situation amused, one site of her lips quirked lightly up. "Now you have hurt his feelings. I thought you being raised by dogs should understand the meaning of a gift from a fellow companion." The dog barked in agreement, his eyes still fixed on Alistair.

He peered confused to the Dalish woman and then to the cake. "Err – yes. Thank you then, Arai. I will stuff it in my bag for now and ...eat it later." He bow down to his present and picked it up with a still puzzled expression. _Was that humor of her...or intended denouncing?_

The lines concerning Lenya were blurring ever so swiftly, so he left his own question out in the open.

"Maybe I should make sure you really eat it. Not that you hurt his feelings _afterwards_. You wouldn't want that, right?" Morrigan chipped in, equally entertained by the sight.

Arai barked happily and returned contented to the elf's side.

.

.

* * *

.

The volume in Dane's refuge was bustling.

If one thing can be counted on than that enough alcohol could turn even the most sorrow-struck people into the happier sorts. Voices and laughter everywhere and yet everyone seemed to silence down as the group of four entered the dim-lighted place.

Two men in heavy armor stepped forward and positioned themselves before the Dalish and her companions. The air was growing tense and to Alistair it was as if none of the tavern's guest dared to breath anymore.

"This must be our lucky day. The Maker has blessed us indeed. We have searched all day for an elf like before our eyes and right before we thought we won't find her, she justly walks in here." A tall, bearded man announced with a sluggish grin. Some of his men were laughing, making it obvious to Alistair that there were more than just the two up in front. His eyes roamed through the room, counting five...maybe six equally well armed soldiers. Either way they were outnumbered. _Great._

"Lucky day? I think your luck is ending here!" Lenya straitened her posture, glaring up to him. One of the few things of her that Alistair could read easily. She was ready to attack, like a cat before the jump. "What do you want, filthy shem?" Her hands fidgeted on the sides of her blades, though yet she wasn't drawing them. Alistair knew this was just a matter of seconds.

The man bared his teeth to a grin again. "Me? Nothing. But Teyrn Loghain wants your head." He paused, looking past her to Alistair. "...and not only yours."

Alistair felt a fiery wave of hatred jolting through his body." Loghain's men," he realized and his fingers reached almost automatically for his sword.

Morrigan chuckled. "Oooh, charming. Idle talk again before beheading them? Why don't we skip this part and go straight to the decapitation to save time, Lenya?"

The elven woman smirked and draw her weapons. "Sounds like a fine plan for me."

Alistair as well was ready to charge as suddenly a red-haired woman in Chantry clothes approached, and nearly jumped in between the line of the soldiers and the group. Alistair immediately halted his movements.

"Hold on. There is surely no need for violence." The woman intervened, voice etched with a thick accent. Alistair held his tensed, cautious posture up, his eyes never leaving Loghain's men. "Those travelers are certainly just on the search for shelter in these dark times, like everyone here."

Lenya's head shot angrily in the direction of her. "Stop speaking for me, human!"

"And there she is; the white dove of peace – send from the Chantry, no less. Why am I not surprised?" In Morrigan's hand sizzled already a little but powerful electric light, and she only held it grudgingly back from firing.

"Travelers?" The soldier's captain nearly spat the word out. " No sister, they are surely more than this. They are traitors who killed the king. If you side with them, you are no better. So step aside, sister. Or die with them. Your choice."

Arai growled deeply and menacing in return, positioned himself aside his mistress.

"Exactly, Arai. No one is calling me a traitor and lives afterwards. Especially not Loghain's scum." Lenya was the one who stroke first and ably whirled around with her sword, but the force of it got parried by one of the men.

Alistair stormed forward to pull one soldier down and killed him with one powerful thrust. The people who had listened to the prior exchange fled as quick as they could away from the area of danger, cowering under the tables and chairs. To his big surprise the red-head weren't one of those, instead she fought at their side and against the soldiers.

Despite the soldiers being heavy-armored and well armed, the fight was rather one-sided, especially since Morrigan found amusement in jolting lightening bolts into their direction. Lenya was about to make the final swipe against the captain, as he spoke up. " Stop. I – I surrender. You have won." More out of confusion than compassion, the elf halted her motion and lowered her blade.

The red-haired woman, – covered in blood herself – stepped forward and directed her word to the Dalish. "See. They have learned their lesson. So we can stop fighting now."

Morrigan let out an exaggerated groan."I couldn't have said it better, Morrigan." Lenya said, eyes narrowed. "No!"

"But he seems to regret his act. Why this senseless killing then?"

Now Lenya was the one groaning. "Apparently to hinder that this scum reports back to Loghain. Now step aside or I will run this sword through you as well." The woman frowned, but did as told.

"I will not go down without a fight," the captain screamed and dashed toward the elf – just to lose his head in the progress.

"What a happy dismemberment day, it is. Eww." Alistair grimaced and tried to get rid at least a bit of the blood in his face. "So much for reporting back, however."

Lenya turned her head toward him. "Problems with it?"

"Since those were Loghain's men – no not at all. Just all the blood..."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Maybe next time we can politely_ ask_ them to die _without_ bleeding to death, like sister righteous would have loved to do it."

Said woman cleared her throat and peered to Lenya. "I'm sorry it comes to this, but you probably had your reasons. May I introduce myself? I'm Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or I was."

Lenya sheathed her blades again and crossed the arms over her chest. "And this should interest me, because...?" Slowly the guests of the tavern came back forth from their hiding places, sensing the worst was over now.

"Where does a sister learns to fight like this?" Alistair asked, blinking.

"I wasn't always a lay sister," Leliana sighed. "In fact, I'm not even fully a sister now – but I digress. What I was trying to say I want you to help you with your mission. You will need help. The Maker told me to do this."

Three pairs of eyes shot in her direction, blinking almost in sync. Lenya remembered how to speak first."Okay – aside the fact that I couldn't care less about your shem god – I think it's time to step slowly backward, and away from your human craziness. By the Creators..."

"The Maker has _told_ you? Rriiight." Amidst all the crazy, Alistair found it quite funny how Lenya looked so ...appalled of this revelation. A rare sight indeed.

Another, more exaggerated sigh. "I know how this sounds but I had a vision..."

"Indeed, that makes it more coherent. Oh wait..." Morrigan interrupted her.

Though Leliana ignored her completely. "...and as a Grey Warden you will need all the help you can get. This is why I'll come along." To put more weight on her words, she looked at the elf with a stern and determined expression.

Somehow Alistair started to like this woman, because no other human – or person in general – could make Lenya so speechless and congealed at the same time before. Somehow he envied her for that talent.

"You- WHAT?" Seemingly Lenya had found her voice again. "No. No. And let me repeat it: NO! I have already enough craziness around me." The elf breathed heavily, still caught in bewilderment of her words.

"I have enough of this, too much of insanity inside here for me. I'll wait outside." Morrigan said and quickly turned to leave the tavern.

As Leliana noticed that her words had rather the opposite effect, the tone in her voice became a bit desperate. "B-but I can fight, and I want to do some good instead of sitting in a Chantry. That's why I left there."

Somehow this sentence sounded familiar to Alistair, so he raised his voice in her favor. "While I find this vision thing rather odd, her plead sounds wholehearted. Also she seems skilled with blades and we _do_ need every help we can find."

His voice seem to eventually have broken whatever spell Lenya had stopped from moving. "I think I made my point clear enough, puppy. I want neither that human god, nor any _more_ human insanity near me." With that she left Dane's refuge as well, with Arai close behind.

Leliana lowered her gaze, saddened. "I see. Then I will stay here instead and try to help the people in Lothering."

Alistair sighed. The image of her staying here until the darkspawn would swarm Lothering made him uneasy. "You know...Lenya is– " he stopped in his words as he noticed that he quite didn't know _how _to describe her. " She is– ...appeared," he corrected himself, "...rude. Though you must regard that she... – we - have been through a lot the past few weeks, and had no time yet to stomach that. And I doubt we'll ever get the chance to. But my point is... your offer is well meant and I won't forget about it. Just give her a bit time to see it in that way too. Goodbye...and don't run away." Alistair gave her a genuine smile,before he turned around to leave.

He was determined to speak with Lenya again what concerned Leliana... – once the elven woman had slept, eaten and was in general better mood. He cringed, knowing that this task would be all but easy. 

_Although we are already full of crazy, _he thought smiling while leaving the tavern,_ there is always place for one more._


	14. Anywhere but here

**A/N:**_ Chapter is still un-betad but I edited it anew in August 2011. Hope it makes it a better read overall now._

* * *

**Chapter 13: Anywhere but here**

.**  
**

Alistair found Lenya leaning on a wooden beam of the tavern and was - to his big surprise- waiting for him. "So, that Loghain shem made himself regent? I don't know what this word exactly means, but I suppose after he has sent bounty hunter after us – nothing good."

Alistair gaped at her, flabbergasted. "Where did you hear that?"

The Dalish pointed nonchalantly at two humans behind her. "Shem-shit-chat I overheard, while you were busy with talking to that nutty woman."

The Warden glowered grimly in response. "Regent? By the Maker. So he was really _after_ the throne. I should have known it."

Morrigan raised her voice now as well. "This is not all. You heard what those pesky soldiers said, hmm? The Grey Wardens have been declared as the traitor of your king, and apparently a bounty has been set on any who survived." Her lips curved up to a smile. "Almost ironic, isn't it? Though, this makes proceeding here in Lothering a bit more...difficult."

"Says the witch, who is an apostate," he said and earned an icily glare of the woman. "Alright, alright. So we have to be _extra_ cautious then, I take it?"

"Well, I hadn't planned to linger here longer than needed, anyway. No way I will spend the night here in this packed place with all the humans," Lenya said, irked. " Anyway, there you have your needed news, puppy. I hope you are happy now."

"Incredibly happy. This is getting better by the minute." Alistair sighed. "So we have not only to travel through Ferelden to gather an army, and fight the upcoming blight by ourselves – No. We also have to take care of a power-hungry mad tyrant, who declared himself justly king. Great."

"I say, let's find a place to camp for the night first. If you go on with these pointless whining about facts you cannot change, then we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us," Morrigan said, tone sharp and nerved.

Lenya stretched her limps, feeling the burning ache in every fiber of her body. "Agreed. Let's move on and see if we find anything helpful, before leaving this dreaded place." With a sigh, the Dalish set herself in motion, knowing if she would stay here any longer, she wouldn't care to move for probably the rest of the day.

Lenya glared at Alistair, as he passed her by toward the fields. She still hadn't stomached that this human had shoved all the responsibility for this monumental task to her. Creators, if she was honest, she didn't even know_ where_ to start. Yes, she was glad that she hadn't to follow the order of a human, but at the same time was asking herself how she should manage this all, _and_ survive in the end.

Alistair noticed that he was walking too fast, and lowered his pace to give her the lead again. "You know, Lenya, I was thinking - "

"And you wanted us to take part in this rarely event? Wow." Morrigan interrupted him.

He ignored her, turning to Lenya instead. "As said I was thinking about all this. And don't we need more help, then we currently have?"

"What are you implying?" Lenya sighed and halted.

Alistair craned his neck, looking almost pleadingly at her. "I know what you were saying about that woman – Leliana – but should we really reject help so... recklessly? You said the same about Morrigan, as I objected. That we need _any_ help we can get."

"Except that I'm no crazy lunatic, I might add."

"Not so sure about that..." Alistair muttered under his breath. Though regarding the expression Morrigan made, it was obvious that she had heard it.

Now you aren't only dense, but deaf as well, are you? Wonderful," the Dalish said. "Just to make it clear, once and for all. If you want to hinder that I feed her directly to the darkspawn, leave her be."

.

.

* * *

.

"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun."

The sound of a foreign chant, almost like a prayer reached her ears as soon they had passed some arguing Chasind barbarians.

Lenya looked up and gasped. Imprisoned in a huge cage stood a giant...man. Gingerly, she inched closer, surveying the creature's dark-toned skin and the long, braided, white hair bounded to a ponytail. He had his eyes closed, expression all calm and repeated continuously this unusual chant. He was definitely not a human, nor an elf and was nothing like what Lenya had ever in her life.

"I have nothing to say to entertain you, elf." His deep voice made her jump back and her heart pounded violently against her ribcage. Lenya blinked, momentarily caught in shock that he actually spoke to her.

"Hmm, 'tis a Qunari, I see," Morrigan said and approached closer to the cage, until she stood beside Lenya.

"You are stating the obvious, woman. Now leave me in peace." His dark-red eyes only lingered for a few fractions on the witch, before he looked away again. The Dalish woman dared to observe him closer and recognized for the first time that his face looked weary; dark shadows lay under those odd eyes. His skin was partially scarred, and it was obvious to her that he was a man of age, a seasoned warrior. He honestly looked like as if he could strangle a darkspawn with his huge, bare hands only.

An appealing thought to her, somehow.

"Why is such a proud creature imprisoned here in Lothering of all things, I wonder?" The witch asked.

"Why are you asking?"

"Okay, I think we should move on," Alistair said from a safe distance. Lenya threw him a glare, unwilling to pay heed to his suggestion.

Lenya inhaled deeply and mustered her courage to raise her voice eventually. "My name is Lenya, Dalish from the Sabrae clan. I'm pleased to meet you," she introduced herself and nodded lightly.

"Are you mocking me? Or is that indeed an unforeseen politeness?" The caged Qunari hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do with such an unexpected sentiment. "I'm Sten of the Beeresaad – the vanguard of the Qunari people," he added. "I suggest you leave me to my fate."

The elven woman knitted her brows. "And what fate would that be?"

"I'm in a cage, am I not? Placed here by the Chantry. And I will die soon."

"The Chantry?" Morrigan scoffed." See how wonderful they are? Leaving him here as prey for the darkspawn." She turned to Lenya. "If you see no use for him, let him at least _free_."

"I cannot. I must make amend for what I've done," Sten said, the expression in his face etched with determination.

"What is it that you have done?" Alistair asked from behind.

"I murdered people of a farmhold. Eight humans, in addiction to the children." Silence suddenly fell over the place for a moment, even Morrigan and Lenya seemed at a loss for words. Arai was the one who broke the tranquility. He turned quickly around and started to growl loudly at the approaching group of men.

"Grey Warden!" One of the men called out to her and she faced them with an unwilling groan. They were dressed in simple clothes. Some were armed with a mere dagger, but beyond that they looked like the average village people here.

The group of four men came closer to her. "Maker forgive, I don't care if you have killed King Cailan or not. But the bounty on your head will feed a lot of hungry bellies..."

The Dalish let an exasperated sigh out. "I'm tired of fighting today. Just leave. I give you that one chance..."

Alistair hand fidgeted nervously at the of his sword. He didn't want to draw his weapon against such a simple bunch, but if they would attack his fellow Warden, he would have no other choice. And this was an option he was dreading.

"No! You die now here, Grey Warden." Suddenly the man swooped forward with his dagger and caught Lenya by surprise, leaving her only able to back away a bit. The impact of the weapon still brushed her arm, leaving a long bleeding scratch in the process.

"Bastard!" Lenya howled out of pain and gritted her teeth. Quickly, she unsheathed her blade and gutted him with only two steps forward. "I said, I don't want to fight."

The next few moments became chaotic as the other three refugees stormed toward the party, more out of desperation than anything else. Their inept attack had not the slightest of chance against the well trained and skilled group. Even without Morrigan's magic the fight was as soon over as it had begun.

Lenya mustered her bleeding scratch with disdain. " _Humans_. I offered them to just walk away and _this_ is what I get out of it. This will teach me to do this again!"

"I think those refugees acted merely out of desperation, there was no room for rationality anymore." Alistair looked at their lifeless bodies on the ground, sighing. "Sadly, though." He stepped closer to her, observing the wound. "Still we should treat it, let me see."

As he reached out to gingerly grasp her arm, Lenya backed away. "Hands off!" Alistair flinched away and she calmed herself down. "It's just a mere scratch. Nothing what a tincture of elfroot couldn't heal. I'm no delicate flower."

The smile returned into Alistair's face. "Delicate flower? No, that is how I definitely wouldn't put it. Still let me help yo- "

"So you are a Grey Warden?" the Qunari interrupted Alistair, making Lenya turn around.

Lenya groaned at the stupidity of this question. "Apparently so."

"Surprising. My people heard stories about your order. It seems that not all stories are true."

"Oh, is that so?" She continued her stoic observation and Sten held her gaze with ease. Alistair couldn't help but to wonder who would win this staring contest, alas he hadn't weeks to spare to find that out. Lenya tilted her head, an idea suddenly forming in her mind. "Qunari...what if you could be _outside_ this cage and _still_ would be able to make amend for what you have done?"

"Speak plainly, elf."

"I'm not interested in whether you are guilty or not. That is your own business. But you could help me to fight against the Blight."

"Helping to fight the Blight?" Sten appeared to hesitate for a second. "The Revered Mother possesses the key to this cage."

Lenya glanced at the complicated lock. In moments like this she cursed that she hadn't spent more time practicing lock-picking. So now she had no other choice but to get the key from this shemlen, whoever that was.

Morrigan's voice put her out of her thoughts. "So are we done standing uselessly around here, or should I brace myself for more wasting of my time, hmm? Just wondering..."

"Yes we are. Let's find that revered shem woman, free Sten and leave this place." She set herself in motion, regardless of having no idea where to actually go.

"You are willing to take a _murderer_ with you?" Alistair couldn't believe it.

She whirled round. "Weren't you just saying we need all help we can get?"

"Yes, but -" Lenya let him no choice to end his sentence as she stormed away." Lenya?"

She stopped only reluctantly. "What?"

"The chantry is in _that _way."

She abruptly turned around in the opposite direction Alistair had pointed. "Chantry?"

Morrigan sighed. "Yes, hard to miss, in fact. 'Tis the overly huge waste of place and stone not far from here. So let's get to it. The earlier we are away from this building again, the better 'tis."

Lenya found herself agreeing on that.

.

.

* * *

.

The chantry was in every aspect how Lenya had imagined such a shem place – huge and conspicuous. She neither understood the concept of building such an enormous place of stone for one god, nor why all here was still so boastful when outside the people were starving.

Then again, she had better and more important things to do than to think about the idiocy of the shem's society.

They walked past odd humans in robes and Lenya heard them praying and chanting to their shem god for help. She felt uneasy and in addiction to that, a feeling of hate crept slowly its way to the surface. She had never been an ardent listener when Hahren Paivel rambled on with his stories, but nonetheless she took very much proud in _who_ she was.

And now of all things, she was in that huge stony building of _their_ god, together with these shemlen, who tried to force their religion upon the elves and enslaved them so long ago. It had worked with the flat-ears in the end, but she was a Dalish and she would _never_ submit herself to their faith just to please them.

Never.

Grossed of all the thoughts, Lenya watched a woman kneeling down, a pleading chant to the Maker audible from her lips. Lenya scoffed as she passed her by and accelerated her pace. She hated every single part of this place.

Alistair arched an eyebrow at her. "You indeed enjoy being here, huh? The irked expression in your face is hard to overlook, really."

"You are asking me if I enjoy seeing all those fools praying to a god and religion, whose vassals enslaved my people and robbed them of everything they had? And this all only because they didn't want to bend down to their will and belief? Yes, _very much_," Lenya snapped at him with barely contained rage.

Morrigan couldn't help to snicker at her comment. "Seems like I'm not the only one eager to leave this atrocious place."

Alistair heaved a breath, bewildered from her intense reaction._ Note to myself; touchy topic. Avoid when you want to live._

"Do you know the chant of light, my child?" A younger lay sister of the chantry asked as Lenya passed her by and earned herself a hating glare of the elf.

"I'm neither your child, shem, nor am I interested in the chant of your human god," Lenya said and stormed away.

"You, woman!" A full armored Templar suddenly stepped into Morrigan's way, his face completely covered by a helm.

Morrigan's yellow eyes gleamed defiantly at the man, crossing her arms. "What?"

"You seem odd to me. I'll watch your steps here."

The witch shrugged. "Do as you like, for you will not have reason to watch long anyway." With those words she nonchalantly ditched him and followed Lenya to the side room on the right. 

Lenya came to halt before an elderly, grey-haired woman sitting on a wooden stool, and peered down to her. "Are you the Revered Mother human here?"

"Err, well, yes," the woman answered perplexed at her harsh tone, before she stood up and cleared her throat. "That I am in fact. Greetings to you and your companions. Will you make a donation to the Chantry? Our need has never been greater."

The Dalish woman straightened her posture, glaring. "Why? Does the chantry destroy the homeland of those who will not donate?"

_Stupid, stupid move. _Alistair suppressed the urge to slap his forehead in frustration. Regardless whether her hate was justified or not – acting so openly hostile rarely put you into a good position to negotiate something. Even he knew _that,_ and he was as far from being a master of words as Lenya was from being in a good mood.

The revered mother was speechless for a moment. "I will not discuss politics here in this holy place," she stated after a moment, voice firm.

Lenya took a sharp intake, ready to retort but got stopped by Alistair. He tried to ignore her angry stare as he raised his voice instead."I'm sorry, your Reverence. We are Grey Wardens and came here because we need your help."

"Grey Wardens? Here? You bring me into a difficult position." The Revered Mother heaved a sigh and deliberately looked only at Alistair, ignoring the respectless elf completely. "Teyrn Loghain has declared all Grey Wardens as outlaws and murderer of our king. So there is not much I can do for you."

"We- we heard about that," Alistair went on. "Of course it is not true. However, we wanted to ask about the Qunari...- "

"The Qunari? Oh dear." Her eyes widened for the brink of a moment. "It would have been kinder to execute him, but I'm leaving his fate to the Maker..."

"His fate to the Maker?" Lenya interrupted, still glaring. "You rather mean to the darkspawn, do you?"

The Revered Mother shook her head in disapprovement, a hint of anger visible in her face. "You know, that he butchered an entire farmhold, do you? The youngest children could scarcely escape, saying that his father found the Qunari gravely wounded outside their farm. This kindness was repaid with murder. So don't tell me something about justice, young lady."

Lenya hesitated a longer moment before she answered, feeling uneasy at that. She cared not much for what the Qunari had done to the humans actually, still a small part of her felt uncomfortable. "Despite all that, we need his help against the Blight. He is a capable warrior."

"Then you and your companions could be one of his next victims."

A faint groan escaped her lips, feeling the anger rising again. "I justly killed a horde of darkspawn, bandits and an ogre. I think I... – we - ... can watch ourselves."

"Still I can't risk it to let him free. I'm sorry," she said and sat down again.

That pulled the trigger for Lenya, who had struggled to stay calm since she had stepped a foot into this hated place. The Dalish moved closer until she stood right before the Revered Mother, looming down at her. "Didn't I made myself clear? Hmm, I think I did. I said we _need _this key. We need help to fight against the Blight. So I suggest you hand over the key, shem. Quickly. My patience has its limits."

An amused cackle came from Morrigan in the background. "Ohh, now we are threatening the leader of the chantry?" How fun!"

The Revered Mother backed away, shocked. "If I'm not giving you the key freely, you would use violence? Has it come so far now?"

Alistair couldn't believe what was happening before his eyes here. _How could she... _He swallowed the furor that crept up within him down for the moment. "Absolutely **not**!" He glared over to Lenya, furious. "I would _never_ let this happen. Your Reverence..._please _we are on an important mission," Alistair said, his whole posture pleading. "Entrust us with the Qunari. I beg you."

The woman hesitated for a brief while, before she walked over to Alistair and gave him the key. "...Then take this key for this creature and begone. I don't want you to see here again. Teyrn Loghain was right with what he has said over the Grey Wardens after all." Her eyes wandered to Lenya and narrowed visibly. "May the Maker show you the illness of your acts."

Lenya shrugged before turning on her heels. "Keep your wishes, human. I couldn't care less. Especially for the god of yours." With that, she whirled round and quickly headed for the door, visible eager to leave this place.

Alistair was barely able to contain the urge to shake her and scream at her. He struggled with the intensity of these emotions wanting to burst out of him, but he managed to keep them inside. For now. This was neither the place nor the time for it. Alistair had swallowed many cruel and stupid things she had done in the not-so distance past. The starving prisoner at Ostagar, the ridiculous nickname she has given him, dismissing a little, helpless child – Maker, even the gravely wounded soldier she had killed in the Korcari Wilds – but _that_ had been too much now.

He would confront her.


	15. Wonders never cease

**A/N:**_ Chapter is still un-betad but I edited it anew in August 2011. Hope it makes it a better read overall now._

* * *

**Chapter 14: Wonders never cease**

.**  
**

"Interesting solution, I might say." the witch smirked into Lenya's direction, as she stepped outside of the Chantry. "So let's get our supplies, that Qunari and then..."

"How could you do that?" Alistair burst out, full of rage. He couldn't contain the anger any longer, nor did he want to. The young Warden positioned himself in front of the elf and glowered down at her, his breathing ragged.

"What now?" Lenya sighed nerved and gleamed up to him, visibly unimpressed of his antic.

" 'What', she is asking." His laugh was bitter and scornful. "How could you threaten to kill an old, unarmed woman in a holy place? Or...at all? A-are you really _that _ruthless? "Alistair's voice nearly flipped over.

"To kill?" Lenya blinked confused, yet stayed calm. "Whoever said I would? That shem just didn't want to let go of the key and I hadn't all day to discuss that out. Easy as that."

"But that doesn't mean you had to _threaten_ her for it..."

"What do you want? It had worked, or had it not? We have the key, that is what counts. And remember it was _you_ who said we need further help, so _don't _backfire this at me now!" she snapped at him and the remaining rage seethed up in her again.

"No, what I backfire at you, is your absolute inane and irrational behavior towards defenseless people. Have you ever heard of _common_ sense?"

Morrigan observed the back and forth arguing with exasperation and shook her head in disbelief. "My mother must have reeaaaally hate me to send me away with such imbecile creatures of Wardens."

Lenya glared at him, green eyes flashing with hatred and she straightened her posture. "Listen human, _you _made me leader. _You_ shove the _whole_ responsibility of the task to me, despite being the senior Warden. So _you _are in _no_ position to complain about my actions now. "

Alistair gaped at her for a moment, bewildered. He took a deep breath to calm himself down again, yet his words came out harsh and vexed. " You may be the leader now, but you are _not _commanding me. So I don't have to shut up about everything you do. Huge difference here, you fail to understand. Or you don't _want_ to understand."

" Fine, go on, whine about my decisions ... – if this makes you happy. I, in the meanwhile, will go and get the Qunari." Lenya shoved him roughly aside and stormed away, leaving an aghast Alistair behind.

Frustration welled up within him. Not only that she let him stood here like an utterly idiot, she also didn't get _why_ he was so angry about it. "You are so …._aaaaarhg_!" Alistair yelled after her retreating figure, kicking the dust with one of his boots.

"How very eloquent. So you both are done now, I take it?" Morrigan shot him a glance. "Because we have no better things to do then to argue about to be humble to a withered chantry wench or not. No, of course not."

"You wouldn't understand," Alistair scoffed, still mad. " We can't effort to make us more enemies. We have already enough, as you probably know. Besides a Grey Warden is there to help people, not to scare them."

"Nor do I _want_ to understand, thanks. But I'm sure that the darkspawn will be certainly _very_ impressed, if we save every kitten from every tree we see. They will conceal in horror, in fact." Morrigan didn't comprehend what the problem was – except for Alistair in a whole, maybe. They got what they wanted and now they should make a beeline to set up camp somewhere outside Lothering.

It had been too much time-wasting, too much needless discussions for her already – but the whiny Chantry boy must have sprung at the elf's neck for insulting his beloved Revered Mother. Which only caused even more procrastination and discussion.

Annoying.

Alistair sighed, resignedly. "Why am I even talking to you? At all?"

"Don't ask me, for I do not know." Shrugging, Morrigan put gladly more space between herself and that oaf of a Warden, like Lenya had wisely done it already.

.

.

* * *

.

"I have the key to your cage."

Lenya stood in front of the stoic giant and surveyed him. The sun towered already high in the sky, the gleaming light radiated onto the dark-toned skin of the man. She couldn't believe that they have already wasted so much time in this shem place, for it would be dark in a few hours. It was time to grab their supplies and leave here to move on.

"Unexpected. I wouldn't have thought the Revered Mother would part of it." Sten's deep voice snapped her back to attention.

"Let's say I have _convinced_ her to get rid of it." Lenya put the key in the fitting lock but before she turned it around, she hesitated for a moment and looked up. "Do you regret what you have done?"

Sten glanced at her."Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret."

She halted and averted her eyes briefly.

_ I know more of regret than you would guess._

The moment of unwanted vulnerability passed again and Lenya looked at the Qunari again. "Don't expect me to lead you to your atonement. Fighting darkspawn, that will be your purpose from now on."

"As well as yours, elf," Sten replied dryly.

"Comes along with being a Grey Warden, I suppose."

Normally, the term elf was deprecative when coming from out of a human's mouth and hence Lenya hated to get called like that. Yet in Sten's case. it seemed to belong to that Qunari's way of speaking without a denouncing intent.

He was huge, but in all his oddity he seemed to be reasonable and less intimidating than his appearance was implying. More importantly, Sten would be useful; he would gradually raise their slim chances to survive.

"So be it. I'll follow you into the battle." Sten leisurely stepped out of the cage until he stood aside her, which looked nearly comical. A small framed elf, covered in dried blood, in contrary of a massive and brawny Qunari, topping her height about two heads at grim expression in both of their faces was the only thing they had in common.

After a moment, Lenya ignored the lasting stare of the Qunari and bowed down to pick two leafs of an elfroot plant instead. In all the hectic over the Qunari and the Revered Mother she had completely forgotten to treat her scratch, which was still faintly burning. She ground the leafs between her fingers and tend the wound with the green mashed remains of it. Not that it was a bad wound by any means, still she felt instant abatement by the treatment. Her knowledge about herbalism would come in handy during the travel.

"Can we leave this place? I'm eager to be elsewhere." The Qunari eventually raised his voice after a long bout of silence.

"Nothing more than that. I spend enough time here!" Lenya glanced up. "I suppose we have to get you some kind of weapon first and – "

"So you managed to turn the key around in the lock after all. Makes me almost proud."

"Oh Morrigan, there you are. Where is the human? I won't run around and search this whole shem place for him."

She gave the elf only an apathetic shrug. "Last time I checked, he was crying at the Chantry's wall how bad life is treating him. I don't care either way."

"Umm, not really, but thanks for your concern. I guessed you would be here. Cage, Qunari and all that." Alistair's expression was grim and he avoided to look at his fellow Warden. He was still too mad to give in and doubted his mood would change so soon again. Nonetheless he had to follow her now or else she would abandon him in a heartbeat. Ruthless enough for it was she, that she had already proven to be true. " I have enough of this place. Let's move on."

Lenya glowered at him. "That is the first smart thing I hear you saying today."

"Oh pleased to hear that, _commander." _Alistair glared at her. "May I be of service otherwise?"

"Actually yes. Get the needed supplies. Take Sten with you. He need a sword or something else he can kill with."

Alistair looked up to the tall man and sighed narrowed his eyes as he took the money out of her hand, tone sharp."As you wish, my_ lady_."

Sten snorted, glancing down to Lenya. "Is that how you want to defeat the blight? With _talking?_"

"No I actually thought to use a huge army, many pointy things and blatant violence instead. Which requires to _have_ a pointy thing, actually."

"Parshaara. Then let us go to the merchant, human."

"Oh wow, now I have _two_ companions who are unwilling to acknowledge my name. I feel so special."

Sten peered down at the Warden, unimpressed. "This would require to _know_ your name, human. Less talking, more acting. Now move." Groaning, he moved unwillingly into the known direction of the merchant near the chantry, with Sten in row.

"And what now? Waiting until the fool returns?"

"I guess so. You can also play hide and seek in the meanwhile, if you like," the elf answered, harsher than intended. As much Lenya appreciated Morrigan's presence, she was nerved that she broke the stillness with her gratuitous comment. Stillness, she direly needed and sought now, if only for a tiny amount of time. She rubbed a hand over her dirtied face, feeling the weariness resettle over her. "I'm tired. I just need a moment to breathe."

_And to suppress the thought of how amazingly great my life has become since I gulped down the so-called-cure._

Lenya was exhausted, but not stupid enough to give in to the illusion that they could immediately rest once they have left Lothering. With her experience of being one of the wandering folk, she knew that there could still pass hours until they'd have found a suitable and secure place enough to camp. She plainly hadn't the slightest idea _where_ to go next after Lothering. Curling up to a ball and to wait until _all_ would be over was definitely not one of her preferred way of handling things, but right now it was an alluring option nonetheless.

Lenya gritted her teeth, as she arched her back and felt the strain within. Her armored hand found somehow the calming fur of the mabari and absentmindedly stroked it. Arai whined concerned as he cocked his head up and licked her hand. As if a spell has been broken, stubbornness kicked in again and superseded the prior feeling of despair within her. She bowed down to her hound, the faintest of smile grazing her expression. "Thank you, lethallin."

"You are an odd woman."

Lenya blinked repeatedly and glanced at the witch, dumbfounded. She had completely forgotten that Morrigan was still here. So she quickly corrected her lax posture and expression, hoping she hadn't recognized her slip of emotion.

_Right, strong and good leader, that is. Ugh. _

She had no time to answer as a very agitated Alistair rushed toward her, his weapon drawn and shield ready. "Darkspawn. Not afar from here."

He hectically pointed to an undefined place behind the windmill and Lenya asked herself why by the creators she should even care. As Lenya still not showed any sign of movement, Alistair decided to wait no longer and ran toward the appointed direction on his own.

It has been a bit unthinking of him to storm all the way back as if the Maker Himself would have chased him, but at the crude and yet familiar feeling of sensing darkspawn nearby, Alistair had no other choice. Knowing that she couldn't sense darkspawn just yet, she wouldn't notice them until it was too late. Regardless of how much she drove him insane, he couldn't abandon his fellow Warden.

There were other voices yelping for help, faint in the distance, but yet grip around the hilt tightened, as he counted the darkspawn in his mind, the tainted blood within him singing with their presence. He resented that part, the remaining, eerily, incoherent bits of their communication buzzing in his head, which he was unable to mute down, when they were so close.

Alistair reached the stone bridge, the tainted creatures long aware of his presence stormed toward him with raw, murderous intent. A faint glimpse to above and he recognized two, little persons cowered in the corner, right before his shield crashed into his first opponent, snapping him back to focus. His roaming eyes counted three, four hurlocks, who were slowly circling him and he cursed his impulsive and downward suicidal behavior. At least until two known blades and the chill but welcomed feeling of magic joined the fight.

Hunting, focusing on and killing the prey, that were things Lenya had learned as soon she was able to walk. It was natural to her like breathing, her blades were like extended arms of her own – and yet they felt heavy as she ran it through the rotten flesh of a hurlock.

It was a different sort of hunt, an unbalanced, dangerous act of hunting the prey and being one herself. One misstep or mistake and all would be over. In contrary to hunt an animal, a darkspawn wouldn't back away and seize its chance to kill. So she shook her weariness off to focus, and dodged a sword wielded with brutal force. Today she wouldn't be the prey, nor on any other day...but she would hunt mercilessly instead. Whatever it would take to survive the madness that was now her life. As if the Dalish wanted to emphasize her oath, she chopped the genlock's head off Alistair had pushed in her way.

Lenya loathed darkspawn, but she had quickly had learned to despise the Alpha Hurlocks in particular. Basically for their utter ugliness and smell, though most because of their toughness; for it would take longer to kill them. She glanced over to Alistair, who was attacking it first. Her fellow Warden seemed to have heroic, suicidal tendencies and to be an idiot in a whole, but she knew she could count on him, when fighting. A small part of her even respected him for it.

The Alpha snarled as it got pushed back by Alistair's shield and tried to strike at the elf with his sword. The creature had easily more force than the woman, but she acted quick-minded enough to dodge the attack and strike at a lower level instead. The freeze of Morrigan's wintergrasp spell from behind ended the fight and the darkspawn's life unexpectedly abrupt.

"Happy now?" She snapped for air and glowered up to her fellow Warden, who was equally breathless.

He avoided her gaze. "Well, sor-"

"Parshaara. Why did you ran off all the sudden, human?" Sten interrupted his words, as he walked up the bridge, full-packed with all the supplies.

"Oh, I didn't want to be late for the little darkspawn party here, you know. Sorry that you'd missed it."

Sten's eyes roamed over the area, recognizing the darkspawn corpses on the ground. "Obviously."

"Well at least you have our supplies and a sword, I see," Alistair tried to shift the subject and took a few steps forward to be away from the fuming presence that was Lenya.

"That merchant gave me those freely, without wanting any money. Odd."

"What a timely arrival, my friend. We are most obligated for your help." Two male dwarves approached closer, one older and bearded and the other one seemingly younger. Alistair recognized them, they were the ones screaming for help in the first place.

"Well at least _one_ is," Morrigan snarled vexed and thwacked Alistair with her wooden staff on the head.

"Ouch," he howled out, looking confused and hurt at the witch.

"Next time you are off to play idiot hero, 'tis you I freeze."

"Next time I'll wear a helmet, that is."

"And the point is?" Morrigan shrugged, apathetic. "There is nothing _there_ that needs protection, anyway." Alistair sighed in resignation and pondered if it wouldn't be safer to get back to where Lenya stood, but the Dalish wasn't there anymore.

"It is a dwarf!" Lenya said and tilted her head in awe before the two men. "A _dwarf, _"she repeated, even more excited.

"Err...yes...apparently so," Alistair murmured, bewildered by her sudden mood swing and delight.

"I've never seen a _durgen_'_len_ before..." Arai barked in solidary agreement, though more for the barking itself, then anything else.

Morrigan tapped impatiently with her foot. "Yes, wonders never cease, I take it. Can we move on?"

"But we haven't thanked our rescuer yet," the elder dwarf intervened." Let me introduce myself; I'm Bodahn Feddich and this is my son Sandal. Say hello, Sandal."

The younger dwarf stepped forward. "Hello."

"Might I asked where your journey leads you, and maybe offer a little reward for your most needed help?" Bodahn asked.

"No and yes. The reward, I mean. Rest is Grey Warden business," Lenya said curtly, all prior enthusiasm in her voice now gone.

Bodahn's eyes grew wider. "Grey Wardens? That would explain a lot. Now I fear your kind of excitement is too much for us to journey with you."

"Apparently, it is," Sten said, deadpanned.

The dwarf stepped forward with a smile and put a few coins in Lenya's hand. She looked down to it, seeing that it were two golden and one silver coin within her palm. She didn't knew its value, confusing as the shem currency was, but hoped it was much. They would need it.

"Now let me say goodbye and all the best to you, my friend. Come on, Sandal we have a full packed cart of goods to get fixed." Bodahn turned around again and started to gather the things his cart had lost before.

"See, we even earned money through it. So everything is fine, right? Alistair said, almost apologetic. "Now let's move on and find a camp for the night, shall we?" The grunt Sten made was the only respond he got, while the two women followed him in fuming silence.

Until they would find a suited place to camp, Lenya feared it was going to be still a long, _long_ journey. 


	16. A crack in the shell

**A/N:**_ Chapter is still un-betad but I edited it anew in October 2011. Hope it makes it a better read overall now._

* * *

**_Help I have done it again_**  
**_I have been here many times before_**  
**_I have hurt myself again today_**  
**_And, the worst part is _**  
**_there is no one else to blame_**  
_~Sia/ Breathe Me_

* * *

**Chapter 15: A Crack in the Shell**

Night had fallen over the camp.

The sky was merely alighted by the myriads of stars and the half-rounded moon. After wandering on for a couple of hours, they finally had found a suitable place enough to camp. It was a wide, even place, protected by surrounding, towering trees and even offered a fairly deep lake at the side.

Alistair sat on the ground and in front of the cracking fire in the middle. He took a deep breath, inhaling the air that smelled like smoke and dog, due to Arai who lay not afar from him, sleeping. Alistair was glad to be finally able to let his guard down for a bit, which was enormously easier after having eaten and bathed. He shivered as a driblet of water ran down his neck, the cold breeze grazing his skin added to this effect.

He approached closer to the flames, huddled before its warm. The bathe in the ice-cold water hasn't been a pleasure but a necessity; darkspawn blood was sticky and smelly after all. The camp was quiet, stillness had been traded in for the hectic of the day, making it easy for one's mind to trail off in a state of semi-awakeness.

Still he fought the urge of sleep, not entirely trusting the treacherous tranquility. Alistair occupied himself with letting his eyes wander over the place, one eyebrow raised as he watched Sten marching the boundaries of the camp up and down in dutiful vigil. If he must gave the Qunari one thing than that he was..._spirited_.

His eyes caught a small, dark spot in the distance that was Morrigan and if he was honest, he preferred it this definitely had its appeal. Alistair didn't want to speak with her, if he hadn't to, but Lenya had been very convincing to let her come along. Same with Sten.

His gaze fell through the flames, across the fireplace on the person in question. She lay curled up on the bare ground, sunken into deep oblivion of sleep, heedless of her surroundings. Her face was still dirtied of all the blood and dust, even her blades were still properly sheathed on her back. Almost right after finding this place to rest, she almost immediately lay herself down near the fire and fell asleep. Alistair had never noticed throughout the day how exhausted she was. Then again, he didn't know what was on her mind but on the other hand he didn't expect her to show this either way.

Another deep intake of air followed, being exhausted, his mind trailed off. His eyes became heavy due needed sleep, as suddenly a faint whimper reached his ears. His eyelids snapped back open, trying to relocate this sound, as it happened again, now intensified in volume. Lenya's face was contorted in distress, brows furrowed deeply, before she thrashed around to the other side.

_Dreams._ Alistair frowned. _And not the good one_s.

He knew them too well.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya was terrified. She wanted to wake up but couldn't, was completely imprisoned in her own mind and body.

_Green, red lights, flashing, voices – _can't breathe _– roaring monster in my head. A place of fire...it burns. The dragon __**– **_need to breathe_** –**__ it wants to lure me. HELP... _

And then she snapped back to reality with a sharp, yelping intake of air. Her body soared up, trying to shake the horror off with this movement, but her mind was still caught within the appalling pictures. She couldn't hinder the trembling that shook her whole being. Her breathing came out in frantic intervals.

_Need air._

"Lenya?" His head tilted as he scrutinized her, all prior dissension forgotten in concern for her.

No reaction.

"Lenya?" he tried again, louder now. Then she looked at him, though not really _seeing_ him, eyelids blinking rashly in the need to snap out of this nightmare.

Alistair didn't know how to appease her, so he did the next best thing. Talking. "Bad dreams, huh?"

She didn't answer and for the brink of the moment the camp was total still; the sizzling of the fire and her still ragged breathing the only apparent sound. Lenya swallowed hard and cast her eyes downward, away from staring dumbfounded at _him. _With every breath she took, her composure returned more.

_One, two, three,_ she counted the breathing in her mind, feeling how it became more steady and even again. As the panic slowly abated, the Dalish woman became aware of what it was she had dreamed.

Darkspawn. A huge dragon; which looked like the archdemon. All in _her_ head..._talking_ to her. _By the creators._

And this all because she had to become a Grey Warden. Would it be like this her whole life long from now on? Wouldn't she _even_ have a break of those filthy darkspawn in her sleep? Was this what the Warden leader shem meant with being able to sense them? She didn't want it; _none _of it. Her hand balled to a fist, and the fear within shifted to frustration, then to anger. Raw and unchecked.

"Lenya?" Alistair pondered if he should stand up and.. – he didn't know _what_ to do, just _something_. She still hadn't spoken a single word, after all.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone!" Her voice so loud that it even made Sten stop his round and looked over, before he went on again. For a second she gazed into the completely shocked face of her comrade, before stormed away. Arai heaved his head up as he noticed that his mistress was gone now, and sniffed the air to follow her scent.

"Ooookaaay. Have it your way," Alistair brought out, after having stomached the anew semblance of craziness of her. Why he was still always trying to help her eluded him. It's not that she was thankful in any way. He shook his head in disbelief, as he stared into the direction of the black darkness the elf had vanished into.

_Still she looked so scared...No, stop thinking that, Alistair,_ he berated himself and stood up to catch something of the food he left over of his ration before.

_Dinner makes everything better after all_.

* * *

Lenya splashed water over her face.

Again and again, as if she wanted to wash the prior memories of the dream away with it. And the heat of anger. The algid water caused a shiver down her spine, her lips trembled due to the fierce chill on her skin. Yet she didn't stop her motion.

One time _– splash –_ two times _– splash – _she repeated it until her face felt numb.

Then she sunk down to the ground, momentarily staring lethargical into the blackness of the night. A low whine snapped her back to attention and a cold nose wrangled its way beneath her hand. Surprised, she looked at her mabari. "Why are you always there, when I feel like _this_? How are you able to know it?" Arai tilted his head, looked at her and emphatically whined again. "You really _are_ a friend, lethallin. Thank you," Lenya whispered in a tiny voice. The mabari woofed quietly and straightened himself to slurp with his warm tongue over her ice-cold cheek. The Dalish laughed out bitterly at the irony of this situation. She once had a clan and many people caring for her _– Now they were all gone – _... Her one and only friend left was now a wardog.

It was better than none, though.

Friends, _...Tamlen. _It was too painful to think about it, and at the same time too tempting. Mourning the life that she had lost, and hating what she had become instead... – but that would not be like her. She wasn't one who would sit and wait for someone to come and make all better. She had learned to fight herself, _had to_ all her life.

..._ Fighting._

What had been a game or casual hunt before, has become now her life, a necessity. Lenya swallowed hard and long, trying to push this unwanted emotions back; they were a weakness, _a distraction, _someone could utilize against her. Something she couldn't allow to happen, if she wanted to survive this madness.

_Survival... _

This was her main purpose now. Forgetting about her old live and embracing the new one...in order to survive. The time to grieve would come, but not _here _and not _now_.

_Until then, until then Tamlen...you have to wait._

One final breath, and she got up again, standing upright and steady on her feet, resoluteness etched in her expression. Nonetheless she was unsure what to do next. Should she simply return to the fireplace, where _he_ would sit, eyes widened in question of her behavior? Granted, it had been a bit unfair to yell at him like that. He was an idiot, but a harmless one at the same time. Annoying at times.

_Many_ times.

Just like she had expected humans to be.

Except for one, oddly enough. Her eyes tilted up to the distance, catching the tiny, lit spot across the camp. _Why not? _She doubted she would find any sleep now, anyway.

* * *

Morrigan sat down at the little fire she had prepared for herself, near her own tent and finished her meal.

Alone.

Distant.

Just how she wanted it to be.

Far, far away from the idiocy that had whirled around her all day, exasperated her. She was indeed asking herself why she had to travel with such a bunch of moron's of all things. Now after the short tantrum of the elf, it was at last quiet again and she enjoyed this tranquility, sought it. The witch quietly sighed, unsure herself if it was meaning annoyance or relief. Probably a mixture of both. She was glad that this imbecile of a Warden wasn't the one in charge, despite being the senior one. Or else they could have directly fed themselves to the archdemon due to his utter incompetence. Notwithstanding her relief about the rather good fact, the other Warden – the elf – has still not decided where to go next. Which only meant more, pointless procrastination.

_Wonderful._

"Hello." Morrigan's head snapped up to the source of the voice, the Dalish woman suddenly up in front of her. She blinked, momentarily confused. Where did she come from all the sudden?

"Oh, tis you," she answered curtly after regaining her composure, not really interested. Despite showing her indifference openly to the elf, she still made no sign to leave again. The witch sighed anew. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be over there at the Warden's camp?

_On the idiot side?_

Lenya peered over her shoulder, shrugging. "Not interested. And puppy isn't there anyway."

"What a pity for you. Might have scared him away with your yelling. Good thing." Morrigan paused and glared up to her. "This won't work on me, though. So what is it you want?" _Except to annoy me, that is._

"Nothing. You know, I just try to find some distraction from the wonderful darkspawn dream I had."

"And you can't the distraction _elsewhere_? Just for the case you haven't noticed, Warden. There is a reason why _my_ camp is separated from the _other_ camp."

She saw a slight smirk creeping up into Lenya's face. "Hmm, maybe if you'd built a fence around it and put it on fire, it would be even _more_ obvious. Ask the durgen'len..." she pointed in the direction of the merchant, who they had met earlier on the road again "...I'm sure he could provide you with the needed supplies. He had full camping equipment for us, after all."

"Hmpf." Morrigan wondered why Lenya let it happen that those two dwarves were staying with them in camp.

_Freeloader. _

On the other hand it was somewhat beneficial to have a merchant nearby. A merchant, who had offered a fair discount on his rich range of goods in exchange for a sheltered place. Well... maybe she wasn't_ that _dumb after all. "Okay you want to talk, then talk," Morrigan said rushy and harsh.

"I'm just curious. You seem...different to ...other humans." Lenya walked around the fire and squatted down. "Less annoying."

"Wow. How I feel flattered..."

Lenya tilted her head. "Have you always lived in the wilds? Never left it?"

She arched an eyebrow. "What kind of an odd question is that?"

"It's just hard to imagine – _this_ place... -" she stopped and shuddered at the remembrance of the inhospitable Korcari wilds.

"This place was my _home_, you've justly insulted." Morrigan scoffed. "Did you ever leave your woods?"

The Dalish averted her gaze. "No, there was no need."_  
_

"See." Morrigan paused and pondered for a moment, whether to go on or not. Oddly enough the woman beside her waited patiently for her to continue. So she did. "Though, I left at times but always returned. 'twas my home after all and the world outside foreign and unwelcoming."

Lenya looked at her and she understood, yet remained silent.

Morrigan furrowed her brows. This elf was irritating. First she _wanted_ to talk and now was not talking _at all_. Was Lenya hoping for a full good-night story for her amusement; to distract her from those nightmares? She had better things to do than to babysit a frightened elf, least to entertain her. Wasn't that the job of that idiot anyway?

A moment in silence passed, none of them said a word. Lenya stared into the hypnotic, yellow- red dancing core of the flames. "My clan heard stories about 'Flemeth'. We call her Ash'belannar, though. Other clan's are living in the wilds, so I heard." Her voice was tiny, nearly inaudible.

" Is that so?" Morrigan looked up. He heard her using this elvish name for her mother before. "And are those stories to scare little Dalish kids, who haven't been good?"

"That depends." A weak smile followed." Though I quite don't know if your mother is, what she appears to be."

"So who do you think she is then?" Morrigan asked, lightly amused.

"Someone who saved my life, I suppose." Lenya heaved a sigh. "But it seems as if those stories were true. That she is also someone with great power. Magic, I mean. The old one."

"Soo?" Inwardly, the young witch was perplexed of what the elf was able to grasp in such a short span of time, but didn't show it. "Does this frightening you?"

"Frightening?" Lenya laughed out. "I'm no coward like the shem's are. Magic was very common part within my clan. Even when I can't use it myself, I'm used to it. So no..." she paused,"...I find that rather ...fascinating." She felt stupid for admitting it, somehow, and pushed the unwanted memories associated with it back in the corner of her mind. More so, Lenya wondered why she was even telling her all this. She was a shem after all... but at the same time appeared so different from all the others.

Lenya liked that.

Morrigan observed baffled the blonde elf before her. She had expected everything _but_ **this** answer. "I see." the witch said, as the pause stretched too long. "So you won't run away from me, screaming in panic? Aww, too bad. So I have to try harder to get rid of you, I take it." _ And here I thought she is just as idiotic as her fellow Warden_. _Maybe she is more than she appears to the eye first. _The witch cocked an eyebrow. _Interesting. _

"Did _this_ finally sate your curiosity? Or should I hold your hand now and wait until you are asleep again? If that is the case, I'll pass... but I'm sure the moron over there," she pointed at Alistair who now sat at the fireplace again, "... would be happy to oblige."

Lenya grimaced. "No thanks. I'm just wondering, Morrigan...why did you come with us?"

Morrigan groaned, annoyed. "_More_ questions? Honestly, it's like being pestered by a child." She took a breath and let the air pass out as a long sigh. "Fine, fine have it your way, leader. What was it you asked? Why I did come with you? Tis dumb question. Beside that my mother threw me out?"

"Yes."

"You are a weird woman. Why are you asking me all this questions? Tis not enough that I just follow you?" Morrigan shook her head, irritated. Again a moment in silence passed and again this elf seemed to wait for another, more satisfying answer. "The wilds are my home and familiar to me, but I don't want to spent my whole life there, while growing old and wondering what is lying beyond their borders. I want to see it for myself." Her yellow eyes drifted away into the distance, resting unfixed in the darkness. "I want to see the mountains, instead only to hear of them. I want to walk through the water of the sea, instead only to imagine it. Yes, this is what I want. So, " Morrigan focused her gaze onto the Dalish again, "what is it what _you_ want then, hmm?"

"To survive," shot out Lenya's mouth without thinking. _Maybe seeing the mountains and the sea while doing so as well,_ she added in her mind, but kept it to herself.

Morrigan's lip quirked up to a smirk."Now _that_ is indeed a sensible notion. Keep it."

Lenya's expression changed to a scowl, while she stood up and turned to leave. "I will. Believe me, I will. Good night, Morrigan." And without to wait for an answer, she disappeared into the darkness of the night again.

* * *

The intention was there, the equipment also – due to the dwarf merchant – and still Alistair couldn't find sleep. Well he had slept if he was honest, at least as long until the archdemon thought it would be a great idea to introduce itself to him.

_Gee, I'm thrilled beyond words it found the time to stop by to say hello. _

Alistair groaned annoyed and tried to get the vivid pictures of the newest blight party out of his head. Though if _that_ dream was what Lenya had seen, then he could totally understand why she has been so freaked out and scared of it. After six months of being a Grey Warden he was mostly used to darkspawn dreams, but this one has been so_ intense_, so terrifying – even for him. And she was new to all this, aside the pictures she had probably seen during the joining.

He would explain her all this if she'd let him, but first he didn't want to get screamed at again and second was said person busy with the evil witch club meeting anyway.

Alistair heaved his head up, looked over to Morrigan's camp and saw them _still _talking. _Oh great, now **that** is disaster in the making._ He decided to no longer watch it happening, _that _it was happening was bad enough for his taste. Instead Alistair turned around to the fire again and rummaged in his pocket to bring a worn coin forth. His lucky charm.

~V~

Lenya took a deep breath of the night air, feeling suddenly not so gloomy anymore. She liked that little talk with the human witch, and was surprised that they had unexpectedly much in common. Despite her being a shem, Lenya was rather glad that she was traveling with them. Morrigan seemed like a sensible person after all, which couldn't be said of her fellow Warden however. The Dalish left the borders of the trees she was wandering in, to return to the main camp. From afar, Lenya saw _him_ already sitting there; head down, all quiet and staring into the fire. She sighed and grew a bit annoyed.

_Does he never sleeps?_

Well but it all didn't help she needed to return at some point, and while it seemed that he would be up all night, Lenya didn't intent to do the same.

The closer she came, the more uneasy she felt. Strangely enough. He wasn't recognizing her, sunken in whatever thoughts occupied him. Maybe she had been too harsh before? Lenya quickly shook the thought off again, it's not that she was _owning_ him something. "Hello?" she uttered half-questioningly, as he still not reacted.

This didn't miss its purpose however, for Alistair jumped frightened up. "Whaaah," he exclaimed and blinked confused into the out-of-nowhere appearing face of the elf. "Must you sneaking like that? You gave me a half heart-attack. Or rather a whole." _Damn rogues, always that ...sneaky._

Lenya rolled her eyes and groaned. "And someone like you is keeping vigil? Much ineffective, I take it."

"No not actually. I suppose Sten would be peeved, if I would do his job. I just...just..." Alistair trailed off, and searched hectically on his lap. "Damn, I dropped it."

"What now?" She encountered nerved. "I ensure you, you still wear your pants... and thank the Creators for it."

"Yes, I know...I mean no. Argh, this is not what I meant. It's all your fault...you sneaky Dalish, you," Alistair pouted and started roaming the ground with his eyes.

_Four months I had this coin, four months and it took one single evening with __**her**__ to lose it. _

Lenya slowly started to ask herself what it was that he had lost, and let her eyes wander as well. She quickly spotted a little golden-gleaming, round object near the fireplace and picked it up. "What is this?" she questioned puzzled, as she observed it._ A coin?_

"Ahh, you have found it. Great," Alistair uttered relieved and reached his hand out to her. "Can I get it back? Please?"

Lenya scrutinized this little object a bit longer. It was a golden coin – but no sovereign– and had strange runic symbols engraved within. One side was already pretty worn and the runes almost not visible anymore. "Here, I don't want it."

Alistair snatched it out of her hand, glad to have it back again. "I wouldn't have given it to you anyway. It's _mine_."

"Why do you wear a coin with you, when you can't pay with it? That makes no sense."

Alistair sighed and cast his eyes down. "I- I had found it on a darkspawn corpse after my first fight against them...and have it ever since."

"So it's darkspawn money?" she retorted in a dry way and not really serious.

Alistair couldn't help but to grin. "Yeees exactly. You know, I kept it for the case the blight would happen and look-...marvel on my foresight. So if you ever see a darkspawn merchant now, give me a sign, so I can go shopping."

Lenya knew she would regret it, but decided to play along. _Everything_ that would keep her from sleeping. " The range of goods must be...interesting."

"Indeed. As you have probably noticed already, they have a very special sense of room decoration. All those heads on a stick, that's gross...but then again they are ...dedicated, you must give them that." He smiled to her, but didn't elicit a reaction out of her. "Honestly, I don't know what this coin means, I just thought it was nice and kept it because of that," he added, more seriously. "I like those runes within, though, or runes and magic symbols in particular."

_Maker, why am I still talking?_

Despite himself he went on, too relieved about the distraction she offered to stop now. "I find them fascinating, in fact. Ironic isn't it? As an almost Templar I should despise those things. But what can I say? I was never the religious type."

_Damn you idiot, stop talking NOW, you are boring her to death. _

Much to his relief his mouth finally stopped popping words out.

"Uh-hu," was all she said to his stream of words. Right now Lenya pondered if darkspawn dreams wouldn't be the more sensible and less torturous option.

Alistair peered into her indifferent expression and sighed inwardly.

_Task finished and done._

He didn't know why he always tried to speak with her again. She was obviously not interested in talks above '_Hello fellow Warden. Still alive? Wow, great. Try not to die. Bye'_ or similar sorts. Maybe it was his own need to speak with someone, and if he was honest – his options for this were very limited at the moment. He already had a conversation with the mabari last night and it wasn't truly enlightening, though comforting in a strange way. Which reminded him...

After consideration, the darkspawn had won in Lenya's account and so she turned to wander to her side of the camp. She had enough of his senseless and endless prattling.

"It was _you _who had sent Arai to me last night, right?"

_Shot. _Lenya stopped dead-track in her movements, yet didn't turn around. _How did he know?_ And more importantly _why _by the elvhenan had she even done this?

The corner of Alistair's mouth quirked up. _I take that as a yes. _" You aren't such a bad person like you always _want_ to appear, Lenya. If you are not too busy menacing old chantry women, that is."

She turned around. "Stop talking, as if you would know me, human."

For some reason he had expected her to say this. " I don't. I just wanted to say for whatever reasons you have done this; I'm grateful. I really am." Alistair paused, his expression saddened. "And I also know that I shouldn't have lost it, not where so much depends on us, with the blight and all that. I'm sorry." He looked up to her – really _looked_ at her – and hoped she would believe him for once.

Lenya felt as if she'd stagger for a moment and swallowed hard, as she saw the mournfulness and ...sincerity?... in his eyes. Idiot or not...no one should have to be sorry for being somber about losing someone dear. It just seemed ...unfair. And just because she wasn't showing it someone, didn't mean she wasn't feeling the loss, although different sorts.

_Tamlen..._

Lenya hated it for making her so vulnerable – but she felt it; regardless of how much she didn't want it to be apparent. Or how many oaths she swore not to.

_Damn him and his stupid puppy eyes. _

"No need to apologize, Alistair," she eventually murmured quietly after a long while, the cackling fire in the background the only other sound.

Alistair suppressed the urge to blink on hearing his name from her lips. It was more common to him to be named either: _puppy_, _human, shem, idiot_...or what funny, denouncing words would come to her mind at that point.

"I – I know that you didn't know Duncan well and that you probably don't care," he swallowed," but he was a good man and like a father to me. This might sound stupid to you but a part of me – a huge part actually – feels like as if I have _abandoned_ him."

_Abandon..._ Lenya didn't answer, she simply couldn't. Breathing became hard enough alone. She focused on moving her body to sit down, for she feared her knees would give in, if she would stand any longer. _Abandoning_... this is what she had done with Tamlen.

_Breathe. Need air. _

Somehow she managed to keep her nonchalant expression upright. Lenya didn't know how.

The stillness stretched uncomfortably and Alistair felt his heart sinking.

"I-It doesn't sound stupid." The sound of her voice nearly startled him after all the silence.

"Although I would be dead then, I guess this wouldn't have made him happier."

"No, I suppose not," she answered, unsure herself if she meant the Warden shem or Tamlen with her words. The lines were suddenly and swiftly blurring.

He made an expression akin to surprise before the anguish washed it away again. "You know when this is over and we are still alive then, I would like to give him a proper funeral. I don't know... maybe built a memorial in his name. Down in Highever, where he came from." Alistair looked up to her, noticing she had sat herself down on the ground in the meanwhile, her hands embraced her knees. She appeared so small to him then.

"The Dalish doesn't practice cremation, right? How do your people honor the dead?"

Lenya's head snapped up, eyes growing wide in utter surprise. "H-how...do..y-you know t-that?" Ugh, she hated that she was stuttering, but how could a human know about such things? His question hit her hard and unprepared.

Alistair almost laughed out at her too obvious bewilderment of him knowing something like that. Another good sight effect was that her reaction lightened his gloomy mood up again.

"Well living in the chantry gives you not many possibilities for leisure activities. Rather it's praying, ugh, studying or training. That's it. And whenever training was not possible and I wasn't scrubbing pots for doing something stupid, I was reading in the library. If you'd searched long and good enough, you even have found some books aside the pious, tiring, Chantry rambling. And believe me, I had _enough_ time to search for them."

She had grown so quiet, that he couldn't help to check if she fell asleep already. Though then it was his turn to be surprised, because the Dalish woman still sat there, awake _and _listening. _Maker..._

"Anyway, in one of them I've found a journal entry where the Dalish elves were described, and I remember this part out of it. Alas the man who had written it, didn't have had the best opinion of your people _and_ was way too pious. So of course this _one_ useful piece of information was wrapped in words like..." Alistair lowered his voice to a darker tone for dramatic effect, " ..._'evil- doer of the Maker'_ or another nice one was... _'wild savages, who kidnap people to eat them'_. Charming."

Lenya couldn't believe it, but she was actually amused about his little antic. So playing along was a matter of course for her now.

"You know, we actually do this. The eating people part, I mean. After lunch we throw their bones on a pile and our smith makes then weapon out of them. Screw ironbark, the best bows are made out of shem-bones," she told him, deadpanned."And when this is done we all dance around the fire and celebrate our victory. Naked."

After the first shock about hearing her countering like that, he was grinning now, wide and wry. "Oh Maker, you have no idea what for pictures you have conjured in my mind, Lenya. Shame on you." How such a serious and sad topic could turn into something with dancing, naked elves he did not know. The Warden cleared his throat, trying to get more serious again. "However...you sadly haven't answer my question."

"This is because you are talking all the time, idiot." Alistair looked as if he wanted to protest but knew then better not to. "I wanted to say with that, that your way is not our way and likewise. You shem's will never understand us and this is exactly how we want it. That shem's are fearing us, I mean. Keeps them away."

"Oh, I see..." he said, bummed. "I respect th-"

Her long sigh interrupted him. "And because I know you will bother me endlessly with it otherwise, I will tell you. We bury the remains of our dead people and plant a sapling of a tree on their graves."

"That sounds quite beautiful." Alistair said in sincerely awe." That new life is springing from the death, I mean."

Lenya stared at him, baffled. She didn't know what to make out of his comment, never had expected to see him reacting in this way. Was he making fun of her and her people? It sounded way too excited for this serious topic. Then again, it didn't sound ironical or sarcastic in the slightest, however.

_Irritating_. _Confusing._ _Or simply... humans._

"Thank you." Alistair smiled, warmly." It was good to talk with someone about it, at least a bit. I really appreciate that you have listened to me."

She blinked, confounded of his reaction. "P-Please..."

His smile turned a wry one. "And for your little remark about naked dancing Dalish elves, but that's another story." He paused, feeling a blush creeping up to his face."...I ...oooh- that came out just soo wrong, did it?"

Lenya just threw him a look.

"Don't glare at me that way, please. I'm no drooling lecher or something. I – …" Alistair sighed. " think I'll go over there and shove my foot in my mouth."

The Dalish shrugged. "Have fun doing so, then."

"You are a cruel, cruel woman."

"Get used to it. Quickly." Lenya stood up to wander over to her place where Arai already was lying, but stopped halfway. " Those dreams," she grimaced, "do they happen a lot now?"

"Huh? You mean the stopping by of the archdemon and its many, maaaany friends?" Alistair exhaled. "It happens when it 'talks' to the horde. We feel it too."

"Now I feel special..."

"Yes, actually I was thinking about writing you a welcome to the 'you can sense darkspawn now'- club - greeting card...though since you are the only other member anyway, I thought it would be needless to do so. Sorry about that."

Lenya ignored his dumb comment and instead focused on her own annoyance."Wonderful. Not only in my blood but _also_ in my head. I hate them."

Alistair briefly halted and nodded. "They aren't my best friends, either. By the way I had already the pleasure myself tonight while you were at your witch club meeting, and it wasn't delightful experience. At all. So dreaming about _that_ for the first time ever must have been frightening, I understand. But with the time you will be able to block them out. I don't know how it is during a Blight, though. I guess we have no other choice than to find out."

He didn't tell her that the dreams are mostly intensified during a Blight. She was already scared enough.

"Gee, being a Grey Warden is fantastic. Really." The elf snatched a few fruits and bread to eat, before sitting down on her bedroll near the fireplace.

"And we even get to exclusively fight the blight." He shifted on his log back and forth, pondering if this would be a propitiate moment to ask."... which reminds me on getting added help. I still think we should get back to Lothering for that rogue..."

Quietness. Lenya chewed on her bread, refusing to look at him while doing so. Alistair grew nervous, yet waited.

The last piece of bread has been swallowed and Lenya glowered at him. "Creators, why are you pestering me with _her_ again? Do you need a shem girl for amusement so badly?"

His brain needed a moment to progress the words spoken to him. "A _what_? To do _WHAT?"_ The blush crept up to his cheeks, hands waving wildly in protest. "No, no NOOO! Lenya, this isn't the reason."

"Whatever reason do you have otherwise to want her with us so badly? I don't like her. Beside this she is insane." The fruits on her plate were more interesting to her than this conversation, so she picked an apple and bit into it, bored.

"Granted, she is a bit odd, or ...much. "Alistair grimaced. "Yet how could she know about us Grey Wardens so precisely? That is still seems weird to me."

The Dalish took another bit and chewed before answering; " Because she _is_ weird. You don't believe this inane rambling or? Oh why am I even asking?" she sighed, exasperated. "You do."

"No, I'm not. Even the chantry says that visions of the Maker are mostly imagination and nothing more. I'm just still in the opinion that we need _every_ help we can get...and she _wanted_ to help us, after all." Alistair frowned. "And besides, soon this place will be darkspawn fodder...I just feel very, _very_ uncomfortable to leave her there like that, after rejecting the help she had offered."

She shook her head. "And just because it would reassure your conscious, I should put up and take someone with us I don't like? Do you think I'm stupid?" Lenya stood up and ambled over to the pot with the stew Alistair had cooked earlier. She peeked into it, just to close the pot quickly with its lid again, disgusted. "What by the elvhenan is _that?_ "

"Pea-stew?" Alistair replied in his most innocent tone.

"Uh-hu, sure." Sighing, the elven woman walked back to her place and unsheathed her blades. "You are not only annoying but also a terrible cook. Anyway, why by the creators should I even _consider_ taking her with us? Last time I checked, I didn't believe in the things she had said, least in her god."

"I know and I respect that," he said and nodded curtly. "Part of my chantry education was to learn that the chantry and their belief in the Maker is superior to all other religions. How I hated it. Don't get me wrong, I do believe in the Maker and all that, but their tenets is not _my _way of seeing it. At all."

Lenya knitted her brows, not trusting her ears. " And what is it you believe in?"

"Everyone should be free to believe in what they want. I for myself are glad to be able to do something good as a Grey Warden, instead to sit in the chantry and to live after tenets I do not believe in myself."

She drew a breath in, taken aback of this unexpected answer. She had assumed every reaction _but_ understanding of him. It was surprising. "Doing some good, huh? Figured. And maybe afterwards we should take each other on our hands and dance in circles?"

"I don't know," the Warden shrugged, amused, "this could really confuse the darkspawn, don't you think?" Alistair harrumphed, erasing the humor from his voice. "Bottom line is that I do believe we shouldn't reject any kind of useful help in the time of the blight. We can't afford that where so much is at stake, nor to select the help after like and dislike. Otherwise I wouldn't travel with Morrigan, trust me."

"You really talk too much, you know that?" Lenya let out a long groan, as she lay herself down onto the bedroll near the fire. For a while she remained silent and considered the rather unwanted option back and forth. They needed help, true. Also Lenya had the feeling that he would never shut up about her otherwise. Ever. _Ugh._ "I hope she can cook..."

"Oh, I hope so too," Alistair said, matter of fact. "Then let's briefly head back to Lothering tomorrow. But we should try to find a bit rest first, despite those darkspawn dreams." He stood up to walk over to his tent.

"I swear if she ever annoys me with the rambling of her shem god..." she said and turned around, head away from his sight.

"Then we cook her, throw her bones on a pile and dance around the fire." Alistair nonchalantly replied. "Though..." he briefly stopped before entering his tent, "...I'm not so sure about the naked part. I'm quite bashful, you know. Good night."

Lenya didn't answer anymore, but couldn't help to smile at that.


	17. Fluffy evil thing

_**A/N:** Thanks to Fluid Consciousness for the beta read._

* * *

**Chapter 16: Fluffy evil thing**

.**  
**

Funny how much one conversation can change things.

Alistair felt now at least little bit more comfortable around her. Lenya wasn't some crazy elf in his eyes anymore; she was now a crazy elf he could actually reason with.

_If I just try hard enough and overlook her exasperated sighs and insults, that is._

Okay, granted it still wasn't the 'Two last Wardens-together-against-the Blight' companionship he was hoping to have with her upon leaving Flemeth's Hut, but their conversation that night had been a start.

Sort of.

The only problem was Lenya had reverted back to her grumpy and taciturn self in the days that followed. She hadn't talked to him after that, except for barking orders or insults.

_Traveling with a human-hating Dalish woman is quite charming,_ Alistair sighed, while peering at her back. _Yet on the other hand she'd allowed Leliana to join our group despite her prejudices_.

This gave him some hope that Lenya wasn't the person she _wanted _others to believe she was; that there was _more_ to her than what met the eye. His gaze drifted to the redhead that had fallen into step beside him, scrutinizing the latest member of their group. Leliana had gotten rid of her Chantry-robe even before having left Lothering, though he wasn't sure if it was of her own will or due to the glares Lenya had thrown at the robes. Alistair guessed it was the latter.

Leliana now wore a simple set of light leather armor and was armed with the bow Lenya had bought during their travels. She also had a dagger sheathed at her hip. Anyhow it was a much better and safer choice of clothing, especially when it came time to fight darkspawn; and although the woman looked so frail, he had no doubt that she could handle herself. The brawl in the tavern had already shown him that she was no ordinary Chantry sister.

"Something the matter, Alistair?" Damn, she had recognized his not so subtle observing.

"N-no, nothing," he rather awkwardly brought out and felt the tips of his ears glowing. "I-I just th-thought that w-we were l-lucky t-to still find you in the village after all." _Smooth, Alistair, really smooth. _What was it with him and turning into a stuttering idiot when talking to women?

Leliana lowered her pace and looked down. "Well, I suppose I should be grateful that at least one of the Grey Wardens thinks so..." Subconsciously her eyes wandered to Lenya, who silently walked in up in front of the group, together with Morrigan and her ever faithful mabari.

This slight shift in gaze was not lost on Alistair. "You mean..." he lowered his voice, afraid the person they were discussing might hear it," ...Lenya?" He was glad to have taken up the rear of the group again, to have put some distance between Lenya and himself now that he was talking about her. Sten, who was in front of him, surely didn't care about their idle talk. In fact, Alistair wasn't exactly sure what Sten _would_ care about.

She didn't answer at first but nodded eventually. "I don't know how to describe it...exactly. It's just that I feel so unwanted among the group, as if I'm an intruder." She smiled weakly, unsure of her word choice.

"Oh, don't think that, Leliana," he tried to reassure her. "Len...she is..." Again he failed to find the right word to describe her. _Complicated? That would be an understatement, really. _"...not easy to get along with and isn't a woman of many words. Still you are here, are you not?"

"But she has been ignoring me completely since I've joined you. She doesn't even look at me."

"Lucky you, she's been mostly ignoring me for weeks," Alistair's grin faded as he noticed that his joke had quite the opposite effect. "What I wanted to say is, give her some time. Lenya doesn't have the best history with humans, but that might just be a stupid guess on my part."._..It would explain her strong dislike of them however, _he added in his mind. "She's not that bad of a person_..._at least, I_ think. _She eventually gave you that bow after you mentioned that you were skilled with it, right? And she even bought the leather armor in Lothering for you." Frankly, he didn't know how convincing it sounded, if at all.

Leliana sighed, frustrated. "Admittedly, you have a point. Still why did she ask if I can cook then? Isn't it more important that I can _fight?_"

"Well..." Alistair started and didn't know how to continue._ That is Lenya's practical and partly calculated way of thinking. _He could hardly tell Leliana that Lenya's decision to let her join was based on his prior, so-called persuasion rather than on her existing cooking skills.

His chosen leader was indeed a cruel, cruel woman.

"But fine...I'll trust your words," the redhead chipped in and put him out of his misery. "You know our leader better than me, after all." Leliana shot Alistair a smile, though she was not entirely convinced herself.

_Know her better..._ he shook his head and nearly laughed out loud at that. Lenya was the complete opposite of an open book and he knew next to nothing about her. His only saving grace was that in these few weeks traveling with her, he had been made aware of her moods and way of thinking…sort of. At the same time Alistair had to admit that Lenya never failed to surprise him, and most of the time it wasn't in a good way. Both companions fell silent afterwards, concentrating on the bumpy road before them again.

"Parshaara, this place looks like Lothering. What do we want here?" Sten exclaimed suddenly and pointed at the little village slowly ascending on the sunny horizon as they moved forward. They had been walking for hours now, ever since their fearless leader had decided it would be a good idea to search out the tiny dot on the map that was Honnleath.

Alistair cursed the day that they stumbled upon the merchant, who point-blankly thrust the control rod of a golem into the Dalish elf's hands. If Alistair had learned one thing it was that things given away freely always had a catch. Apparently this one was that the golem stood deactivated in a long forgotten village...full of darkspawn. He neither relished the idea of being in a place full of those tainted creatures, nor the thought of having a golem under Lenya's control. _Bad, bad things could happen._ That didn't stop Lenya from her plan to acquire it nonetheless, and unfortunately he knew that voicing his discomfort against such an idea would only motivate her further.

"Supposedly, we are searching for the golem that this control rod belongs to, Sten," Alistair felt compelled to answer, even after a bout of silence.

"You are pointing out the obvious," the Qunari grunted, displeased.

"I...am? So why ask the question, then?" Sten was a really confusing...person.

"I question the sense in searching for this village. Does it stop the Blight?"

The glowering stare of the giant man made Alistair nervous. "Err...no? Though, I suggest that you direct this concern to our leader, right up in front."

"Parshaara, you are a man, are you not?"

"Last time I looked, I was, yes." Alistair only grew more confused.

"And yet you let a woman lead. So it figures you can't be a man," Sten scoffed, without looking at him.

"Huh?" he unintelligibly uttered and blinked a few times_._ Apparently certain Dalish elves weren't the only ones to surprise him. Now even the Qunari puzzled him, who apparently had the world view of a chauvinist._ Charming, really. Time to use my unchallenged wittiness and then... run and hide. _Sten had the intimidating skills of an ogre, after all ...and the last ogre Alistair had met nearly crushed him. No need for a repeat, really.

"You are following her as well, so what does _that_ make _you_?" _Hah._ Alistair bathed in the glory of his comment for a moment before remembering that the run and hide part would probably come sooner than expected, as Sten's face darkened...even further.

"I gave her my promise to do so, and a Qunari never breaks a promise," Sten explained, matter of factly. "Yet I promised to fight the Blight...not to go on senseless errands."

"This isn't an errand! We're going to be killing darkspawn and will collect another companion in the end...or sort of..." Alistair mumbled, somewhat glad he had chosen a more diplomatic response.

Sten scrutinized the Warden critically for a moment longer, before he turned around again. "We'll see."

Alistair sighed with relief_. Good, no crushing today. _

* * *

Lenya was pleased that she was able to find this shem-place, despite those rather ineffective and vague directions that the human merchant had given them.

Ever since Morrigan had explained to her what a golem was, the Dalish woman wanted this one for herself. Crushing a darkspawn head with it would be fun, not to mention it would be a powerful weapon against the Blight and would raise her chances of survival considerably. All were good and sensible reasons for her to search for the insignificant and minor village that Honnleath was.

They reached the gates...and something felt off.

It was all quiet; a kind of eerie stillness Lenya could only compare to the woods when the all animals had left, fled because of something..._evil _and frightening. The wind howled through the broken masonry of collapsed buildings that she saw far off, accompanied by the faint crackling of burning, flickering fire. Lenya lowered her pace, took a deep breath of the air and noted that it smelled of smoke and death. Her muscles tensed. This was no longer shem-place, it was now _their_ place.

Darkspawn.

The merchant had mentioned that darkspawn would be here, but had conveniently forgotten that the place would be _crawling_ with them. The Warden motioned with a wave of her hand for the group behind her to halt, as she suddenly felt incredibly...uneasy. She couldn't exactly pinpoint it, but it was as if her blood was boiling, as if _something_ was inside of her, unwanted and intruding. It wasn't a voice, more so a distant, humming sound clawing the insides of her head...singing to her. It was unsettling. She closed her eyes and tried to get rid of it, yet instead it only intensified, causing her to breathe at a faster rate.

"You feel it, right?" It had been more of a statement than a question from Alistair.

She turned her head to him and nodded. "Yes. I feel...kinda funny." One side of her mouth tucked up to a faint smirk. "Probably shouldn't have eaten the meat-pasty last night. And the fruits. And the bread. And the rest of the_ cheeeeese."_

"I meant sensing darksp... – " His eyes widened as her words sank in. "Wait, what?...you ate the CHEESE? All of it?" He knew how strong the hunger was and he was even okay with her eating so much, because otherwise the nagging sensation in her stomach would never dissipate...though why eat the _cheese_ of all things? He was looking forward to eating some upon their return to the main camp. _What a bummer._ _What a_ _cruel, cruel leader she is._

Lenya only shrugged apathetically. "Seems we need to re-supply again then, I suppose." _Damn hunger._ After the darkspawn dreams, this was just another Grey Warden trait she had quickly learned to loathe throughout the past week.

"'Tis a lovely topic to discuss, I'm sure," Morrigan hissed and cast a lightening bolt in the direction of three approaching, snarling genlocks. She hit one directly which fell backward into the dust, and was pleased to observe how the spell's impact slowed the other two down. _Just as she'd intended._ "'Tis not as if we have more important things to do." _Idiots._

Within mere moments Lenya had her weapons drawn and swung them forward into the guts of one approaching creature, which howled out in pain. "Stop growling," she hissed and kicked it backward to free her blades, "Start dying." She swirled around and beheaded the tumbling genlock. Her head snapped up and was happy to see that Sten had already taken care of the other one.

"Vashedan, I'd nearly forgotten how they smell..." Sten's face contorted into a disgusted expression for a moment, before he returned to his calm and stoic self. "Let's move on, Warden. There are more over there." His eyes wandered to the wide village square, but the Dalish didn't need to look in order to see them. She was, in fact, _feeling_ them.

"I guess this unsettling buzzing in my head and veins is part of the Grey Warden deal, huh?" Lenya blew a strand of bloodied hair out of her face, while looking expectantly at her fellow Warden.

"Yes, exactly." Alistair nodded, momentarily relaxing from his fighting stance. "As I said before we have the ability to sense them, but conversely they can sense us. Unfortunately."

"Hmm...darkspawn in my head when I'm asleep, and now even when I'm awake. How...charming." Lenya cursed briefly under her breath, inaudible to all but Alistair.

"Yup," he nodded again,"...they tend to be an everlasting, nagging nuisance. Especially during the Blight."

Morrigan smirked and feigned contemplation. "There are soooo many comments I could make in response to that particular statement, I simply cannot decide which one to pick."

Lenya, however didn't hesitate. "Something you have in common with the darkspawn, eh puppy?"

"Good choice of words, elf. Those would have been mine, in fact," the witch cackled in an amused fashion.

Lenya smirked amusedly at Alistair's puzzled face and turned around again to delve further into the forsaken village. After all, it was time to focus on the purpose of their trip to Honnleath. '_Operation Locate __Golem', that is._ That and to kill every darkspawn in this village, if only to regain the silence in her head.

Either way, she'd be happy.

* * *

Silence.

What a wonderful, rare thing that had become since she became a Grey Warden. It didn't matter to her that the stillness had an eerie note, with the wind whistling through a once lively but now deserted village while she stood in a pool of darkspawn blood. Listening to the humming, hastened rhythm of her heartbeat and breath while the unsettling feeling in her head was gone was all the tranquility she needed. Unfortunately, life's little pleasures had a tendency to fade away all too soon.

"Well, the merchant wasn't lying when he said there would be darkspawn in Honnleath." Once again it was the ever-babbling human, whisking the welcomed calmness away with one of his needless comments.

Lenya bared her teeth, peering gleefully at all the darkspawn corpses scattered on the ground of the village square. _All dead. ...Good_.

At least the silence in her head was secured for now.

She lifted an armored hand and tried to wipe the blood from her face, but it didn't help much. Sighing, she sheathed her weapons again and walked toward the mysterious stone figure at the heart of the village. The Dalish tilted her head as she inched closer, her finger reaching out to touch the rough, grey stone of it. She could feel the texture through her leather gloves and continued to observe it curiously. The statue had its arms and head stretched toward the sky, and in some places there were strange, blue crystals embedded within the stone, some of them cracked.

"Tis our golem, I believe." Morrigan appeared behind her.

"So is it broken? Why is it standing here motionless like this?" Lenya kept poking the stone, as if she could find a button to press.

"Maybe if you poke it with a stick as well, it will help to reactive it," the witch mentioned caustically and groaned. "You _do_ have the control rod, do you not?"

Lenya glanced over at Morrigan for a moment, somewhat unsure of herself, until she realised what the witch had meant. "Yes, of course."

"Then _use_ it with the code word the merchant gave you to activate it again." She sighed. "Imbeciles. Must I do _everything_ myself?"

"Not everyone can be as brilliant as you, witch," Sten threw in with a deadpanned expression, earning a chuckle from Alistair. The qunari turned to the man. "Why are you laughing, human?"

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the moment," the Warden grinned.

"And I could make the_ next_ moment very unpleasant for you," Morrigan growled at him and let a little ball of electricity sizzle in her hand.

"Moment passed." Alistair turned and strategically positioned himself behind the huge Qunari.

He _could_ take her out with his templar abilities, though seeing as he could faintly sense more darkspawn nearby, it would have been a very stupid move. Bitch or not, Morrigan was powerful – and a useful companion in combat after all. Also Alistair wanted to preserve the moment where his holy smite would hit the witch while she was unprepared for a special occasion. It was something to look forward to, at least. Musing within those thoughts, he couldn't help but grin once more, which was fortunately covered by the giant back of the Qunari.

Lenya felt stupid waggling the weird stick in front of a lifeless statue. She almost felt like a mage, which she in fact wasn't. It reminded her of the fuss one of the elders in her cl – _No_, the Dalish shook her head, she refused to proceed with this thought any further. _Focus...need to focus. _

To focus on the task at hand would help her to forget and to leave behind not _who_ she was, but _what_ had been lost. After a deep breath, she spoke the code word loud and clear. "Dulef gar!" She shifted impatiently from one foot to the other while she waited for the golem to move and...

Nothing.

Lenya blinked confusedly, and the sudden silence made it obvious that she wasn't the only one surprised about the lack of outcome. "Dulef gar!" she tried again, now in a more angry voice. Still no reaction from the statue in front of her.

"Well, that was unexpected..."Alistair murmured, seeing the similarly puzzled faces of his companions as he peered around.

"Fantastic. Does this mean we have wasted half the day walking to a damn, stinking hole like this for _nothing_?" Morrigan began to fume and cursed under her breath.

"I'm going to kill that shem!" Irately, Lenya tossed the control rod into the grass beside the statue. Arai was quick enough to escape the unintended assault from his mistress. "I swear...I'm going to kill that merchant for lying to me!"

"Bloodthirstiness is such a charming feature, do you know that?" Damn, his mouth was quicker than his brain again. Alistair knew he was going to regret it with the elf's current mood. "I mean – " he trailed off, his head turned to a cellar door nearby, and felt his hackles raising. "Warden senses tingling. Do you feel it too?"

"What...-" Lenya was about to holler, when she suddenly stilled and recognized the change in the air. The unsettling feeling was back, only faintly but it was there.

_Bye, bye silence...hello darkspawn_, she thought grimly before readying her weapons. "So there are more behind the door, I take it?"

"Hmm, I wouldn't say that, they seem more...distant." He carefully went over to the door, "It looks like a cellar to me, though. So I guess the darkspawn are _down_ there, to be exact."

Leliana raised her voice after a long while. "Maybe we will find a villager or other survivors down there who can tell us why the golem isn't working."

"Survivors? In a room full of _darkspawn_?" Morrigan scoffed in a derisive tone, clearly dismissing her and the idea as insane. "'Tis not as though they would be killed. In fact, they are more than likely having a happy tea party together in the cellar, is that what you're thinking, you Chantry twit?" The witch glared at the red-head, who turned her gaze from her quickly, saying nothing in return.

"While unlikely, it would certainly be _interesting_," Alistair murmured more to himself.

"You all talk too much." Sten didn't understand the reason behind standing there while there were still darkspawn to kill. It was a simple cause for him; going down into the cellar and killing them. Not talking about _how_ to do it. _Humans..._ The Qunari walked toward the door to open it, and went through it first.

"Since when is the giant the boss here, hmm?" Morrigan shook her head and looked over to Lenya who just shrugged in return. She wanted to go down there anyway, if only to vent her anger on the darkspawn. Maybe the crazy red-headed shem was right for once and they would find further info on the golem in the weird building of stone.

Not that she counted on it.

.

.

* * *

.

"Sten, kill it! Don't let it finish its spell!" the Dalish screamed after the Qunari who immediately started rushing toward said creature, grunting. The sickening sound of crushing bones made it apparent that the Qunari had succeeded in his task.

Lenya hated this place. It was dark, dusty and smelled musty. She had no time to wonder why the shemlen thought it would be a good idea to construct such a building, however. She was simply too busy surviving the attacks of the two snarling Hurlocks surrounding her. She had parried and dodged their attacks until now but they had more strength by far, which made it harder to parry the simultaneous blows without being pushed down by their force. She dodged another attack and was ready to launch a quick counterattack, as the target was suddenly pushed aside by the impact of a wooden shield.

"Need help?" Alistair grinned to her and gutted the hurlock before it could recover.

"No thanks," she huffed and turned behind the other hurlock to back-stab it. Finally the tainted bastard fell dead to the ground. "I can handle myself." Her head snapped up as she heard the all too familiar sound of a strained bow. She saw a genlock archer on a platform aiming at her, and she would not reach it in time._ Shit..._

Quicker than the creature could release the string, it was hit by a whizzing arrow and fell over the banister to the ground. Baffled, Lenya turned around, soon realizing it had been Leliana's arrow that had saved her. The woman nodded curtly to the elf, and Lenya returned the gesture. Leliana was one crazy shem, but she could handle the bow, that much was for sure.

"Now that's teamwork," Alistair exhaled deeply, releasing all the tension that had been clustered within him.

"Excuse me if I'm not about to jump for joy," Morrigan muttered and let the ball of energy die down in her hand. She had been ready to throw it at the darkspawn archer but the cloistered sister had been faster than her; either way, the Grey Warden lived and that was all that mattered.

Lenya froze, eyes closed, relishing the victory and stillness simultaneously. Since her life was constantly on the verge of death, she enjoyed the quiet moments when she could. They were dead and she lived on. Survival. _She_ had survived _them_. Still it would be a constant struggle and fight from now on to achieve this goal in the end.

_I have to grow stronger..._

"We are saved!" Her pointed ears twitched at the unwelcome noise. Her eyes grudgingly opened again and flashed toward the strange glowing magical wall. Several shems were standing behind it, alive and unhurt. She hadn't regarded them while she fought but now she was drawing nearer to them. Maybe they would tell her what was wrong with the golem outside – if not she would _make_ them do so.

"Oh, thank the Maker. Survivors," Leliana blurted out, seemingly pleased at having saved at least a few lives. She followed the Dalish over to the humans, yet held a respectful distance from her.

Lenya turned to Morrigan. "Undo it."

"What?"

"The wall is magical, undo it."

Morrigan didn't answer.

"You... – can't?" Lenya's eyes bore into hers, disbelieving.

"Why should I even bother with something like that?" Morrigan huffed, trying to cover her insecurity.

"With that," the blond man behind the wall spoke up, "I can help." Not a moment later, the wall wavered one or two times and weakened both in color and thickness. Several humans exclaimed in joy as they ran away and toward the cellar's entrance and freedom. The blond man however remained in his place. "I assume you weren't sent by the Bann to save us?"

Lenya folded her arms. "No, but I need answers. What is wrong with the statue outside? Why isn't it working?"

The man blinked a few times. "The statu- you mean Shale? That's what you came for? ...well I suppose I should be thankful that you came at all. My name is Matthias and I thank you for the rescue."

"I didn't come for you," she stated calmly. "I couldn't care less if you or the villagers are alive. All I want is the golem."

Silence. The man didn't speak for several moments. "I-I see," he gulped, feeling intimidated by the way this elven woman was staring at him. "Actually it has been deactivated since it killed my father...and I say good riddance." Matthias' eyes gleamed with defiance.

"Killed him?" Alistair exclaimed from behind Lenya. "Now that is reassuring, isn't it?" He half said to Lenya and half said to himself. He now regretted that he had given in to her idea.

"My father was Wilhelm, mage to the arl of Redcliffe and hero in the war against Orlais... and what did he get?"

"Interesting," the elf muttered flatly, not really caring about the story. "So how do I activate it again?"

"You need the control rod and the code word, it's that simple." Matthias halted, thinking. "Or did my mother give them the wrong code word? It's possible considering how much my mother wanted to ensure that Shale was never activated again. After all she found my father crushed, all of his bones broke –"

"So the word was wrong, I take it?" Lenya cut him off, impatiently tapping her foot. "You know the right one, shem?"

"Yes. But you must do something for me first. I-I know that you have saved me and I'm thankful...but my little girl she ran down into the laboratory before I could stop her. She was so scared."

Her eyes darted to the door and back to the man. "You must think I'm stupid, right?" she said in a sardonic tone. "Why should I even bother looking for your daughter while you are here, obviously not caring enough to do so yourself?" The tapping of her foot increased in volume and speed, fingers digging deep into the folds of her arms.

Alistair watched her, growing suspicious in the slight change of her body language. _She wouldn't, right?_

"I would...but one man that went after her got killed by my father's magical defenses, I don't know how she could pass it." Matthias looked at her pleadingly. "Please you have come so far, it would only be a bit further. This shouldn't a problem for one who has slain so many darkspawn on the way here. "

_Tap, tap tap._ Lenya did not answer, only continued to glare at him.

"I just want to know if she is alive, I can't leave without her. _Then_ I'll give you the correct code word for Shale," he tried again, growing more unsure.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. _It went on for a while before she stopped. Silence ensued for the slightest of moments without her tapping, eyes still fixed on the blond man's form. Suddenly she darted forward, gripping the surprised human by his collar, pushing him to the wall. "Are you blackmailing me, shem? How about you tell it to me NOW?" She hissed, pressing him further on the rough stone wall.

Alistair slapped his forehead, sighing. He hated to be right. _She would...of course she would._

Matthias winced and gasped for air, yet the expression of determination unchanged in his face. "No! I do not care what you do to me; I won't tell you the proper word until you have found my girl! Amalia, Amalia!" he screamed into the direction of the door.

"Lenya!" Alistair exclaimed as she brought the dagger forth and pressed it to the man's throat. He took another step toward her. _Silly, impatient woman. _"Come on, let's just look for that little girl, it can't be that hard..."

"Except for magical defenses killing us, that is..." Morrigan groused.

"I love your everlasting optimism, Morrigan, really…" Alistair snarled back, monitoring every little move Lenya made, who had still not spoken or yielded.

"Killing this man would be unwise," Sten interjected briefly, his eyes lingering disapprovingly on the elf.

Lenya looked at the shem in her grasp. He was sweating and gasping but he didn't give up – despite the dagger pointed at him.

It was unnerving.

And killing him would only bring her back to square one with no correct code word and hence no golem at all. Ugh. After another moment of contemplation, the Dalish slowly loosened her grip on him and inched backward. "I will look for her," she pressed forth through gritted teeth. "You better keep your promise, otherwise..."

"I will, I will," Matthias replied, feeling relieved but was wise enough not to show it openly. He didn't want to anger her more, or he would eventually lose in this game with fire.

"So what is this…what did the shem call it? A 'laboratory'?" she murmured more to herself and opened the door. She nearly gagged as she took in a breath of the air that flowed into her direction. It was beyond musty...it smelled rotting, in fact.

"This was the right decision, Lenya," Alistair said, his tone calm, and went after her.

"Shut up," she hissed grumpily and without turning around followed the path deeper into the laboratory.

.

.

* * *

.

"What was that?" Lenya stared in shock at the empty space on the ground, where only seconds before had been a dark, monstrous creature.

She tried to catch her breath, her hands still clutched tightly around the pommels of her two blades. Inside she still felt the horror and chill of her fight against an otherworldly ...thing.

"'Twas was a shade, a demonic creature that can affect the world around it," Morrigan explained, composed. "Though as we have seen they can be killed with weapons and magic – so to speak – so they have to withdraw from whence they came from."

"So they... can eventually return?" Lenya breathed and regretted it immediately. The farther they went into this dusty and dim-lit laboratory, the worse the air became.

"That I can't say for sure. What I _can_ say is defeating them is obviously a way to get rid of their threat. If you are able to resist their assault on your mind, that is."

"Well, it's enough for me that the darkspawn are assaulting my mind, so no need for another ugly creature to do that." The elf shrugged. "I suppose I'll just kill every shade I see. If I see another demon, I'll kill it too."

"A sensible plan." Sten nodded in agreement.

"Just how far does this building go down?" Alistair pondered as he sheathed his sword once again. Somehow he felt he'd be needing again entirely too soon. He kept his hand gripped upon the hilt.

This place gave him the creeps.

"I hope we will find the girl, she must be so scared. This place...it does not feel right." Leliana's eyes wandered from one point to another, always fearful that more creatures could appear.

"There are more things in this world than your eye can see, Chantry sister. And by that I surely do _not_ mean your so-called Maker," Morrigan scoffed.

Lenya silently agreed, and shuddered as her hackles were raised again. The last time she had such a twisted and ghastly feeling was in the elven rui... – she willed this thought out of her mind, shaking her head. Such thoughts were the last thing she needed now. They needed to find the brat - and quickly. She didn't plan to linger here longer than necessary.

"Let's keep moving."

They went further and fought against more of those demons, until they finally reached what seemed to be the final destination of their search. A square room, dusty and dimly lit like the others before, but a young girl's voice could be heard nearby._ Finally... _Lenya quickened her pace to reach the shem girl that had caused them so much trouble. Anger rose within her. She would drag her out on her sleeves, if needed. But then the Dalish saw the company that the girl kept and jumped right back behind a very baffled Alistair.

"Whaa?" He was completely bewildered by her reaction.

Beside the girl, who was well, and rather amused, sat a striped cat. "See Kitty, we have company. Did you come to play? Kitty likes to play..." she giggled.

"NO!" Lenya nearly screamed, still hiding behind Alistair, which earned her another odd look from her fellow Warden.

"Uuum..."

"Kill it. _Now!_" She pointed at the cat and shoved him forward, not without having him protest of course.

"Hey! What is your problem, Lenya? It's just a cat."

"No," the elf waved about with her arms, "it's a fluffy... evil thing... Kill it!"

"So you didn't come to play? You are boring. Then I will continue to play with Kitty instead. She is my friend." The girl told Alistair, who was standing up front due to Lenya's hiding behind him.

"That's ..uhh.. nice. Your father is missing you, though. So let's head back, Amalia." Alistair turned around to Lenya. "Is there a purpose for your hiding by the way?" A grin found its way to his face. "You aren't afraid of that little cat…are you?" The thought of Lenya being terrified of the furball amused him to no end. The Dalish however didn't respond and just glared at him. "Come on, it's just a _CAT!_"

Suddenly the cat opened her eyes which were eerily glowing purple and …_spoke_. "Nothing you say or do will convince Amalia to come with you. She is mine now."

"Or...not..." he added in a perplexed voice while staring at the creature, who was calmly licking her paws. Behind him, Arai started to growl menacingly.

"I-it's not a cat," Lenya exclaimed and to everyone's surprise she sounded _way_ too relieved. "It's not a cat." she repeated. Alistair arched an eyebrow at her as she straightened her posture and came forward again.

"I will take her back to her shem father. I will not leave without the brat," she said, tone assertive.

"Oh? Is that so?" The creature replied amused. "Then let me suggest a trade, mortal. I have been captured here for many, many years. Release me. Then we can _all_ return to her father."

"How so?"

"The magical mechanics behind me keep me from leaving. I cannot touch it. You must do it, mortal. Solve the puzzle that keeps me captured down here."

"Kitty will be free." Amalia bounced up and down with joy.

Sten didn't approve. First there was the strange behaviour Lenya had displayed, which was unsuitable for a leader, and now this. "Parshaara, surely you won't make a deal with a _demon_, elf?"

Lenya's eyes darted back and forth between the 'cat' and the ridiculous large stone puzzle behind it. A line of fire bubbled at its beginning and from what she could discern, should reach the other side of the many stone plates to break the magical barrier. Truth be told, she had never been good at solving puzzles, nor did she have the patience for it. On the other hand they _needed_ the girl... Damn.

After a while of brief contemplation, the Dalish decided for a more sensible direction. "You know _cat_-demon," the elf shuddered at the word 'cat', "I think I should just take the girl and leave." She darted forward to snatch the girl by the arm, but an invisible force threw her back at her attempt, causing her to fall flat on her back.

"YOU WILL NOT TAKE HER!" The demon's voice shattered through the room. "SHE IS MINE!"

Before Alistair could even rush to her side, Lenya was shrugging the pain of the blow off and got up again. She lunged forward to reach the girl but it was already too late. In the blink of an eye the whole room was shrouded in a blazing white, flashing light, blinding her eyes completely for a small moment. Amalia's scream rang throughout the room and reached Lenya's ears as she blinked and tried to regain her vision.

Then her screams suddenly subsided into silence, and with it the girl was also gone. She had melted within the true form of the demon, swallowed whole as if she had never existed. The creature ascended slowly from the ground, morphed into a larger form, while the light dissipated, making its true appearance visible for Lenya and her companions.

"'Tis a desire demon, of all things. Wonderful." Morrigan groaned as she held her staff ready. She had already suspected as much, yet had hoped for once that she wasn't right.

"That's a ..._demon_?" Even Alistair knew the question was stupid of him to ask, but weren't demons normally supposed to be ugly, twisted creatures? This demon was rather..._attractive_ in its nearly half-naked, _very_ female form. _Minus horns, purple skin and flaming hair, that is_. _Okay, _he lifted his sword _...definitely a demon._ He managed one last side glance over to his fellow Warden before chaos erupted.

The earth shook and several undead creatures appeared from out of nowhere, lunging toward the elf all at once. Lenya turned as she drew her blades and suddenly froze as she gazed into the ghastly, hollow face of one undead creature. She had seen them before...in the elven ruin. Where she had fought against them with Tamlen; where they found the mirror. Where she had lost it all.

Lost him.

Her mind screamed, ordered her to move but her body didn't obey. Alistair watched in horror as the monsters sluggishly moved in her direction and encircled her, while she continued to stand there like a willing sacrifice waiting to be slaughtered. "Lenya!" he yelled while dodging another attack, "snap out of it!" _Damn,_ he gritted his teeth, _I have to reach her._

This noble intention was hindered by the desire demon which kept Alistair, Morrigan and Sten busy. Morrigan conjured an ice spell at the demon but it seemed to have no effect. Cursing under her breath, the sorceress tried another of her elemental spells, grudgingly knowing it would take a few seconds to summon it. Arai sprinted to his mistress' side, growling and snarling as he leaped upon one creature, tearing foul flesh and bones apart. Finally the elf snapped out of her horrified daze. She rapidly shook her head to get rid of her light headedness and kicked the nearest opponent to buy herself a bit of space, yet was still surrounded by four of them.

Leliana's arrow sluiced through the air and scarcely missed its target, but Alistair used the second of distraction the arrow brought to break free from the demon to help his surrounded fellow Warden. Lenya dodged a swirling blade, but couldn't dodge the sharp claw of another undead creature as it scratched the flesh around the unprotected area of her abdomen. Blinded by the pain for a few seconds, she tumbled back and was oblivious to the looming danger behind her.

One monster came dangerously close, ready to sink its rusty dagger and claws deep into her back…


	18. Twinge of heroism

_**A/N:** Last part of the Honnleath arc. A special thanks goes to** Danya**, who wrote such a lovely review and of course to the super-fast and awesome beta reader of mine **Fluid Consiousness**. You rock.*heart*_

* * *

**Chapter 17: Twinge of Heroism**

His mind screamed.

_I have to reach her. Get her away._

Alistair was unwilling to accept the events that were unfolding before his eyes. Unwilling to believe that there was a weapon pointed at her back, and how closely the creature was to lunging at her.

So he ran to her.

Fractions of seconds seemed like hours, the small distance between the Wardens felt like an endless chasm. Eventually he reached her and simply shoved her out of the way, the action unthinking and driven by impulse. Lenya landed roughly on the grimy floor with a loud thud, her blades clattered at her sides. The air whooshed out of her lungs due to the force of her fall. She was temporarily stunned and could only watch as Alistair was surrounded by undead creatures, fighting for his life. _I have to get up again. Quickly._

Unable to get his shield up in time, the creature's dagger pierced through his splintmail and into the flesh of his left shoulder. Sharp, long claws threatened to lash out at the ex-templar, but the undead monster was suddenly pinned down by the muscular mass of Lenya's mabari. The war hound tore at the creature's throat with an angry growl. Alistair let out a grunt of pain and stumbled backward, the dagger still half-sunken into his flesh. Having lost the use of his left arm, his shield clunked down to the ground. He still managed to sink his sword into the nearest creature, though he felt awkward without his shield as backup. Gritting his teeth, Alistair yanked the rusty dagger out of his shoulder and felt his blood seep from the gaping wound. It trickled down his side, though he ignored it and the pain emanating from his shoulder. He groaned and turned to where he'd remembered seeing the last creature standing. He raised his sword to bring it down upon the monster. His sword met steel and his blow was deflected by two blades which had been hastily brought up in defence. He stared into the shocked, green eyes of his fellow Grey Warden, who had already taken down the last undead creature.

"I'm no demon, you id-!" Lenya halted mid-sentence as she noticed the severe bleeding from his shoulder. She lowered her weapons and stepped closer to him. Did he have a death wish, jumping in front of every sword and dagger he saw? But he had done it for _her_, had taken the blow that was destined to hit _her_. _Why?_ For a moment she forgot their grim surroundings and shook her head with bewilderment as she scrutinized him. His breaths were ragged, and sweat was running down his forehead. He clutched at his injury with his good hand in a feeble attempt to staunch the flow of blood. Satisfied that the creatures around them were dead, Alistair fell onto his knees, exhausted.

Despite the situation as a whole, he smirked. _Now if only the bleeding would stop, then the day would be a complete success._

An inhuman scream and the sickening crunch of bones snapped the Dalish back to reality. Apparently the fight wasn't over yet. She sprinted over to aid Sten and Morrigan, ignoring the fierce burning sensation at her side. Thunder flashed through the room as Morrigan volleyed another orb in the demon's direction. She was pleased to see the creature convulse as the spell hit it. Lenya was about to charge into the fray, but Sten's mighty swing with his massive sword made her interference unnecessary.

"Parshaara, die Demon!" he hollered before running his blade through the desire demon's abdomen. Roaring with anger, the Beresaad soldier pulled his two-handed blade free, and the demon's lifeless form sank to the ground.

It was over. Finally.

A calm had settled over the room, only to be disrupted by everyone's ragged breathing and a sudden groan from Leliana, who had just snapped out of a nightmare spell the demon had cast upon her. "Maker, my head..." the woman walked over to the rest of the group, still a bit dazed.

Morrigan rested her weight on her staff, completely drained. Yet she was not tired enough to spare the elf a nasty glare. "Remind me to hit you the next time you want to go down into a magical laboratory. We don't even have the girl. Imbecile."

"That is NOT my fault," the elf glowered at the witch. "You didn't actually expect me to let a demon run free, did you?"

"You made the right choice, Warden. Demons are dangerous and must be killed." Sten gazed disapprovingly at the witch, "though I would not expect _you_ to understand."

"Nor would I," Morrigan scoffed back.

"Ouuuuch," came a plaintive moan from the other corner of the room. Lenya suddenly remembered her fellow Warden, whom she had left behind. Lenya was about to walk over to him when Leliana rushed by her. Alistair was still cowering on the ground with his hand pressed against his wound. He was surrounded by the foul-smelling bodies of dead skeletons.

"You are hurt, Alistair!" Leliana shrieked. She knelt in and observed his injury closely. "We should tend the wound before we move on."

"Stating the obvious, I see?" The elven woman stood beside her two comrades and glared down at the human woman. The shemlen bard's mere presence was enough to tick her off for some reason. In order to distract herself, she began tapping the floor with her foot, much like she had earlier.

Leliana looked up at her and noticed the mild wound around her abdomen. "You are hurt too, Lenya!"

"Just a scratch," she shrugged her off. Without paying Leliana any further attention, the Dalish turned to Morrigan. "Do you still have the poultice?"

"I do." The sorceress sighed. "How did the idiot even _manage_ to get this badly hurt? Actually, forget it. I _really_ don't want to know."

Alistair's gaze subconsciously wandered to the elf, but she ignored him.

Morrigan fetched the bandage out of her little bag and grudgingly threw it into Alistair's direction. "Tis a waste of a good poultice..."

Grimacing, he stood up again. His splintmail armor was partly tattered and stained by an odd mixture of darkspawn blood as well as his own. He sighed. "Great. I really liked this armor..."

"That should be the least of your concerns right now, Alistair," Leliana murmured. She treated his shoulder with the poultice. "This will stop the bleeding, but once we are back in camp you need a proper bandage."

"Understood. I'm just glad to be alive. Remind me to add undead and demons to the list of things I dislike." He looked over to Lenya. "Are you alright?"

"I am." She nodded curtly and then blatantly turned away from him, causing him to frown. He hadn't expected her to rejoice over his stupid twinge of heroism, but a little _thank you_ would have been nice. Maybe he was just expecting too much of her.

"Oh, good to know, I suppose." The Warden felt obliged to answer as he waited for Leliana to finish bandaging him up. He felt a bit awkward that everyone was waiting for him. "Well, not bleeding anymore. I take that as a good sign." His shoulder still ached like mad, but the poultice provided at least a bit of relief.

Sten ignored him. "What about the human? The girl is gone. Vashedan, this has all been a waste of time."

"We came down here, just like he asked. Which means the shem owes me the _right _code word now. The plan hasn't changed at all. I will not leave without the golem." With a shrug Lenya headed toward the exit. The hasty motion caused her to wince slightly. Her side burned like fire. She would need to find some elfroot once they were out of here. She wanted to leave this dreaded place behind as soon as possible.

* * *

"What do you mean she's _dead_?" Matthias stared wide-eyed at Lenya, his gaze full of disbelief.

"Just as I said, human." The elf shrugged. "There was nothing we could do. Now give me the correct code word."

_As usual_, Alistair thought as he arched an eyebrow, _she is a shining example of compassion_.

"We are sorry for your loss, Matthias. I wish there was more we could have done..." Leliana interjected and earned herself a furious glare from Lenya. "...but there wasn't," she added quickly, feeling somewhat intimidated.

"I...see-" the man's voice broke. He looked as though he might start crying at any second. "My poor butterfly..."

_Tap, tap, tap, tap. _"The code word."

She understood his dismay, but she didn't have the patience to deal with a grieving shem; especially not after fighting a village full of darkspawn and a demon-infested laboratory.

"Oh," Matthias murmured. His voice came out in shaky breaths. "...Of course. I...don't know why ...someone would want to awaken that thing...but the correct word is '_dulen harn'_." He swallowed hard. "If...if you would excuse me, I want to leave this place." With that, the man sprinted toward the exit.

"Well, at least the fool kept his word," Morrigan muttered as she watched him vanish. "We should go and get the golem, lest this wasteful day lose any and all purpose."

* * *

She took a deep breath as she finally left the cellar behind for good.

Lenya had almost forgotten how amazing it was to breathe fresh air. Well, smoke-filled air actually, but it was still a vast improvement over the heady stench of must in the cellar. The fire was still flickering and burning; it hungrily devoured the buildings in the area. The village was lost, fallen to the wrecking frenzy of the darkspawn. Lenya wasn't completely heartless, and she felt a pang of sympathy over the destructed state of this shem village. She had more important things to worry about, however, and she would finally get what she'd sought out in the first place.

"Wait," Alistair intervened," ...are you sure you want to do this?" Her head snapped up at him. She wanted to chide him for such a stupid question, but after taking in his sweaty face, and the blood-sodden bandage around his shoulder, she held her tongue. Instead she only peered at him... and for the briefest of moments their eyes met. She detected the concern visible within his. She quickly averted her gaze and turned from him. She hastened her pace to the rigid statue in the middle of the square, leaving her companions behind. Pleased to find that the control rod was where she had left it, the elf picked it up and spoke the two words, loud and clear.

"Dulen harn." Lenya stared wide-eyed and with baited breath at the mass of stone as it suddenly began to crack and burst. She took a step back as the golem started to move its massive head, followed by both of its arms. Stone creaked and cracked as the golem unbent, its true size monumental. Lenya gasped. It was an impressive sight to behold. The golem stretched one last time. A strange white light radiated where other creatures would have had eyes. They probably _were_ its eyes...or so the Dalish guessed.

"Oh great. Someone finally found the control rod. Probably stumbled over it by accident, huh?" Lenya winced as it spoke, its tone of voice was tinny and dull.

Alistair was not only impressed by the golem's appearance, but also surprised by its choice of words. Somehow it sounded...sarcastic?

It took several moments before Lenya remembered how to speak. "Yes, I found the control rod, but it wasn't by accident."

"So it _knew_ what it was doing, then? I'm impressed," it interrupted her. Its eyes glowed down at the elf, as if biding her for a response.

_Definitely _sarcastic. Alistair raised an eyebrow. _Maybe even funny, in a way._

"Hmm, odd." Morrigan spoke up, "_I_ would assume that the golem would be grateful to the person who freed it after all this time. Silly me."

It turned its head toward the young woman, a great sigh escaping it. "Oh, and here we have a _mage_, of all things. Wonderful." Morrigan didn't answer, instead she only glared in its direction. "But to answer its question," the golem continued, "I'm not displeased to be awake again. I have watched these blasted villagers scurry around me for many, many years. Say," it directed its words to Lenya again, "are all villagers dead?"

"No, not all. A few escaped the darkspawn."

"Too bad." It replied dryly. "So it _does_ have a reason to awaken me, doesn't it?"

Lenya knitted her brows. "Why are you calling me 'it'? My name is Lenya, golem."

"_That _is the very reason I refer to it as such," it scoffed, obviously disapproving. "I am called _golem_ all of the time, so why should _it_ have it any better, then? Oh, how I remember being ordered about; golem, get me that chair; golem, chase the bandits away; golem, carry me the rest of the way, my feet are too tired. Maddening."

"You mean your previous master? The one you killed?" Alistair inquired, feeling uneasy... – and his injury played only a small part in his discomfort.

"Did I? I don't remember...maybe I did as he screamed 'golem, don't crunch my head'." It chuckled.

"Interesting." Now it was Lenya who sighed. She was exhausted and wished for nothing more than a bath and her bedroll. "Do you _have _a name?"

"It is Shale."

"Good, Shale," The Dalish woman went on, raising the control rod. "I have had enough of this place, so let's get out of here. You can tell your stories later."

"I would appreciate that," Sten chipped in and pointed at Alistair, whose face was becoming more and more pallid. "...because if the human collapses, I will not carry him."

"I think I'll survive either way, thanks," Alistair snarled back. Despite all of the blood, sweat and pain he was enduring, he put his brave face on. At least, he _thought _it was his brave face.

"More's the pity," he ignored Morrigan's obligatory bitchy comment, his mind was too busy lamenting over the fact that they had an hours long walk ahead of them before reaching the main camp. It wasn't really a _happy_ thought.

"Let's go, Shale." Lenya repeated and turned to leave, the control rod still in her hand.

The creature was about to follow when it suddenly began to stir within its movements. "Strange, I feel no urge to obey its orders. It did give an order, didn't it?"

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Of course I did! Did you take it for a _suggestion?"_

"It has the control rod, hasn't it?"

_**More **__stupid questions?_ She was growing weary of the stony...thing. Sighing, the elf raised the little staff into Shale's sight. "Now you'll tell me the control rod is broken. It would be a wonderful end to a wonderful day," Lenya bit off in a rather caustic tone.

"It _is_ broken. I feel no urge to do as it says." With the golem's unnatural voice, the comment sounded even drier than intended.

The sentence hung silently in the air for a moment. Lenya glared down at the useless item in her hands, her fingers tightened around it. With a roar of anger she heaved it away from herself. The control rod flew through the air and shattered into several pieces upon hitting the nearest wall of a burning building. All eyes were on her, each of them displaying a mixture of surprise and shock.

"It has some anger issues, I see?" Alistair could barely contain his amusement at Shale's pinpoint observation.

"No." She glared defiantly up at the creature, heedless of the almost comical difference in height. "I just have problems with smart-ass golems that aren't as controllable as they're _supposed_ to be."

Shale chuckled. "Too bad for it, then. The crystals must have altered my function somehow. At least one good thing came from the mage's experiments, I suppose. So what will it do with me now, hmm?"

"What do you _want_ to do?"

Shale heaved its massive shoulders. "Aside from leaving the place where I stood frozen for thirty years? I don't know. I have no memories, no purpose."

_A purpose_. Inwardly, Lenya laughed scornfully. She had but one purpose left. "I still have many, many darkspawn to kill." She sighed, her tone almost weary. "I'm a Grey Warden. On an important mission to stop the Blight and all that. I could use your help."

"Darkspawn? Crushing their squishy, stinking heads sounds like fun." It seemed to contemplate this notion. "They are evil, evil creatures and need to be destroyed…though not as evil as the birds. Feathery, wicked fiends." Shale shuddered. "Should I come with it then? I haven't anything better to do."

_Lovely. _Lenya paused momentarily, weighing the option against the dangers of having an _uncontrollable_ golem as companion. "How can I trust you, Shale?"

"I don't know. How does it trust its other companions without a control rod?"

"That's simple: _It_ doesn't."

Alistair winced at her words. He should have expected something like that from her lips, but nonetheless the comment stung almost as much as his wounded shoulder.

"Charming. So, I will promise not to accidentally sit on it, or crush its head unless it decides to treat me as my previous owner did. Will that suffice?"

Lenya eyed the golem in front of her. Eventually its practicality won over her better judgment. "I guess it has to. Let's go, then."

With that she turned to leave, with one more companion in tow.

* * *

_**A/N: **New snark-buddy aboard, yay. We'll finally move onward to the first threaty after some camp time the next chapter. Review please?_


	19. The first cut is the deepest

_My heart is covered  
With thoughts entangled  
How could it ever have felt so real?  
Is there a place more lonely than I feel within? _

**-Within Temptation- Caged**

* * *

**Chapter 18: The first cut is the deepest**

.**  
**

The water felt good on her skin.

Immediately after their return, Lenya went to the lake - which was fairly secluded from the rest of their camp. The moon had replaced the sun; its glowing light reflected softly in the water, illuminating everything around her in a delicate silver glow. It was soothing scenery in the night, a place detached from the rest, somehow like a dream. Everything else was distant at the moment; only the tranquility and her own, stable breathing was palpable to her. Her lips quivered when she had dived under the cold water once again. Lenya washed away the blood, the sweat, and the hectic feel of the day... but the memories remained. Memories of that elven ruin had been branded into her head and she wasn't capable of willing them away again - not since she had stared into the dark, hollow eyes of one of those monsters in Honnleath that day.

Memories were normally a wonderful thing; something you hold dear when looking back. In Lenya's case however, it was something frightening to face because it could shred her to tiny, little pieces inside, leaving her undone.

"_How could walking corpses be here, Tamlen?"_

"_Well Lenya, Hahren Paivel once said that in places where many people died, it can become setheneran – a land of waking dreams. The Veil becomes weak and spirits slip into our world. Then they possess corpses and walk around…"_

"_Smart-ass."_

Stirred by this remedy, the water splashed audibly as she vacillated within. Ironically, darkspawn didn't evoke such an emotional response from of her. There was just pure, unaltered hatred for them. The need to kill them - nothing more. But those walking corpses, the stench of death, those hollow eyes - it was still too achingly familiar. A reminder of the all too fresh past, of the biggest mistake of her life. One she had nearly paid for with her life, while Tamlen _had_ to. 

_My fault, my fault,_ her mind chanted, and Lenya found herself bitterly agreeing on those thoughts. A freezing breeze gushed over her naked form, which shuddered in response, reminding her that it was time to get out of there quickly. Rivulets of water ran down her neck, and then her spine, as she darted up and waded through it to reach the side of the lake and her fresh clothing.

Arai's head tilted up as his mistress was coming closer and his stumpy tail was wagging in anticipation to receive her, after he had faithfully waited for her all the time. Much to his disappointment, Lenya didn't pay him much attention at all as she dried herself up and quickly got dressed. Her mind was just too occupied for that.

Captured in a rather complicated rush of emotions, she had too many problems to keep at bay or to even discern. One of those many feelings was certainly anger at herself, at her own stupidity. She had frozen in front of those creatures like a scared little girl, endangering not only her own life by doing so, but also that of her fellow Warden. Unwillingly, the images of his ragged breathing, the afflicted heavy steps, and the hand clutching onto his injured shoulder on their way back turned up in her mind again.

Lenya felt responsible for it, somehow.

Her tunic rustled softly as she pulled it over her head. Her movement was automatic while her mind was absent, in a far distant place. The elven woman couldn't grasp his motivation for what he had done and was not sure if she even wanted to know. All she knew was that she probably should do _something_ for that idiot who'd saved her, if only to wash away a bit of the guilt that threatened to take over her being.

Lenya sighed.

Memories were indeed a tricky, twisted thing.

.

.

* * *

.

"Hold still, Alistair, we need to get rid of it for a proper treatment."

In the center of camp, Leliana did her best to remove the bloodied and makeshift pressure bandage from earlier, but the Warden just fidgeted too much around for it.

"Ouch, ouch." He knew that the bouncing up and down of him was complicating the whole process of getting a new bandage, but he couldn't help it. The sedative effect of the poultice was long gone – if there even had been any to start with – and now every tiny brush at his injury drove him insane. Another glare from Leliana made him finally hold still, although with difficulty.

Alistair laughed slightly. Some hero he was, first bravely jumping in to save the day, and now he was complaining about the consequences of his new, impulsive actions. Well, granted, not the consequences in whole… rather, the pesky, stinging pain that came along with it. Maybe he was just so sensitive about it because it had been so long since he had last had the unwanted taste of a blade within his flesh. His training in the Chantry had been rather controlled, after all, and Duncan mostly kept him out of the fights during his six months of being a Warden.

A luxury Alistair first never wanted and now didn't have anymore. He was one of the last remaining Grey Wardens fighting the Blight, after all. Every day would be a struggle of life and death now, so given what still _could_ happen, the injury was a triviality, a little scratch. He should never forget that.

Also it would have far been worse had that particular blow hit the _intended_ target_._..

The fire cackled and cracked softly not far from him, drawing his gaze hypnotically into the dancing flames. He swore to himself not to doubt the success of their mission, but surrounded by the stillness of the camp and his own vulnerability, it was simply too easy to be engulfed by the heaviness of the task. Alistair believed that Lenya would eventually be capable of achieving what settled in that stubborn head of hers, no matter the cost.

Truth be told, he wouldn't be surprised if she could drive the archdemon back into its dark, deep cave with one of her vicious glares alone. At that, the pictures of her confrontation with the much bigger Shale earlier came back to his mind, letting him smirk briefly. It appeared that she was adapting to the role of a leader better every day, or she was good in making it _seem _so.

Alistair didn't know for sure.

The young Warden was more uncertain what his role in all this would be, jumping in front of blades aside. It's not that he was anyone special – he was just a simple fool lucky enough to survive where all the others had to die instead.

He wished it could have been the other way around.

If he could have saved one of them... the king or even _Duncan, _then he would have happily taken the blow for them...

He flinched as a sharp biting pain rippled through his system, which put him out of his grim reverie. Alistair's eyes focused back in front of him, noticing that Leliana finally had removed the bandage, which had been strapped tightly around his shoulder before. As he looked down at himself, Alistair sighed. He was quite a sight; his splintmail armor was partly torn apart, tattered, and completely caked in blood and dirt. Some pieces of splint even hung loosely down against his body. All the hours of effort he previous made to patch it up again had seemingly been wasted ones.

_Wow, super._

Leliana scrutinized his fairly deep flesh wound. "I'll get some water to boil it. We need to clean the wound." _Oh that sounds like fun._ "You may want to get rid of the armor in the meanwhile. It's battered anyway."

"I don't think we know each other well enough for th... – "

Her look silenced him. "Alistair, poultices are actually more effective when applied _directly_ to a wound and not around the armor."

Alistair sighed and wearily rubbed his face with his right, still armored hand. "I know. I was joking."

Leliana's lip quirked up to a smirk. "Good to know you are still capable of jesting. According to your demeanor, one could assume it is a mortal wound."

"Hey, it's not the first time I've been injured like this," he protested. "... It has just been a while, you know?"

"Figured." Leliana snatched a little bucket up from the ground and vanished in the direction of the lake.

Alistair waited for a moment before he rose from the log, discarding his gloves to the side. As he finally stood upright, he turned around to begin the difficult task of peeling himself out of this...thing. Alistair used to love his splintmail armor, but how one should get out of it with only one functional arm due to a wounded shoulder was mysterious to him. 

_Well time to find out. _

Gnashing his teeth together, he mostly used his right hand to undo the leathery straps at the side and tried to hold his shoulder still in the process. Of course, he was hardly successful in this, which made him hiss in pain and swear loudly as he bounced around, trying to get out of the demolished body armor.

Another turn followed, as the final strap didn't obey as wished. "Maker, you damn... stubborn... thing."

The sight amused Lenya. Since he hadn't noticed her arrival, she decided to watch his noisy 'armor dance' a while longer, one eyebrow raised. What an odd human he was...

"Need help?" Her tone was seeping with amusement.

Alistair jerked at the sudden, unexpected voice, the unthinking motion causing him another wave of pain. "Ouch, ahh. No, I'm perfectly _fine,_" he hissed, his face and body away from _her_. As if it wasn't enough to have the giant Qunari staring in his direction, now even his fellow Warden joined Sten in his disapproving 'you are an-idiot' stare. Probably. He wouldn't turn around to find out.

"Yeah you _totally_ look like that, puppy," Lenya retorted dryly and sighed. She stepped closer and loosened the last strap that held his armor together. One quick movement with his healthy arm was then enough to send the armor to the ground with a loud thud. Alistair inhaled deeply. _Finally._ Now the only awkward thing left to do was turn around and face her in his bloodied and sweaty tunic. _Brilliant._ And where was Leliana with the water anyway? He really could use some now.

The elf studied him for a moment, wondering why he was zoning out in the bleak night, face still away from her. "If this is a human way of playing hide and seek, it isn't working, I can say. I can still see you."

Despite himself, Alistair grinned."Ah, really? Too bad. And here I thought I'm Mr. Stealth, melting into the shadows or something like that."

"No, you are Mr. Obvious." He heard her saying, followed by an exasperated sigh but it also had a hint of amusement in it.

_So,little Miss Grumpy Girld is absent right now? Interesting. _

Slowly, Alistair turned around again and was temporarily bewildered at the sight. In front of him didn't stand the armored, fierce, and blood-smeared Dalish woman he used to know. Quite the opposite. She apparently took a bath; her blond hair was still wet and casually hung down around her face, framing it. Instead of armor and her weapons, she only wore simple clothes of dark linen, which were a bit too large for her small figure.

An unusual picture indeed...

Lenya waited a moment for him to say something, but he seemed to have spaced out again. Which appeared to be one of his favorite things to do, along with running in front of blades. _Idiot_. "You are an odd human," she scoffed and rolled her eyes.

He laughed at that. "And you are not the first to say that." Alistair noticed the mortar and pestle she was carrying in one of her hands and pointed at it. "What's this? Already time for dinner? You are too good to me."

She yanked the vessel away from him. "This isn't for eating, you idiot. Though it might be funny if..."

"Oh, Lenya, hello." Instead to finishing her sentence, the elf let out a groan at Leliana's appearance. The woman put the bucket down, choosing to ignore the elf's behavior. "Is your injury okay?"

"Yes. I can take care of that _myself_." The elf's snappy tone caused not only Leliana to flinch. If there has been any doubt of her dislike of the redheaded woman left, Lenya had successfully convinced Alistair otherwise now. This was all the more so for Leliana, who appeared momentarily speechless at the blatant animosity displayed towards her.

Heedless of her reaction, Lenya's gaze wandered down to the bucket. "Oh, you brought water, just what I needed. Good. Now go away."

Leliana only gaped at her, utterly bewildered. "Why- I - " For a moment she lingered and pondered whether to argue or not. Her sigh signaled that she had decided not to. "Fine. Have it your way."

Alistair didn't know what expression he made as he watched Leliana disappear to her tent, but he was sure it wasn't his most clever one. Confounded, he observed how the Dalish woman heaved the bucket up. "W-what are you going to do with the water?"

Lenya glanced up. "Pouring it over you if you don't stop asking dumb questions, that is."

Instead of fulfilling this threat, the elf poured a great amount of the water in a clean pot and put it near the fire to let it steam. Satisfied with her work, she took half of the greenish, herbal paste out of the vessel and threw it in the pot. Almost instantly the air nearby was filled with a sickish odor of tart moss and something... dead. It was atrocious. Alistair could only compare the scent to how the undead had smelled that day. Not really a flattering compliment for her cooking skills. If it _was_ cooking that she was doing, however.

He pointed at the pot. "That reeks." Having sniffed the air, Arai quickly left Lenya's side and fled to the other side of the camp. Unintentionally, the Mabari had emphasized Alistair's words in a comical way.

Lenya's lip quirked slightly up. "Well, fitting for you then."

_Ouch_. Another wound to his pride. _She was really good at this,_ he had to admit. "You are right," he said and pouted. "I really don't want to eat _that._"

"And you _shouldn't,_ either. It's fairly poisonous when ingested. Nevertheless it's a good medicine to disinfectant wounds. Unless you _swallow_ it, that is." Gingerly, she squatted down near the pot, waiting for it to steam. After a second or two, she looked up to him. "Now get off with that grimy shirt. I'm not touching that... thing."

Temporarily, the situation was too much for Alistair's brain to grasp, so it fried and left him unable to stammer anything but incoherent words. "You want to... that I... that you..."

Lenya sighed and suppressed the urge to throw the vessel with the other half of the herbs onto his head. It would have been a waste after she went through the trouble of creating the paste out of her remaining herbs. Instead, she only threw him a glare, knowing that it would silence his idiotic babbling. "Do I have to repeat myself?"

"No, no I heard you," he eagerly chipped in while blinking, confused. _It's just so grotesque that she wants to help me._ Alistair felt awkward as he eventually pulled the bloodied tunic over his head, aware of the fact that he stood half-naked in front of his fellow Warden. His _female_ fellow Warden. Fortunately, his aching shoulder reminded him that the reasons were all but romantic ones. He watched her standing up and vanishing into her tent.

"Now that is funny, leaving me stan..." Before he could finish his sentence, the elf reappeared with a fairly sized, white linen cloth in her hands.

"What is funny?"

_My idiocy. _"Nothing. I- I... you don't have to do this."

She didn't answer at first; rather, she concentrated on ripping the linen cloth in two pieces. After finishing this, she put the smaller fabric in the now boiling herbal water. "I know."

Alistair didn't know what to say on that, so he observed her in silence. It really looked like she knew what she was doing, as if she had done it many times before. He wondered if the Dalish had done the same for the people in her clan when they were injured. Subconsciously, his breath caught as she came close to him, the steaming, wet cloth in her hands.

"This might burn a bit now," she murmured in an almost apologetic tone, "... but it has to, in order to disinfect the wound." Lenya scrutinized the flesh wound on the side of his shoulder for a moment. It was fairly visible where the dagger had stuck despite his armor. If that blow would have hit her...

She halted in her movements, glancing up to him. "Why?"

The Warden blinked, confused as her questioning eyes met his. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"Why did you do this? I don't understand." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Alistair smiled warmly. "Well... we are fellow Grey Wardens, are we not? We have to take care of each other." _Oh great, Alistair. Hurray for a cheesy line like that._ He half awaited the snarky comment that she could take care of herself... but it didn't come.

Instead she only lowered her gaze again. "I see." For a moment, the elf stirred and tensed. It looked to him as if she was contemplating something back and forth.

Unbeknownst to him was the fact that Lenya really needed a moment to stomach his answer. She had expected every kind of stupid comment from his lips, perhaps even a lame joke. Though instead of doing so, he said something like _that_. It was... surprising, if not also confounding, to hear this kind of a sentence coming from his lips. Lenya took a deep breath to gather her thoughts again, before she eventually stepped closer to him and begin to wash his wound clean with the herbal water.

Lenya didn't lie. It burned. That was, however, not a strong enough word to describe it, as Alistair felt the urge to wince and wail. _Liquid fire in my veins would be more appropriate_, he thought, yet did his best to not show it. The pain accelerated his breathing and under the heady stench of the herbs he could discern another, faint scent. Soap, mixed with the smoke of the firewood maybe.

It wasn't unpleasant.

Alistair soon realized that it was _her_ smell and held his breath. She was standing so close to him now, that he even could see the freckles around her nose when he looked down. Maker he hadn't even _known_ that she had freckles. And at the right cheek she even had a faint scar, and he couldn't help but wonder where she had gotten that. Catching himself staring at the finer lines of her concentrated face, Alistair quickly averted his eyes in another direction and gulped hard. _Awkward..._

Lenya didn't regard him further, as she cautiously disinfected the wound. It was not the first time she had done something like that, so the dried blood and the wound itself didn't disgust her. It was just the first time she was doing it for a _human_. The difference was quite noticeable to her, however. He was big and bulky – muscular even – while the hunters she had treated were all lean and naturally smaller. 

_Humans are indeed... odd._

Alistair started to shift his weight from one foot to the other as the silence stretched further. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the long pause, he started to talk. "So how come you are so adept in these herbal things?"

It was not the most intelligent question, which she expressed immediately with her sardonic look. "Is this a serious question? Or are you just being an idiot again?"

He grinned slightly. "I think I'm losing here if I say 'take your pick.' So yeah, truth is, I'm curious. Didn't mean to offend you, though."

"Okay," the elf sighed resignedly. "I will tell you, although I doubt you will understand. We Dalish..." She paused to swallow down the pang of homesickness she felt. "… are responsible for each other. Each member of my clan is an important and substantial part of our community. Only together we can function as a clan. That is not the reason I learned this, however, but it is helpful for all the little scratches and injuries where healing magic isn't needed. And Dalish hunters get scratched quite a lot..." Lenya looked down and smiled wistfully. More for the fact that she was repeating Hahren Paivel's preaching, which she had hated so much before, and now reveled fondly in the memory of his words. She bit down the tears. They weren't fond memories, however.

Thinking on her clan was bound to hurt.

Alistair was baffled to hear her actually talking about her clan. She never had done that before and, seeing her sad expression in the flickering light of the fire, he quite understood why. Or _assumed_ to know. "No, I think I... understand. I'm sorry, Lenya. You must miss them a great deal." His tone was soft and compassionate.

She took an audible intake of air; the bloodied cloth of linen suddenly fell out of her hand to the ground. For a brief moment, she believed that she would follow the cloth to the ground; that she would also sink into dust. And for the same amount of time, she wanted to. Lenya felt mellow, her treacherous knees shook as she tried to gather the myriads of emotions into a whole, stable one.

She failed. 

_Stupid, stupid human_.

Irrational anger seethed up in her. 

_Why must he say all those things?_

The things that let her remember of what she had had once. Of what she had lost.

Lenya didn't want to remember that.

Her hands balled to a fist as she glared up at him. "Don't act as if you would know me, human," she spat, her voice shaking. She would not cry._ Never._

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," he replied, actually shocked by her intense reaction. Lenya didn't answer; instead she squatted down to pick the cloth up again. And on the way down, herself too.

"You haven't." The Dalish took a deep breath, while she threw the dirtied piece of linen into the fire. It smoldered away with a hiss. "So, where do you have the poultice?" Her voice was even again, her face an unreadable mask.

"Here." Bewildered of her sudden mood swing, Alistair handed her the bandage. He looked at her intensively, sympathy and sadness evident in his expression. _I know how you feel_, he wanted to say. _I have also lost everything._ But he decided against it and kept it to himself.

"You may want to sit down."

Her business-like voice startled him a bit. "Why?"

"Because this will _hurt _now. Until the sedative effect of the herbs kicks in, that is. They will also support the wound healing but, directly applied, it will burn like fire first."

"Sound like fun, really." Alistair shrugged and simultaneously regretted this unthinking motion. At least the pain kicked him out of his wistful mood. He sat down, watching her take the rest of the green, stinky paste and apply it directly to his shoulder then. Immediately, his mind went blank as a storm of fire rushed through his body, taking his breath away.

Lenya stopped and looked at him, somewhat sympathetic. She knew how much it hurt and didn't envy him right now. "Only a moment longer."

Alistair waited for the burning to stop and, after a bit, it finally did. He sighed, appeased. "Wow, the pain is indeed gone now. And not only the burning pain, I mean. Thank you."

"Mhm," Lenya only hummed and started to wrap the bandage tightly around his shoulder. "You will need to rest your shoulder for a few days. So no fighting."

He nodded. "Understood. Well then let us just hope the darkspawn will also be so considerate." Alistair bit his lip. "I'm sorry that I'll delay our journey, though."

The elf couldn't believe that he was actually sorry for getting injured. An injury that should have been hers in the first place. "Now, that is just stupid, puppy. I need you at full strength, so stop being so noisy about it."

That made him smile. Lenya's concern wasn't visible at first glance and her words appeared somewhat rude, but the careful way she was tending his wound told him otherwise. And this was worth more than a simple _thank you_ from her lips. "Okay, I suppose we need to restock our supplies anyway..." His smile morphed to a smug one. "... with you having eaten everything we had and so on."

Lenya scoffed. "I hate this. Blame the damn taint for it, not me, puppy."

Alistair glanced up to her and observed the pattern of the tattoo on her forehead. "Don't worry it will get better in time. Anyway... why have you given me such a ridiculous nickname?"

"Because you are a big stupid puppy. Always barking, always noisy, that is."

Her deadpanned way in expressing it caused him to laugh. "Charming indeed, my lady. Yet better than being a big stupid _cat_, eh? What is this about? You slay darkspawn without to blink but are afraid of _cats_? _Really_, Lenya?" Even now, that fact seemed weird to him; nevertheless, it amused him greatly.

Another thing she didn't want to be reminded of, and yet he was shamelessly asking about it. _Must be a talent or something,_ Lenya thought, annoyed, and subconsciously pulled the bandage a bit tighter than needed. "I'm not afraid of cats, actually. I just hate them."

Alistair tilted his head. "Hmm… okay, but why? They are harmless animals, really. You know in fact, I once had a very large cat when I was a boy..."

"They aren't harmless; they are evil," Lenya rushed to chip in.

Alistair chuckled. "Now you sound like Shale, only with cats, that is. Buuut I get your point, I think. I thought the same of my cat when we were diverting the food in the stable. That thug often ran away with my ration when I wasn't paying attention for a moment. No wonder he became so large within a short time." He sighed, momentarily sunken in the memory. "Good times. Still, you haven't answered my question."

"Now you are prying _and_ annoying. That really _is_ a talent of yours, huh?" She seemed a bit vexed.

"Okay, okay… figured," the Warden said and raised his healthy hand in defense. "Little miss grumpy girld reared her head again. You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

"Good, I _don't_ want to." Lenya glowered at him for a moment before eventually fastening the bandage with a few, ably knots. "I think we are finally done, fortunately. Which is good because I'm really tired... If you'll excuse me now, I have an appointment with darkspawn in my dreams. Ugh." The elf grimaced and turned on her heel.

He snickered, amused by her sudden rush to get away from him. "Well then, say hi to them for me."

_Oh, back to lame jokes, are we? _Lenya groaned and answered without to turn around. "Do it yourself."

"Oh, right, I have nearly forgotten that... Lenya?" he called after her, causing her to stop her pace, even if only reluctantly.

"What now?" Being away from the camp's fireplace, she was almost completely enveloped by the shadows of the night.

Alistair looked down at himself, admiring briefly the clean and good work she had made with the bandage. "That was unex–" He cleared his throat."... I mean, thank you for your help."

"No, _ma serannas_... I thank you, Alistair." Lenya murmured quietly and turned again to go to her tent, leaving a very perplexed Warden behind.

.

.

* * *

.

"Elf!"

Before Lenya could actually slip into her tent, the huge form of the Qunari stepped in the way, his expression stony.

"Sten." The elf sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. She was tired and not truly in the mood for any kind of conversation anymore, yet asked nevertheless. _Playing the nice and friendly leader, that is. Ugh._ "What do you want?"

"I don't understand. You look like a woman." His dark eyes stared down at her in confusion.

Her shoulders sagged in resignation. She neither wanted to know why that giant was asking such an utterly moronic question nor actually answer it. Yet, given Sten's stoic demeanor, she was aware that she had no other choice. "Oh, is that so? What gave _that_ away, I wonder?"

"You fight. So it followed that you can't be a woman."

Lenya blinked, feeling very much dumbfounded, and hoped in the corner of her mind that he was actually joking. He simply _had_ to, although it would be the lamest joke ever. She observed his expression, wanting to find a hint of jest in those hard facial features but was appalled to see that the Qunari was dead-serious. _Just wonderful... _"So, news to you then. I'm a woman _and_ I fight. Obviously."

"One of the things can't be true. Women are shopkeepers, priests, artisans or farmers. They don't fight."

Her confusion shifted quickly into irritation. In fact, she was on the brink of snapping, heedless of the stronger and much taller man in front of her.

_Breathe, Lenya, breathe... _The Dalish tried to calm herself but it was for naught as her temper won over. "If you want to imply that I have to sit crying in a corner and wait for some man to save me just because I'm a woman, _forget it!_" She glared up at him in defiance, breathing heavily. "It is not _my_ fault, Sten that your sight is too narrow-minded to recognize that I was raised and trained my _whole_ life to be able to fight. If you have a problem with it... well, there is the entrance to the camp…" Lenya pointed her finger into the darkness "... use it the other way around!" Her lower lip was the only part of her that was moving, trembling, while she remained frozen in front of him, her posture a wholy threatening one.

The elf felt deeply offended by the Qunari's words. In her clan, _all_ Dalish women were able to _fight_. It was as natural as breathing. So in her view, it was an insult not only to herself but to her culture as a whole. Lenya happened to like Sten's calm, sturdy nature, actually, but this had really pissed her off.

Sten stared silently down at her for a moment, trying to make sense of the many words the elf had yelled at him. It only confounded him more. "So you must be different then? You don't look different to me. You are an elf. The size of your hand, whether you are clever or foolish, the color of your hair or the land you came from. These are things beyond your control. We don't choose, we simply are. So how should it possible for you to choose what you aren't? I don't understand."

Observing him a moment longer, she recognized a genuine confusion in the otherwise so steely gaze, which fitted his words. Eventually, this perception made it back to her with a sigh. Sten didn't want to insult her; he really just didn't understand. Lenya often forgot that he was used to a whole different culture and foreign to this world. Just like her and yet so... disparate.

"Sten," she took a deep breath, "a person can choose who he wants to be. I am a woman, and I fight. It's truly that simple."

"Is it?" the qunari scoffed, still not trusting her words wholly. "We will see." For a moment, it looked like Sten would step out her way but he halted. "So how do you want to defeat the darkspawn?"

_Wait, more questions?_ It's not that she valued Alistair's company much, but right then, Lenya regretted ever having left the fireplace. The human was far less annoying than Sten at that moment, which was indeed a frightening revelation for her. "And here I thought I could go to my tent to rest for a hour or two... Silly me."

Sten ignored her annoyed comment and tone. "If you are the leader like you claim to be, you have to know."

"I didn't clai– " Lenya stopped herself before she could reveal her aversion against the idea of herself leading. "Sten, can we discuss that another time? Like tomorrow?" Her tone was weary, just like she suddenly felt inside – utterly exhausted and… empty.

"More procrastination? That seems to be a virtue of yours. You need a plan. Lingering and hiding in the camp won't stop the Blight. So far, I'm not impressed."

"I'm not here to impress you." She had had enough now. Lenya only wanted to vanish into the protecting darkness of the night, into her tent. So she slipped past his massive stature to her tent, the urge to be alone growing bigger with every step.

Sten didn't hinder her getting away; he only briefly asked himself what to make of this strange, little person. Whether she was a fool or it was a quality of the Grey Warden he hadn't yet heard about, the qunari couldn't say.

Time would tell.

With a dismissive grunt the berassad soldier returned to his patrolling routine.

.

.

* * *

.

Finally alone.

Lenya let out a heartfelt sigh as she sunk down on her bedroll, embraced by the darkness and security of her tent. Except for a few scattered snippets of different voices and words afar, tranquility claimed her being. Her heart felt heavy, like a massive stone in her chest. The downside of being alone and lying in the darkness were those unwanted pictures and fragments of memories she so desperately kept in check before that threatened to break free again. The elf squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that sleep would wash away her thoughts with a wave of oblivion.

"_I'm sorry. You must miss them a great deal..."_

_Stop it. Stupid human._ Lenya rolled around and pressed her face into the bedroll, as if this motion could keep the pictures and snippets of words out of her mind. The elf didn't dare to move anymore, only breathing as much as needed in the vain attempt to keep the anguish at bay and distant.

"_You need a plan. Lingering and hiding in the camp won't stop the Blight."_

She was no leader; she'd only been shoved and pressed into the role that wasn't her's. Probably never would be. She didn't want that kind of responsibility… had no idea where to go next. Nevertheless, Lenya knew that she had to stay strong, even if the enormous task stole her ability to breathe, oppressing her. Even if she missed each and every single person of her clan and her old life with every fiber of her being, she couldn't cry, had to keep the facade up. Never submit. Maybe it was foolish pride to fight the feelings stirring within, feelings that wanted to make her weak, shattering her. Lenya couldn't allow that to happen. What else was left for her in a world that wasn't her own than to cling onto her pride? Onto a known pattern of a life long lost? A life she missed dearly?

"_Well... we are fellow Grey Wardens, are we not? We have to take care of each other."_

Those words again in her mind. Lenya didn't trust them, didn't even want to give in to the illusion of them being the truth. In the cold world outside of her clan, she knew she could only trust herself. Distrust she was taught all her life.

Known pattern.

It helped to avoid falling apart completely.

Motionless, she lay in the darkness and waited. For the first time since having those dreams, she _wished _for the darkspawn to intrude on her mind. At least those would keep her mind occupied and numb the other, even _more_ unwanted pictures.

Lenya didn't know how long she lingered before finally drifting into the much-wanted slumber. Though, as she did, the soft giggling of a young girl rang in her ear. Soon the elf recognized that it was her own voice, as she watched a piece of her own life like a bizarre intruder...

.

.

xxxxxxx

_"Lenya, you can play in the wood glade but only where we can see you. And don't eat any berries just because they look tasty." Ashalle watched fondly after the little girl who stormed away, her long blond hair almost swaying in sync with her tripping steps._

_Another elven woman came close, observing the little girl in her delighted chase after a butterfly."Isn't she adorable? Her father would have been so proud of her. It's really tragic what happened to him… to our keeper."_

_"Yes, indeed," Ashalle murmured absently, then turned her head to the Dalish woman from her clan. "I'm just glad she doesn't know. It should stay this way."_

_Lenya was happy. The sun finally broke through the thick rain clouds and she was allowed to play alone in the wood glade. Like the big girl she already was._

_"Butterfly, Butterfly," she sung and followed its unsteady, fluttering path with her eyes, hopping up and down. Suddenly the insect made a turn; its yellow wings carried it deeper into the woods. Without a second thought, the little girl ran after it, the dry branches on the ground faintly crackling under her light steps. _

_Lenya followed it and saw it land on the hollow trunk of a tree near a massive, towering, green-leafed oak. She decided to inch a bit closer, so she could observe it. Lenya loved butterflies after all._

_Gingerly, the girl sneaked closer to the trunk… how a grown up hunter showed her, always afraid of scaring it away. Proud of herself, she squatted down after she managed to come closer and was gazing at the delicate, yellow wings of it. Bound to the curiosity of wanting to know how it felt to touch those, the young girl reached her hand out to the butterfly. Just a moment later, she saw how that motion made him fly away. It drifted high up into the sky and passed the coppice of the wood until it was gone._

_She pouted as her big, green eyes followed the insect on its way to the sky. Now she didn't have anyone to play with and Ashalle was still busy with boring, grown-up things she didn't understand. A rustling of branches let her eyes dart in the direction she heard the surprising noise in the otherwise quiet and peaceful forest._

_Lenya startled. Two yellow eyes of a strange animal were staring directly at her. She knew a lot of animals but never had she seen **such **a creature before. With a mixture of curiosity and fear, she slowly inched closer to observe it; the animal didn't back away. It wasn't huge; it had black velvety fur, two little pointy ears and a tail. Aside from its gleaming yellow eyes, Lenya thought that it was an animal she didn't have to be afraid of. Unlike the wolves, which looked a bit similar and yet so... different. She could feel her heart beating with excitement as she was really close to the calmly waiting animal. Lenya bowed down to it and mimicked its comical way of standing on all fours, heedless of the still moist earth. She inched closer, tilted her head, and smiled into the eyes of the animal._

_"Will you be my friend? You look nice."_

_One hand reached out to touch its soft fur, but before she could even touch it, the creature swiped with its paw and scratched her across the cheek with its sharp claw. Then it stormed away, snarling, into the coppice. Lenya fell backward. Shocked, she touched her right cheek and noticed it was bleeding._

_Burning and bleeding._

_Tears welled into her eyes and ran down her face, which only made the deep scratch burn more. Still sitting on the ground, she started to sob bitterly. She should have never run so deep into the wood glade. 'Now Ashalle will be mad with me for running away...' Lenya thought, '...and won't love me anymore.' Another sob rippled through her throat and tears were flowing fluently now. 'No one ever wants to play with me.'_

_She didn't know for how long she sat there and cried, as she suddenly heard a boyish voice._

_"What are you doing here?"_

_Lenya wanted to look up to him, but tears were blinding her eyes, so she couldn't see to whom the voice belonged. "There... there... w-was an evil anim... animal..." the little girl tried to explain between the sobs, still covering her face._

_"You mean the black one?" She only nodded._

_"It is called cat. I have seen it here a few times. The keeper said that there are sometimes animals of the shemlen strolling around in the forest. It probably ran away from them." He looked down and frowned. "Hey, you are bleeding?" The boy rummaged in his pocket and put a slight dirtied handkerchief forward. He bowed down to the still crying girl. "Take this."_

_Lenya stopped crying and wiped the tears and blood off of her face with it. Now she could finally see the owner of the voice. It was a young boy, only a bit taller than he,r and he had short, tousled, ash-blond hair. Lenya knew him. He was one of her clan, but she always thought he was stupid and had ignored him because he was a boy. Every girl knew that boys were dumb... though maybe she had been wrong._

"_Ma serannas." The girl winced as she pressed the cloth on the scratch. She didn't like cats, not at all... but the boy seemed to be nice. "What is your name?"_

"_Tamlen. I'm already six years old and will be a great hunter one day. That is why I was hunting animals here," he declared proudly and helped her up. "I know you a bit... but I don't know your name."_

"_I'm Lenya," she sniffled, "... and four years old but I'm already a big girl. Ashalle said that."_

"_Lenya? That is a nice name..."_

_She smiled and ignored her burning and bleeding cheek. Suddenly, it wasn't that bad anymore. "Will you be my friend?"_

_Tamlen smiled back and reached her his hand. "Let's go back."_

_._

_.  
_

xxxxxxxx

Lenya choked up, surrounded by complete darkness in her tent. Terrified of the dream she had, she touched her right cheek where the cat had scratched her so long ago.

It was wet with tears.

Startled by her reaction and the haunting memories, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to compose herself again – but failed. The more she fought against it, the more tears started to fall, and there was nothing she could do about it. Eventually, powerless against all the emotions, Lenya gave up and buried her face in the bedroll.

And for the first time in weeks – after she had lost it all – she _cried._


	20. Carry on

_**A/N:** 100.000 words and still counting __:D Thx for all reading this story and __**Fluid Consciousness** for the beta-read. _

* * *

**Chapter 19: Carry on**

.**  
**

Alistair found Lenya outside her tent, bent over a huge map of Ferelden and her expression was etched with concern and the utmost concentration.

Shale was standing beside her and curiously surveyed her, enveloping the elf's smaller form in shadows. "So it still has no plan on where to go? Does it like camping so much that it doesn't want to give it up?" The golem's eyes gleamed down at the elf, its voice laced with bitter amusement. Lenya looked up from the map, her tone annoyed. "Do I need to remind you that we still have to wait until that idiot's injury is healed before we can go on?"

"You know I can hear you perfectly well! And your concern is touching, really," he retorted from afar. "My shoulder is much better, thanks to your treatment."

And it was. In the following week when the party ventured once again to Lothering for restocking and did a bit of bandit hunting for some extra coin, Alistair had stayed in camp in order to recuperate. Not voluntary of course, but his injury – and Lenya's glare – left him with no other choice. He was hardly in any condition to argue. Alistair used their absence for a little light training and meditation to keep his abilities up to snuff. One never knew when the darkspawn could attack, so he couldn't let his guard down just because he was feeling under the weather.

"Go on? Pah," Shale scoffed, snapping Alistair's attention back to the present. "To go on, it has to do _something_ first. Other than sit in camp, that is." Lenya didn't reply and only continued to stare at the map, as if she were hoping that the map would tell her where to go first.

She was fully aware that she couldn't waste any more time lingering in camp. The group had grown more and more disquieted within the past few days and it was clear that they were demanding a decision from their leader. _Leader..._ she laughed inwardly,_ a proper leader would know the direction._ She, however, was still very clueless as to what would be their first – or _best_ destination.

Alistair passed by Leliana, who was about to clean the pots from their evening meal and smiled at her briefly. Although Lenya didn't like her much, he got along with her just fine and he valued that she still stood with them, despite the elf's animosity. While walking over to the Dalish, he flexed and rolled his previously sore muscles and although the wound hadn't yet healed completely, it didn't hurt one bit. This was no doubt because of Lenya's knowledge of herbalism, and her treatment with that stinky but helpful herbal paste had sped up the healing process.

Although they still hadn't decided their next destination, it appeared to him that the Dalish woman was more composed now, calm even. Maybe he should offer some help with the directions, since his shoulder was alright again. He owed her at least that much and it was really time to move on now. One more day with Morrigan in camp and things could get…nasty. "As I told you, I can give you directions, if you like."

Lenya sighed. "Yes, Mr. Smart-ass, go on. Tell me where to go." As composed and calm as she was, she was still equal parts snarky. He smiled wryly. _Charming_.

"So it knows where to go? Why hasn't it said anything?"

"No, I don't know _where_ to go I'm merely offering a _suggestion_, Shale. I'm not the leader here." Shale grumbled but remained silent. Alistair turned to Lenya again. "Well, why don't we search for a Dalish clan in the Brecilian Forest? You are literally the expert on them. And you'd know the way..."

"No." She cut him off vehemently, and her scowl left no room for discussion.

Alistair blinked, confused. "But why...I don't understand."

"Don't worry shem, I don't expect you to..."

Although her answer had been clear, Alistair tried anew. He just couldn't understand why she was so adamantly against searching for one of the Dalish clans. "Wouldn't you be glad to see a clan of your kin again?"

Her head snapped up and she opened her mouth but decided against saying anything. Instead Lenya lowered her gaze to the map, hoping that he hadn't seen what was surely written in her eyes.

Shale's eyes shifted between the Dalish woman and her fellow Warden, recognizing the tense atmosphere. "It is its folk, is it not? With other painted, squishy elves like itself, correct? And it is far away from those it holds dear." The golem's gaze settled on Alistair. "So doesn't the clown knight think that this would cause the Warden much... _discomfort_? If I were it, I would want to _stay _with the other painted elves once I had found them. Thankfully enough, I am not a weak creature of flesh." With one last scoff, the golem turned and left, its step rumbling heavily on the ground.

Alistair stared after the massive form of stone, his mouth taking on a huge 'O'-shape. After another moment, he slapped his own forehead and felt embarrassed. "Of course. I'm sorry Lenya. I should have thought about _that_ ...before I rambled on about how great it would be for you..." he sighed, "...I'm really sorry."

"It's...okay..." Despite her words, she was avoiding having to look at him, her posture still tense. Lenya was still puzzled over how Shale was able to grasp the absolute truth of her motives. Either the creature was _that_ smart, or her emotions were now as easy to read as a book after the night she had cried. Although it had – despite her earlier beliefs– been a very relieving experience, she rather hoped for the first option.

"No," Alistair insisted, "...sometimes I tend to shove my foot in my mouth...or need a huge golem to do that for me." Maker, he was feeling like a jerk now. _Eloquent like always, Alistair._ Of course she was still homesick, why hadn't he thought about it? "So we don't have to go for the Dalish first. We still have treaties for the dwarves and mages, so one of them...Or," a sly grin found its way onto his face, "...you could just close your eyes and point on the map to decide."

Lenya shrugged. "Why not..."

"Wait...that was a joke...to lighten the mood, you know. You don't seriously... –" Alistair stopped as he watched in horror at how the elf closed her eyes and blindly pointed on the map.

Gingerly, she opened first one, then the other eye to see where her finger had landed and made a face. "Frostback mountains? That sounds...cold."

Alistair watched her for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Well, my lady, you made your choice, now stand by it."

"Shut up," she groused, vexed by his behavior.

"Although the Frostback mountains wouldn't be the exact destination we're looking for, but Orzammar is next to it."

"Orzammar? That is where the durgen'len live, I take it?"

He smiled. "Durgen'len means dwarves, right? Anyway, if you want to go there first, so be it. As I said before I won't argue about it. I just want to mention that this journey won't be easy. It's a long way, indeed." Alistair stepped closer to her and bent over to the map to demonstrate the way. "We need to follow the West Road around Calenhad Lake, then into the mountains through Gherlen's Pass. From there on, Orzammar isn't far."

"That is indeed quite a distance..."

"Yes, it is," he took a deep breath, inhaling the same soapy scent like once before. Appalled, the Warden suddenly realized how _close_ he was standing to her and immediately backed away. He cleared his throat."...but it is manageable, if we prepare well enough for the journey."

"Well then, Orzammar, it is. I always wanted to see dwarves. ...I don't know much about them, though."

"Neither do I. They live rather ...secluded lives. Though I think you will have pleeeenty of opportunities to see and get to know them. We need to see their king, only he has the authority to fulfill the treaty and send out troops for the war."

Lenya looked up at him, a bit unsure. "They will help us, won't they?"

He chuckled. "You still haven't read the treaties yet, have you? They are committed to help the Wardens in times of a Blight. The validity hasn't ceased. I think that's the reason..." Alistair swallowed hard, "...Duncan wanted us to retrieve them."

"You really_ are_ a smartass, puppy."

He noticed how one side of her mouth curved slightly up at her words. Apparently, she was mocking him and Alistair was only too willing to return the favor. He awarded her a tiny bow, as elegantly as he could manage. "At your service, my fearless leader." The young man half turned on his heel, a small smile on his lips, before another thought stopped his movements. "Ahh, Lenya. Before we pull up camp for the journey, c-can you do me a favor?"

"Forget it."

"I thought so," he smirked then shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Maybe it was a mistake to bring this up. With Lenya he never knew. "Nonetheless..." he tried anew, harrumphing, "... your Dalish armor...it's not...that it isn't well suited...and all that. It just might be a tad...well... impractical for the things to come."

Lenya looked up at him and frowned. "That is none of your business."

"You are right, it may not be.._." but every time an opponent attacks your unprotected abdomen I get a heart attack_..."it's just that the Frostback mountains are...cold, very cold." Inwardly he sighed at his own cowardice. _Now __**that**__ will surely be a compelling reason for her to reconsider._

"Cold?" The Dalish scoffed. "I sleep under the stars during winter, I think I can handle _that_."

_Thought so. _Now his sigh was audible. "Okay, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought this up. I know you value your armor, as I do mine." A wistful smile graced his features. "I received my splintmail armor right after I joined the Grey Wardens six months ago, so naturally it is..._was_ important to me. Alas, in the end all the hours of patching it up were for naught. Too bad, since it was all I had left from my time with them." _With Duncan..._

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

_That is a good question, actually._ "I, uhh ...just thought that we should leave the camp as _best_ equipped as possible. The journey is long and who knows when we will meet Bodahn again, if ever." Alistair pointed at the two dwarves who were sorting their goods at the other side of camp. "Though I can understand if your armor holds a similar value for you as mine did for me. So…sorry for mentioning it."

Lenya gaped at him, caught between confusion and bewilderment. She didn't see the point in this conversation. "I...uhh...see." Why was the human so concerned about her armor? It was true that it held another purpose other than protecting her. It was a piece of home she could wear and take with her in the cold, foreign shemlen world. Though how could he know...and most importantly _why_ did he care? The more she thought about it, the more confused she grew...and annoyed. The elf frowned. "I'm not like you, human. So stop meddling."

He knew it was better to leave it at that. "As you wish. Well, I'm going to pack some stuff up then; my new not- so shiny armor and all that. You may inform the others of your plans, but if you would exclude Morrigan..." he grinned,"...that would be great."

"Not gonna happen."

He sighed over-dramatically, but was subsequently smirking. "Aww, too bad. Well you can't blame me for trying, right? Anyway...when do you plan to decamp?"

The Dalish shrugged. "I don't know, exactly. As soon as we are ready, so I think we should seize this afternoon for preparation and depart at sunrise." Alistair nodded, content with this sensible agreement, and he turned on his heel. Lenya's eyes followed him for a fairly long way, from her outlying camp to his own, until he vanished into his tent. Doing so, she still couldn't help but wonder about the human and his intentions.

The elf didn't understand him, nor had she any desire to, for that matter. He was her fellow Warden and they were bound together by a common goal and the taint, but that didn't mean she trusted him. Alistair was human after all, and by the Elvhenan even the dal'en knew that they couldn't be trusted. It was simply a partnership of convenience, a need to come out alive at the end of this almost impossible task. Still, that didn't mean Lenya wasn't thankful for what he had done in Honnleath. Whatever his reasons were, she still hadn't decided.

She pushed the thoughts aside, folded the map together and sighed. Now that the elf finally had a destination, she was determined to get the durgen'len to help them with their forces, even if it took a lifetime to convince them. Lenya might be young but she was not so naïve that she believed she could fight the Blight with her companions alone. She didn't like it, but she knew she'd need help. In fact, it was time to finally carry on.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Arai lay curled up at her feet and briefly heaved his head at the rustling sound to verify the source of the noise. He blinked and yawned lazily as one of her hands stroked his ear. Subsequently, the dog stretched his massive muscles to get up as he noticed his mistress leaving in the direction of those short, strange creatures. Instantly, he chose to follow her. Maybe the short, bearded man would have something tasty for him to eat – like he had last time.

"Lethallin," his head snapped up to her voice and tilted it to one side to let her know that he would listen."...have you ever seen the mountains? We are going to see them soon, I suppose."

Arai didn't know what mountains were, but there was something in her tone that he didn't like. For a human – like the big, noisy one – it would have sound excited but his fine mabari ears were telling him there was something else. His mistress seemed kind of sad, her voice etched with a nuance of melancholy. So he licked her hand to appease her; it had always worked in the past.

As well it did now, a small smile graced her features for a moment or two.

"You know during my days with my clan I was famous for being eager to see the world beyond. Now that I have the chance and actually _have_ to travel, I suddenly don't want to anymore. Funny isn't it?"

Despite her words she wasn't laughing, and even another affectionate lick from him couldn't bring the prior smile to her face. Arai felt horrible, as if he had failed as the faithful mabari he ought to be for his mistress. Suddenly her warm hands were stroking along the thick fur of his back.

"However, I'm glad that you are with me, Arai."

He couldn't bark quickly enough to emphasize that he would be with her no matter what. More so, he would protect her with his life; whether it was from those stinking creatures whose blood always burned in his mouth like fire, or from these strange mountain things which seemed to make her so sad.

Wherever she went, he would follow.

.

.

* * *

.

"Bodahn?"

The dwarf stepped forward and his eyes gleamed warmly as he recognized the voice. "Ah, Lenya, my favorite customer. What can I do for you today, my lady?"

Lenya's first impulse was to answer "_Shut up and listen"_ but she bit it down. Instead she folded her arms and looked down at him, which was odd enough for her because normally the small elf always had to_ look up_ when talking to people. "We will depart tomorrow at sunrise, so I need supplies. What do you have?"

"All the best, and at the lowest prices as usual," Bodahn nodded, pleased. "For you I've given an extra discount, I might add. Anything in particular, my lady?"

"Enchantment?" The younger dwarf named Sandal exclaimed with excitement as he looked at the Dalish woman.

Lenya sighed. "No, as much I appreciate your crafting skills with those runes, no enchantment tonight." The young dwarf looked slightly disappointed for a moment, before he shrugged and went back to sort through his goods again. Lenya was amazed at how he remained unperturbed from all sorrow from one moment to the next. It was a talent of the simpleminded dwarf, and she envied it at times. Snapping out of her reverie, she cleared her throat. "Aside from the usual potions and stuff, I would like some information on top of that."

Bodahn knit his brows. "What is it an old dwarf could tell you about?"

"About Orzammar. We plan to journey there eventually, but I know nothing about dwarves."

"Oh." He fell silent for a second or two, before he continued. "So you want to hear my story?"

"Not sure about that, actually," the elf answered. "Though I would like to hear about the Durgen'len in particular. Our clan didn't know much and to be frank hadn't really cared about them, but now that we are going to Orzammar, I want to know a bit." Bodahn nodded and so he started to tell her his story, about dwarves and Orzammar; always aware to keep it informative but short. He knew that this woman wasn't the most patient person, but to his surprise she turned out to be an avid listener. "And that's all I can tell you, my lady. Orzammar, however, you can't describe with words, you must see it with your own eyes," the dwarf finished and smiled at her.

"A whole city built under rocks. Wow." Lenya blinked and took a deep breath. She was definitely impressed, yet she couldn't imagine how one could voluntarily live like that. To never see the sun...or the stars; it was a horrible thought for her.

"Not only a whole city, but a whole _empire_," he added. "Anyway, can I do anything else for you?"

Still occupied with processing the information he'd provided, she numbly shook her head. Never had the Dalish thought that it would become _that_ complicated; especially for her first destination. "No, aside from the usual supplies, I don't need anything." Lenya had almost turned on her heels again, when she suddenly stopped in her motions, a thought occurring to her. She didn't know why but before she could rethink it, her mouth blurted it out.

"Wait, d-do you perhaps have fitting, thick-leather armor for me?"

.


	21. The little things you give away

_**Disclaimer:** I own a "wonderful" swollen, bruised ankle from tripping over, but certainly not Dragon Age. I'm just playing in Bioware's world and extent it to my evil plotting._

_**A/N:** Thanks as always to the awesome **Fluid Consciousness**, who gives my story the extra touch of varied wording with her beta-ing. Thanks hun, you rock. *heart* Ahh, and maybe a word or two to Lenya before we start. As I have said before I took my time to work her character and story out, so all I can say - without to spoil too much- is that things...or people are not always as it/ they seem at first ;) So... enough of my rambling now. Enjoy._

* * *

_And losing what was found, a world so hollow _  
_Suspended in a compromise _  
_The silence of this sound is soon to follow _  
_Somehow sundown_

_~*~_Trading Yesterday - Shattered _~*~_

* * *

**Chapter** **20 : The little things you give away**

.

Alistair looked up at the darkened sky and let out a heartfelt groan.

A thunderstorm…could things get any worse?

As if ambushing darkspawn, bandits and wild animals during their two weeks of arduous journey wasn't bad enough. No, now the weather had also decided to join in on their misfortune. The rain, or rather the torrential downpour that fell from the sky in buckets had been their constant companion ever since they'd finally left the road leading through the Frostback Mountains.

At first he'd hoped that the rain would cease within the first few hours of wandering. Much to his dismay, it increased to a full-fledged thunderstorm. The sky was obscured by thick, dark, clouds and the only illumination they received was courtesy of a flashing blaze of light, which was accompanied by a deafening roar of thunder. Alistair couldn't see the path ahead of him, the torrent of water blurred his vision, only numbly following the shadows of his companions. He wondered why Lenya insisted on marching in a storm like this. Did her Dalish ancestry somehow harden her against this sort of weather? Alistair could hardly imagine how one would be able to carry on in such miserable conditions.

He had no other choice but to follow, though the thought of avoiding further walking was becoming more and more appealing by the minute. The wind lashed rain into his face, obscuring his sight as he sought help but found none. All of his companions had their heads down and were fighting against the dreadful weather and plodded forward in order to follow their Dalish leader. Morrigan was the only one who dared to curse their situation from time to time, but her muttering was mostly ignored and lost in the cacophonous down-pouring of rain. Other than those minor signs of discomfort, Alistair was unable to pick up on further complaints.

He couldn't be the only one bothered by their wretched surroundings, could he?

Alistair groaned once again and sped up so that he could reach the head of the group. No easy feat when one was wet, cold, tired and...well..._wet_. In fact, the Warden had long forgotten what it felt like to be warm and dry. "Lenya!" He cried out. His voice was swallowed up by the howling wind. He shouted louder so as to ensure that he would be heard. "LENYA!" Finally, a reaction from the tenacious elven woman. She slowed her pace and looked up at him as if he were nothing.

"We should search for shelter," he hollered against the storm. "We can't walk in weather like this."

To his horror, the Dalish woman only shrugged. "You have told me that once we have left the mountains, the Gherlen pass and Orzammar are just a day's march away. I want to reach that." Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, before she turned on her heel, effectively dismissing him.

Momentarily, Alistair didn't know what to say. Lenya never ceased to amaze him, and never in a good way. "Riiiight and you're willing to kill us all just to reach your goal? Wow."

Vexed, Lenya's head snapped back to glare at him. "You are the only one complaining so far." She looked around at the mute but agonized faces of her companions, and she recognized that what she'd said wasn't entirely true. The human was simply the first one to voice his concern. Sighing, the elf stopped and scanned the area for a suitable place to wait for the storm to pass. Unfortunately they were venturing through a narrow passage covered with withered, cracked stone, and therefore chances of finding shelter were slim.

"This isn't Orzammar, so why is It halting?" Shale inquired.

Instead of receiving a response from Lenya, Morrigan spoke up, her cape sopping wet and dripping with water. "Apparently we are finally taking a break from the sunny, beautiful day."

"G-good. I-it is t-too c-cold t-to g-go o-on," Leliana pressed forth through chattering teeth. Lenya was used to inclement weather, though the harsh, foreign cold of this area was hard for even her strong constitution. Begrudgingly, the Dalish had to admit that a break would be the most sensible thing to do.

Lenya slowly moved on, heedless of the harsh squall that tried to hinder her progress and the rivulets of freezing water streaming down her face. The elf came to an abrupt halt as she suddenly sighted a small cave on one of the mountain sides. She was unsure if it was safe or large enough to host the entire group, but it was better than nothing. Since the fabric of their tents was soaked through and therefore useless, the cave would have to suffice either way.

"Why are we stopping? It is just rain." Sten stared down at her, waiting for an explanation.

She simply shrugged in reply. "I know." Without further regard for the Qunari's opinion, Lenya wordlessly trudged toward the direction of the cave. The group behind her wavered for a moment, questioning her intent, but they soon recognized the unexpected shelter.

Alistair didn't put forth any effort in hiding his joy over the discovery. "Thank the Maker! Normally I'm not fond of stumbling into unknown, dark caves, but in this case I'll make an exception."

"It's just a cave, no need to thank your god for it." Lenya groaned. "I hope you're happy now."

"I won't be dying in the storm today, so yes, I'd say I'm pretty pleased." He followed his fellow Warden closely as they delved deeper into the cave band soon discovered it was much bigger than it had originally seemed. Behind him, the others followed and the interplay of thunderbolts and dimness continued, only to be accompanied by the howling of the wind and the lashing rain.

Alistair did his best to not fall over the strange, rocky things he had to climb over in order to follow Lenya, but his new, heavier armor made it difficult for him to coordinate his steps in the murky darkness. A few moments later he tripped over something and crashed down to the ground with a loud bang. "By Andraste's ass...ouch. It's just too dark to walk in here. And did I mention...ouch?"

Lenya let out an exasperated sigh. "Morrigan can you be of use here? You know like using your magic to lighten this cave up?"

"Just because that idiot is too stupid to walk in a straight line I'm expected to expend my energy?" The young witch muttered some curses under her breath, yet still gave in to the elf's wish. With a wave of her hand, a little white flame lit the dim, rocky walls of the cave. Soon everyone was able to see what had caused Alistair's fall. A pile of bones, both small and large.

"Lovely." Morrigan commented dryly at the find and raised one eyebrow.

Alistair collected himself from the ground as quickly as his armor permitted him. "No need to help me. Really, I'm fine."

"Indeed. I see no sense in helping it." Shale remarked and noted the odd demeanor of its companion from a distance, before its gaze shifted to the pile. "These are not the bones of birds; just more of those other fleshy creatures. What a pity."

Leliana's eyes grew wide. "Wait Lenya, does that mean you led us into an animal cave, of all things?"

"Animals tend to live in caves, you know," Lenya hissed back and glared at the human. "If you don't like this place, you don't have to stay here. I'm sure outside there is a wonderful spot just waiting for you, shem."

Something in Leliana suddenly snapped. The many weeks of being neglected by Lenya – although she had tried to connect with her many times – finally came to a head. "That is what you really want, isn't it? For me to leave?"

"Oh no, you give yourself too much credit. What I really want is less of your unwanted, ridiculous comments. So stay if you like, I truly don't care."

"As long, I'm useful, right?" The woman bitterly concluded.

"Exactly."

Ignoring her baffled reaction, Lenya waved her hand dismissively at the bard, signaling that the conversation had come to an end. The Dalish bent down to examine the bones on the ground closely. As a trained hunter it was easy for her to discern the prints in the dust and the origin of the bones. "These are animal bones, and based on the tracks, this is a bear den. Or rather, it was one. The tracks are old and far from fresh. We should be safe here for the time being."

"Good. I mean that is good, isn't it?" Alistair uttered, relieved. "Not having to hunt a bear on top of sitting in a smelly cave due to a nasty storm is a good thing, right?"

The elf shrugged. "Depends. A bear would have meant we'd have flesh to eat and fur for later use. At least this explains why the cave goes on even deeper in that direction, but the path becomes narrower." Lenya took one of the larger bones and threw it towards Arai's direction, who immediately caught it in mid air. The crunching sound of his massive jaws reverberated through the cave and the mabari happily retreated into a corner with his delicacy.

"Well at least the dog is happy," Alistair murmured. His eyes drifted to Leliana, who was still glowering at the elf. Leliana couldn't seem to deal with the bluntness of the Dalish woman and Alistair realized it was time for damage control. Again. With a sigh, the Warden positioned himself between the two women, though Lenya seemed to be calm. A fight was the last thing they would need right now while freezing to death. Still it was a huge risk to step between two vexed women, and he only hoped he wouldn't regret this action later.

"I wonder why I follow you," Leliana hissed over his shoulder in Lenya's direction, ignoring the fact that the ex-templar was blocking her view of the elf. "You don't seem a person worthy enough to be a leader, not to mention worthy of being a Grey Warden."

Anger seethed through Lenya's veins at her words, heating her cold skin from the inside. She turned to the bard, ignoring the big, stupid human in between them. "I wonder about that too, shem. You think being a Warden is an honor, huh? It's not like I volunteered for this 'oh so wonderful honor." Lenya managed to glare at her through a very helpless Alistair, and her voice trembled with undisguised hatred. "You think you are more worthy of the title? You want that 'honor'? You can have it. And all the death, fighting and nightmares too. I didn't want any of it. Ever."

_And yet I'm still here..._

The elf's shoulders rose and fell from her breathing while her eyes were locked onto Leliana's blue ones, before she suddenly turned and dashed out of the cave, into the storm. After a moment of shock, Alistair ran after her, but not before throwing Leliana a deprecating look before leaving.

.

.

Silence ensued for a long time throughout the cave and was only disrupted by the sizzling of Morrigan's magical flame and the sound of the rain outside. In the meantime, Sten had gathered several wet wooden sticks in the middle of the cave. Normally it would be impossible to ignite such wet wood, but for a mage it was all too easy. Within seconds the wood crackled and burned and lit their temporary shelter in a warm yellow-red shine. With her task completed, Morrigan looked up to the dejected Chantry sister, disdain visible in her eyes. "Charming, you have not only chased one, but both Wardens away. It is not as though they are needed to fight the Blight – ...at least in Lenya's case. I hope you are happy now."

Sten nodded in agreement. "That fight was unneeded."

"I- I-...didn't know that," Leliana stuttered and sunk to the ground, her back leaning against the bare, cold stone. And it was true, she really hadn't wanted that to happen ...but after all she was also only human. After all those days and weeks of distrust and open hostility toward her, Lenya's most recent flouting comments had been the final straw. It had caused her to blurt out words and thoughts that she'd been carrying and that had bubbled under the surface for so long. Leliana rested her face in her hands and sighed. What she hadn't taken into consideration in her rage was how Lenya really felt about being a Grey Warden. She always thought that the elf didn't care about it and used the title to her advantage.

She'd been so wrong.

.

* * *

.

.

Alistair tried to follow the Dalish woman who was storming blindly away into the rushing rain. She was only a small figure in the distance anymore. He had to hurry or otherwise he would lose her, in more ways than one. "Wait Lenya! Where are you going? This weather is not conducive to–"

Suddenly she stopped, her head snapped back at him. "Leave me alone!" she roared, but her voice soon lost all of its vehemence. "Please."

He was taken aback by her small, wavering voice. It was so unlike her. "I-I...no. I can't do that. It's too dangerous for you to be alone out here." He groped her arm without thinking, as though he wanted to hinder her running away any further.

"Dangerous?" Lenya scoffed and glared at him. "You are just afraid of me running away and leaving you alone. That is your only concern."

For a moment, Alistair only looked at her and didn't know what to say. He felt caught. It was true that this was part of his fear, but only a _part_. He was genuinely worried about her being out in the cold, harsh weather of the Frostback mountains. The silence stretched and the rain poured in streams down her face, soaking her blonde hair. "See I'm right," she pressed through shivering lips, her breath still ragged. "...but if it soothes you, I'll come back, stupid human. Now let me go." Lenya tried to tug her arm free from Alistair's grip but he wouldn't let her go.

"No, as I said it's too dangerous out here. I'm sorry..." Alistair paused for a moment, looking at her pleadingly. "...I'm sorry that I shove the responsibility of leading on to you, but you are not alone. Just...just let me help you, okay?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Help me? If you want to help me then keep your friend at a distance...or next time I –"

"She isn't my friend. Well, at least not really. And I'm sure she regrets her harsh words by now. And, well..." he attempted a smile that quickly faded, "...it's not like you were friendly either. So why don't we return to where it's a bit warmer, drier and...well stinkier." She'd listened to his advice once before by purchasing a new full set of leather armor which she'd worn since their journey into the Frostbacks had started. He only hoped she would do the same this time as well.

"No. I can't go back now. Not when you value the life of that shem." Using his puzzlement to her advantage, she broke away from his hand and dashed further away into the rain. He just didn't understand. She simply needed to be alone for a moment, to calm down and sort through her thoughts. She wasn't running away from the overall task.

Not anymore.

It all happened so fast, Alistair couldn't do anything but stare after her retreating figure in the rain. He balled his hands into fists, cursing. She was such a stubborn woman, so sturdy that she would rather cope with this weather than return with him to the others...and Leliana. What could have he done differently? Throw her screaming and kicking over his shoulder and drag her back? Maybe, but he doubted that would have ended well. It would probably have made things worse.

_Speaking of worse..._ he thought, and a severe shiver drove through him. _If I keep standing here in the storm, I'll freeze to death._ With one last look of regret, he turned around to retreat the cave. Perhaps the option of throwing her over his shoulder to drag her back would have ultimately been the better one.

Now he could only hope that she would keep her promise...and return. Alive.

.

* * *

.

.

"Where is it? Gone? So the clown knight is now the new leader?"

Even before Alistair had fully entered the shelter, he'd been stopped by the curious golem. Alistair sighed and gazed past it to the luring warm of the fireplace which was so near but at the same time so far away; especially with a massive golem blocking the way. And since the creature undoubtedly had no sense for hot, cold or other things important to humans, the Warden had no other choice but to answer lest he freeze on the spot.

"Let's just say, Shale, that she is taking a bit of a walk. Despite the ugly weather and all that. She will be back, though." _I hope_.

"So what will it do when it doesn't come back, hmm?"

"I will turn into a drooling lunatic, slaughter every darkspawn in sight and run through Orzammar in my small clothes, I guess," he snidely retorted, not willing to deal longer with its questions.

Shale stared at him for a second or two before it eventually answered. "Hmpf. Then I really hope the other Warden returns."

"So do I, Shale."

Finally the massive amount of rock moved aside and Alistair could step into the cave.

"Oh you are back. A pity, that." It took a moment for Morrigan to recognize that the elf wasn't with him. "...and you came alone, no less. I don't know which one of you idiots I should admire more. The one who chased her away in the first place, or the fool who failed to bring her back. I think both of you deserve praise after all. Well done." After a short pause that she glowered angrily at both of them, and Morrigan continued her snarling. "Why do we need her to fight the blight anyway? There are enough Grey Wardens in Ferelden aside her to fulfill this task. Oh wait...there are only _two_!"

"What should I have done, Morrigan? Drag her screaming and kicking back in here? She – "

"That would have been my choice," Sten interrupted him. "Her behavior in this time of war... is unwise." Disregarding the Warden for a possible answer, he returned to the fireplace and sat down in a corner where shadows enveloped his huge form again.

Leliana cast her eyes down to the ground. "I'm sorry. If I hadn't lost it before, this wouldn't have happened. At all."

Alistair turned to her, his voice calm."It _has _happened, and there is nothing you can do about it now. I know Lenya isn't the easiest person to deal with, but you must understand that she and I are in this together. We are the last Grey Wardens left in Ferelden, but I can't do this without her...and I won't."

"So if she doesn't return later..." Morrigan chipped in, "...does that mean you will sit down and do nothing? 'Tis a most wonderful plan."

He ignored the witch. "She will be back. She promised me that." Despite his assertive tone, he wasn't fully convinced. Finally, Alistair sat down near the fire and felt some warmth creep back to his system.

The red-headed woman did the same and took a place aside him. "I had no idea how Lenya regarded being a Warden. My words were unthinking, I suppose."

"Hmm," he nodded, his eyes fixed on the flames. His armor and clothes were all sodden from the rain, even the clothes that had been wet before were now..._extra wet_. So if it was not completely necessary, he didn't intend to move an inch from the warm place where he sat.

"You should know that – unlike me – Lenya didn't want to become a Warden in the first place. She was conscripted and dragged away from her clan. She really didn't have a choice in the matter because upon her arrival at Ostagar, she was already sick. Poisoned by the darkspawn taint." Alistair halted briefly, unsure of how much he should give away and decided to leave out any further details of Warden knowledge. "So the only possibility to save her own life and live on was to become a Grey Warden. As you may know we Wardens are immune to the taint, so since she sur– ...became one, her sickness is gone for good now."

"Oh, I see," Leliana was mildly shocked when she answered, and then fell silent. After Alistair's explanation, none of the companions spoke, they were all too occupied with their own thoughts. Alistair was no exception. He mulled over his words and was painfully reminded of things he didn't want to remember.

_Ostagar..._

It was still hard for Alistair to talk about it, or anything associated with it; though if explaining all of this to the bard had helped to create a somewhat better understanding for both of them, he would gladly cope with the grief.

Another roll of thunder rumbled and startled him. He hated thunderstorms and always had. The thought of his fellow Warden being out there alone drove him crazy with doubts and uncalled guilt, but that wasn't the only reason for his hatred of the weather – there was yet another. The last time there had been a thunderstorm was at Ostagar as the darkspawn attacked. At that time Alistair had believed in Loghain and his plan. Now he knew better. The Teyrn was nothing more than a treacherous, power-hungry bastard, but for the hundreds of men who died that day, this knowledge came far too late.

People who were important to him were among those men.

_Duncan..._

"Everything okay?" Leliana's voice shook him out of his grim thoughts and the seething wrath that wanted to bubble up again. Like the thunder, it tore apart the long lasting silence and startled him.

"Y-Yes. The weather, let's just say...it is associated with some not so fond memories."

She tilted her head. "Want to talk about it?"

He weighed this option, yet decided against it. _Enough self-torturing for today. _His gaze fell pass Leliana to the entrance of their cave, noticing that Shale stood there like an observing, rigid statue in the rain. Maybe it was just his imagination but it looked as though the golem was waiting for Lenya as well. Speaking of which ...when would she be back?

_Don't leave me alone with this. Please._

"Alistair?"

He blinked and his attention snapped back to his companion. "Err...yes. I mean no, thank you. What do you think will happen to all those people we left behind in Lothering?"

Temporarily, Leliana was confused over the sudden change of topic. "Huh? Uhm, I suppose some of them will find their way to Denerim. Many will die. As the Maker wills."

"The Maker?" Alistair just wanted a diversion from the thoughts that haunted him, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You can't say that this is the Maker's will, to leave those people to be darkspawn fodder! That's just not right."

"When we fail to stop the Blight, many will follow. Probably everyone will die then." The Warden swallowed audibly at her words but remained silent. _Oh no pressure, really._

"We are serving a greater good, both –"

"That is the greater good?" he interrupted her, disbelieving. "To leave people behind to die? I felt bad about that. They were all so helpless and despaired."

"It's not as though I like the notion of leaving them behind, but you can't save everyone, Alistair." Leliana shook her head. "You will need to steel yourself, the things ahead of us will probably be even worse than this. You know that."

Alistair paused to let her words sink in. They were somewhat harsh ...but at the same time also true, and he was aware of that. The young Warden just doubted that he could ever be like that, and he let her knew it. "I've never been very good with steeling myself. I find it better to be just a little weak. Really."

Leliana looked at him without answering, but her eyes alone told him what she was thinking. _You won't have a choice in that matter, Alistair._

And he feared that she would be right with it.

.

* * *

.

.

An hour or more passed quietly, in direct contrast to the mounting tension inside the cave. Lenya still hadn't returned. The storm had abated but dusk was slowly giving way to night. Alistair paced the length of the cave, and as he moved, his eyes were glued to the entrance of the cave. A myriad of thoughts were rushing through his mind, mixed with feelings of anxiety and anger. H_ow could she run away? It was such a stupid, irresponsible thing to do. There were no darkspawn here in this area...but wild animals were a definite threat. She could handle wild animals, right?_

"Argh. Sit down, fool. You are driving me insane," Morrigan groused and shot him a glare. She was unsure of what to do herself and she surely didn't want to end up with Alistair being the only Warden. To occupy herself, the witch renewed the already dying fire with one of her magical flames. It immediately flared, and for a moment its light drove the looming darkness back.

Alistair paid no attention to the fire, nor to the witch. Instead, he continued his nervous routine.

Morrigan sighed and gave up. With that twit, every effort was wasted. She cracked another stick in two, threw the pieces into the fire and watched them hiss away. If the elf was smart she would seize this chance and travel further north to find her clan and leave Ferelden to rot. The sorceress would do the same in her place, after all. Oddly enough, a bigger part of Morrigan wanted Lenya to return. All in all, she was far better company than the idiot of a Warden pacing in front of her. For a brief moment, her eyes wandered to the entrance as well.

Much to her exasperation, her eye movement wasn't undetected. Leliana suddenly smiled at her. "You are worried too Morrigan, aren't you?"

Was that redheaded simpleton watching her? The thought was disturbing. Despite her irritation, Morrigan remained composed, issuing a single scoff. "What? Is that an attempt at conversation with me, Chantry sister? If so, keep your gratuitous attempts to yourself. I am not interest –" She stopped, her eyes darting back to the entrance.

"Look who honors us with her presence again. 'Tis most considerate that you returned, elf." Enveloped in shadows, the sopping wet Dalish woman stood before them and was breathing heavily. Various tracks of water coated the angles of her face and trickled down the hollow of her throat.

"Lenya!" Alistair's body was moving of its own accord and before he realized what he was doing, he had enfolded her in an embrace. She was cold, so cold and wet to the bones but still alive.

_I'm not alone..._

For a second or two, Lenya couldn't figure out what was happening. She had returned to where they were camping after a few hours – that much was obvious- but why was he...embracing her...

_**Embracing**_...

Something clicked into place in her mind and with lightening fast reflexes she reached for her dagger and pressed it to his back. "Back off _now _or else –" she hissed.

It was something Alistair didn't need to hear twice; especially not after it had been voiced in such a threatening manner. He immediately flinched away, embarrassed by his impulsive act. "I...err...uhh. Sorry?" If there had been a hole nearby, Alistair would have gladly seized it to hide within. What was he thinking? He probably wasn't thinking at all... otherwise he wouldn't have embraced Lenya – still, he was just so glad to see her alive and well, that he...- Alistair flushed.

_Oh please where is a hole when you need one?_

Lenya glared at him a moment longer before her shell-shocked posture slowly subsided. "Stupid human, I said I would be back, didn't I?" She tried to suppress her trembling, but failed miserably. Unfortunately, she had overestimated her immunity to the weather conditions, which were indeed different here, so harsh...and frigid.

"Err... yes?" It was more a question than an answer. Alistair avoided looking into her face, trying to hide the various shades of red he had adopted.

_Awkward_.

"It is still alive, I see. No running around in smallclothes for the clown knight. Good," Shale concluded with a satisfied nod and turned away again.

And it became even more awkward due to the big-mouthed golem. Wonderful. At least he now knew the real reason the creature had been standing so adamantly in the rain, but that was only a small consolation. It took a few moments before he actually found his voice again and the courage to look at Lenya. "I mean yes, you did promise. Still how could you run away blindly in the first place? In weather like that? Are you insane?"

Between the trembling, Lenya pressed out a sigh. "I've returned as I said I would. I don't see what the problem is."

Exasperated by her indifference, his tone became slightly louder. "The problem is that you could have died out there– " he stopped as his gaze fell beside her, a package of fur and flesh lay at her feet. "Mountain hare?" He pointed at the three dead animals. "I didn't even know that such things existed out here."

"An evening meal. It took quite some time for me to catch them but – " Lenya halted and left the sentence unfinished. "Forget it."

Alistair blinked. Lenya was probably the only person he had ever met who was able to hunt edible animals in such harsh environments. He was impressed...and surprised. "That was the reason you took so long?"

"If you don't want to eat it...I'll gladly take your share." The elven woman did her best to appear nonchalant as she shrugged in an effort to hide the fact that he had been right in his guess. _Damn that nosy human..._

"Oh no, that's not what I meant. It was just...unexpected..."

Lenya inched a bit closer to the warmth of the flames without paying attention to anyone else other than Alistair. "You expected me to be away for that long," she pointed at Leliana," ...just because of what that shem said? _Really_?" Hunting always had helped always helped her to calm her nerves and focus her scattered thoughts, but the elf kept this bit of information to herself. Humans would never understand the Dalish ways and Lenya knew better than to try and explain.

She took another step in the direction of the luring warmth of the fire, which caused Leliana to speak, since the elf was close by. "For what it's worth, Lenya, I'm sorry for my words earlier. They were harsh and unthinking." Lenya glanced at her for a moment and nodded.

Her eyes wandered to her fellow Warden once again, noticing in horror that he had already started to skin the hare with his dagger. Immediately Lenya jumped up. "Wait!" she exclaimed and Alistair froze on the spot.

"The fool will only turn this bounty into inedible charcoal, like always." Morrigan stated with a nod, receiving a groan from Alistair in return.

She moved closer to Alistair. "No, that is not what I meant." Lenya wavered for a moment and regretted her unthinking motion. She hadn't thought about it in that moment, it was simply so deeply ingrained in her consciousness that she just reacted. Though there was no way they would understand it...

Alistair searched her eyes, wondering what her reaction was all about. "Lenya?"

"Err, well...there is something I have to do."

Now he was confused. "You want to cook?"

"N-no. There is something I have to do before you roast them..." A mixture of uneasiness and frustration toiled within her. Why had she started explaining in the first place? And in front of a _shem_, of all things! Though there was no way she would turn back now. She needed to do this.

His lips quirked up into a slight, teasing smirk. "What? Say goodbye to the family of hares? A little late, th –" Her glowering silenced him in a flash, his eyes instantly averted from hers.

The woman could be really scary.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Lenya bend down to the dead animals, her eyes closed. She started to murmur what sounded like a prayer, but her words were so hushed that he had to stop breathing to discern what she was saying.

"Hear me sons and daughters of the People-" he heard her cant softly "...I am Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares, Lady of the Hunt: Andruil." The verses captivated him, exactly why, Alistair couldn't say. He was only aware that he was watching her, and her expression was at peace as she prayed. Her countenance was one that he had never seen on her before. He didn't dare move for fear of disrupting this peace she'd established and was content to simply observe her ritual. All the while his eyes were fixed to the fine lines of her face, and he wondered idly why he was unable to look away.

"Vir Adahlen: the Way of the Wood. Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness." Lenya continued. "Respect the sacrifice of my children. Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn. That is my Way."

With a tiny nod the Dalish stood upright and wordlessly returned to the fire, ignoring the many pairs of eyes watching her. She unsheathed her sword, unpacked the little whet stone from her pack and started to sharpen the blade with it.

_Scrape, scrape, scrape._

Like everyone else, Alistair stared after her for a time until he managed to shake off a feeling within himself that he couldn't exactly identify. She had surprised him by caring so deeply for the animals she had killed for food. Was it a Dalish tradition? As he continued to tear the white fur from the hares, he decided to ask. "The verses you recited just now, were they a Dalish prayer?"

_Scrape, scrape, scrape._

The only answer was the sound of stone meeting steel.

His first impulse to sigh, but it quickly turned into a faint smile. This was more like the Lenya he knew. Alistair continued to gut the animals and cleaned them. When he was finished, the Warden returned to the fireplace and put all three of them on a makeshift spit. He couldn't help but to look over at her as he did so, noticing how the droplets of water were still running down her wet hair to her face. She didn't seem to be bothered by it in the slightest, she instead focused on sharpening her sword.

Lenya noticed the unwanted attention and tried to ignore it, but failed. She stopped her work for a moment and looked up at him. "You heard me saying it, didn't you puppy? So stop asking such silly questions. It's not like you would understand, anyway."

"Hmm, maybe so," he nodded, then added "...but I would like to, Lenya..." Alistair put the animals over the fire and soon the cave was filled with a mouthwatering scent. Oh, how he missed _actual_ food after having to ingest the dried out travel sludge all of the time.

_Scrape, scrape, scrape._

Lenya didn't reply, for her the conversation was over. She still had to sharpen her blade, the one she had received in Ostagar just a couple of weeks ago. She scrutinized the sword and scowled. Along the blade several parts had already chipped and there were various scratches, despite her careful treatment. "This is useless." Suddenly Lenya hauled out and smashed it against the nearest wall, where it fell onto the ground with a resounding clattering.

"Oh, swords are flying low today, so I suppose the weather will be better tomorrow," Alistair commented dryly at her outburst, while he focused on the food over the fire.

Sten glowered down at the elf. "You should treat your sword with more respect."

"I would, if it wasn't a useless fork made by humans."

Sten nodded. "This I can understand."

"Well in that case, Lenya," Leliana chipped in, "you'll love Orzammar. The dwarves are famous for their smith work. They make excellent swords."

"But in order to do that, Chantry sister, we have to reach Orzammar first. Fat chance."

"Are we a rolling ball of sunshine again, Morrigan?" Alistair inquired, and then shrugged. "Why should I care anyway when the food is ready? But if it soothes your bitchy mind, Orzammar isn't far away. We should reach it by tomorrow. Unless," he glanced over to Lenya and grinned. "...you want to explore the neighborhood a little more."

"Shut up!" The Dalish woman growled in annoyance, which only broadened the grin gracing Alistair's features.

It was good to have her back.

.

.


	22. Going underground

_**A/N:**__ Lot of plot work in the following chaps, which means we will pick up the trail of the game again. Though with Lenya things mostly doesn't run as planned xD Enjoy. _

_**Thanks to: **Fluid Conciousness for the help, like always. I love her story "Bereft" and you should read it too, it's awesome._

_

* * *

_**Chapter 21: Going underground**

"Bounty hunters. Now that _is_ something new," Lenya scoffed and looked down at the bloodied corpses of the humans they'd just slain with cold indifference.

"Yep, we've become quite popular these days. In other times I'd be flattered," Alistair stopped to dislodge his sword from a torso and made a face, "...but now, not so much."

"'Tis unnerving." The young witch shook her head. "They will never learn how utterly useless their attacks are. Pathetic fools."

Shale peered at Alistair. "Is the clown knight's head worth so much? I can't imagine why, for it is so small."

Before Morrigan could say anything, the Warden interjected. "Yeah I know, idiot and all that. Haha. This is really getting old, Morrigan." He was amused by her exasperated reaction, then turned to Lenya. "Ready to move on? Orzammar is just around the corner, or at the end of this road, more than likely." He leisurely shouldered his shield and sheathed his sword and shivered as he waited for his fellow Warden. During the night, the storm had finally ended, but in exchange for the change in weather, the temperature had dropped a few degrees. In the past few hours snow had fallen and was covering the mountain peaks and the towering trees alongside the Frostback Mountain pass.

"Let me guess, it's _that_ big pile of mountains over there?" Lenya was annoyed. For endless hours she had seen nothing but rocks, mountains and snow. It was exciting at first – particularly the snow, which she gladly threw at Alistair when he was talking too much for her tastes. Unfortunately, such frivolities got old fast and she couldn't wait to finally reach Orzammar to escape the unnatural, freezing cold. Although the thought of having so much stone over her head wasn't really appealing, either. In fact, she found it rather disturbing, to say at least. Her apprehension and resentment were pointless since they needed to venture there to gain the support of the dwarves. Inwardly groaning, the female Warden set herself into motion and summarized a list of things to do once they'd entered the stony halls of Orzammar.

_Okay, meeting the king of Orzammar, putting the documents under his nose to collect an army for the damn Blight. That can't be so hard, right?_

* * *

As the companions ventured farther uphill, snow was crunching underfoot and their breath was visible in the chilly air. The massive mountain towered over them, its majestic surface adorned by two huge dwarven figures carved from the stone of the mountain itself.

Orzammar.

Lenya halted and admired the landscape for a moment. Various voices of the marketplace, which sprawled in front of the gates of the city, reached her pointed ears. She took a closer look and saw that the marketplace wasn't exactly bustling, but rather looked as though the merchants were _waiting _for something. The Dalish couldn't imagine the reason behind such a peculiarity and didn't particularly care. She was simply content in the fact that after weeks of cumbersome traveling, they had finally arrived at their destination.

"Wow, Orzammar, there it is. At least its gate...from afar." Alistair peered at his fellow Warden. "Shall we get a move on? Don't want to freeze to death so close to our destination, after all."

Morrigan observed the mountain and frowned. "Are we going to descend into the underground? Having so much rock over one's head is...disquieting."

Lenya's eyes darted back to the witch, surprised to discover that she shared in Morrigan's concern. "I know what you mean, Morrigan. Sadly, we don't have much choice in the matter."

"Parshaara, there is the entrance and yet we are standing here talking. How senseless."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but for once I agree with Sten. We should walk to the gates first..._before_ complaining about Orzammar's...well...rockiness," Alistair said before setting himself in motion once again.

The elven woman glared at his back for a moment before reluctantly deciding to follow, her glance drifting to the various merchant stalls they passed by on their way to the front gates. One of the stalls caught her eye. "I need a sword first."

Shale halted and turned to her. "Doesn't it think that there would be _better_ swords sold by merchants _within_ the halls of Orzammar?"

"That pile of rock has a point." Morrigan sneered. "And where is that annoying voice coming from?"

Lenya groaned and tore her gaze from a nice, shiny sword that had caught her eye. "What voice?" she asked. Her query was soon answered when she heard the voice that Morrigan was referring to. A male shem's voice, coming from the direction of Orzammar's gates. The elf took an instant dislike to its tone and even more so to its words.

"_King Loghain will not suffer this delay! I am his appointed messenger."_

Anger seethed within her. They were on the complete opposite end of Ferelden and still the slimy shem's presence seemed to follow them around. First the bounty hunters at the bottom of the Frostback Mountain pass, and now this new nuisance at the gates. His annoying barking was stretching her already thin nerves to the point of snapping. _Loghain? King? My ass... _

Lenya glimpsed at Alistair who had fallen silent and wondered if he was thinking the same. "Let's go."

Alistair didn't need to hear that twice. He followed her close behind, and his posture tensed with every mention of Loghain's name. There it was again, that unsettling feeling of irrational, blind rage that threatened to surface. The pain of loss and betrayal was bound to Alistair's hatred for Loghain, and it only intensified the need to lash out every time he heard the 'messenger' call out Loghain's name. His muscles became taut and his hands balled into fists. His breathing was becoming frantic. The Warden struggled to stay calm, but the frequent abuse of the term 'king' in association with Loghain was almost too much to bear. _No,_ Alistair took a deep breath and shook his head._ I will not let the anger get the better of me...not now._

As they arrived at the top, they could finally see the person whose shouting had caused so much havoc. He was an ordinary man in every way possible; short black hair, plain face, and even his armour was of ordinary make, sporting a simple sword and shield. Apparently he thought to overcompensate with a large following. Lenya's gaze fell behind the shem and saw two other humans: a mage dressed in typical robes and the second man was a heavily armed soldier. _Either way_, she thought, a smile gracing her features,_ they are thoroughly outnumbered. Good._

The man continued his nagging despite the arrival of the Wardens and their companions. He vainly attempted to persuade the guard to let him in. "As the appointed messenger of King Loghain, I demand to speak with your deshyrs or lords, or whatever you call them in your assembly. King Loghain needs their allegiance."

At the mention of the treacherous shem, Lenya's face did an involuntary twitch and she grew more annoyed with each passing second. She tried to ignore him, but his voice was unbearable, so she decided to step in with the hopes of finally making him shut up. The dwarven guard in front of her beat her to the punch. "Veata, I don't care who you are. Even if you were the king's wiper I wouldn't be able to allow you entry." He finally noticed the new people at his doorstep. "And who might you be?"

The Dalish stepped forward, well aware of her unwanted role as leader. "I'm Lenya, if you must know." She tilted her head. "Why have your people closed themselves off like this?"

"Because they are dwarves, that's why," the human blustered at her, but since Lenya had the guard's attention, she chose to ignore the annoying human.

"We can't allow an outsider into Orzammar until the dispute over our throne is settled," the dwarf stated.

"Well I guess that makes talking to your durgen'len king a bit difficult, doesn't it? Because that's what I'm _supposed_ to do, after all."

His withered, pale face darkened a bit. "Orzammar has no king. King Endrin returned to the stone just three weeks ago, broken over the loss of his sons."

"Wonderful," Morrigan groused from behind Lenya, "and I thought 'twould be an easy task for once. How foolish of me."

Lenya briefly turned to the witch and nodded. "My thoughts, exactly. So ..._what_ now?" She wasn't sure if she was asking her group, or the guard. Either way, neither of them answered, though Loghain's lackey did.

"If I don't get in, none of _you_ should."

Shale glanced down at the man. "Hmpf. Can I crush its head? It is too loud and annoying by far."

The man's eyes widened at the sight of Shale. "A-a golem?"

"Its grasp of the obvious is indeed remarkable." Then the creature turned to the guard, shrugging. "So, what now? Will you be letting us pass or shall we crush heads? I rather like the crushing idea."

The guard seemed to be very perturbed by the presence of a golem and Lenya's other various companions. "Just who _are_ you people?"

Alistair cleared his throat and stepped up to the Dalish woman's side. He pointed to both Lenya and himself with his index finger. "She and I are Grey Wardens and we are here to seek Orzammar's help for the Blight." He handed the guard the treaties and waited as he read.

"Grey Wardens?" The human man's nostrils trembled with hatred and he came closer to the guard, pointing at Alistair. "They are sworn enemies of King Loghain. They killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden."

Alistair's hand brushed against the hilt of his sword. He felt anger quake through him once again, so he averted his eyes and glanced at the dwarf who continued to read the treaties that he had provided. His avoidance was working – at least for the time being. He was unsure as to how long he would be able to refrain from running his sword through Loghain's lackey, but he knew for certain that such a violent display would not prove wise, especially considering the fact that the dwarven guard was standing before them. They wanted to get in, after all. His eyes shifted even further until they settled on the elf, who occupied her time glowering at the human. Alistair was not surprised by her reaction, for he felt the same way.

"Well," the dwarf looked up at them, "that is indeed the royal seal, and only the assembly has the authority to address it." He handed the documents back to Alistair. "Therefore you Grey Wardens and your entourage may pass."

"_What_?" The man screamed, pointing at the two Wardens beside him. "You are letting those _traitors_ in?"

Lenya's hateful glance changed into a cold one, her expression transforming to utter amusement at the sudden turn of events. "That is most kind. Though I'm curious, durgen'len, how long has this shemlen scum been barking at your door to let him in, hmm?"

The dwarf blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "Err, three long days by now, Warden."

Her view fell back to the outraged human and she started to laugh, the tone cruel and mirthless.

"You can't do that to me." he flailed his arms alternately at the guard and Lenya. "I demand that you execute this ...stain on the face of Ferelden!" His statement only increased the volume of her laughter and she was completely unperturbed by the many pairs of eyes scrutinizing her.

"Wonderful, she has finally snapped," Morrigan sighed." 'Twas just a matter of time."

"You must do this for _King _Loghain," the messenger insisted.

_Twitch..._

Lenya's snickering ended and she drew closer to the human. Her posture was instantly threatening. "I give you this _one_ chance, shem scum," she spat, her eyes boring into him. "Run! ... run to your false human king and tell him that the Grey Wardens will be coming for him one day." She did not back away, she held her menacing position to reinforce her words.

The man stared at her in shock for a moment, and the atmosphere grew tense. Regardless of what the man might answer, Lenya's companions had their hands on their weapons, sensing a fight would soon follow. "I will not back away! I'm King Loghain's messenger! Why should I listen to what a little knife-eared, elven who-" The rest of his words were cut off by a series of whooping coughs, each one bringing up a mouthful of blood. Lenya had gutted him right there on the doorstep.

She stepped back and he sunk to the ground like a wet sack. The elf held her bloodied dagger in her hand, and wiped her face clean. "Guess he made his choice..."

As predicted, a fight immediately erupted. His two companions stormed toward the rest of the group. Being so outnumbered, they had no chance whatsoever and soon followed their leader into death. "Hmm, so it was crushing heads after all," Shale gleamed down at the corpses. "Fun."

"H-how could you do this? I don't care if you kill each other, but by the stone, do it off my sodding doorstep."

"We will keep that in mind for next time," Shale answered indifferently. "Since we stopped its annoying barking, will the stout one open the gates now? Or do I have to-"

"Alright, alright." The guard sighed, defeated. "As I said, Wardens you are allowed to pass, just keep a close watch on the golem so it doesn't-"

"Hmpf. I can watch myself..."

-break too much." The dwarf finished his sentence. With a wave of his hand the giant doors of Orzammar started to move. "You came to seek help, Warden. Though I'm not sure if you'll find it here."

"Great," Lenya remarked dryly and Alistair couldn't help but grin. That was so typical her.

"Yes, this is indeed wonderful, we are going to see Orzammar at last." Leliana bounced up and down, as excited as a child. "Only a select few are allowed to do this, after all. Oh my, marvellous stone, vast halls, and soaring ceilings. So huge it makes any man forget the sun and sky to the point of doubting their existence," she gushed on. A little too much for Morrigan's tastes, who rolled her eyes.

"How very soothing that at least _one_ of us is looking forward to _that_."

And with one last intake of surface air, the group walked through the gates and entered Orzammar.

* * *

Together they went through what the dwarves called 'the hall of heroes'. It was adorned with several carved stone statues of dwarves, each one lining the side walls and put on display, framed by the light of the lava.

Lenya stopped, her eyes repeatedly blinking. For a place so deep underground it was very bright - and warm. Her gaze fell to the sides, where the gleaming lava streamed along the wall, the stone built around it. Generally, they were surrounded by stone, and a _damn _lot of it. Lenya watched the soaring stone ceiling where the sky had formerly been and sighed. She was just a couple of minutes into Orzammar and already she missed the fresh air. _This will be fun..._

Morrigan's voice echoed through the hall, pulling her from her thoughts. "I must admit for people so small, they tend to build ...huge things."

The Dalish stepped to her side, curious what the witch found so special about the grand statue. She observed it closely and failed to see its uniqueness. For her it was just another figure of stone, so she simply shrugged. "Lovely, really..."

"Show some respect, surfacer." A male dwarf cleared his throat and inched closer, until he stood right beside her. "This is the hall of heroes. Orzammar's finest."

Lenya peered at him, still in an indifferent mood. "So we've heard. Or rather, we read the sign."

The dwarf nodded. "So you have also heard of paragons then?"

"Paragons?" She rolled the foreign word over her tongue and tried to remember what Bodahn told her, but couldn't.

"Yes," Alistair smiled at her. "If I remember correctly, they are considered their chosen ancestors. Or something like that."

"Smartass." At that, his smile changed into a chuckle.

"You are right, human," the dwarven male interjected. "They are dwarves that have achieved such greatness that even when they are still with us, they are regarded as our ancestors. If only we had a paragon now, a unifier whose voice would be heard in such times of dissension."

Lenya sighed. "Guess that's my job then, huh?"

He shook his head. "Don't get me wrong Warden, your presence and order is normally well-regarded and welcome here..."

"It is?" The elf interrupted him, surprised. She was rather used to being attacked for being a Warden if the dozens of bounty hunters on their journey were any indication. "Now _that_ is something new, indeed."

"Yes...but the point is, not in a time like this. We don't want a surfacer seeing us in such disarray, on the brink of civil war." He made a slight bow. "I must leave now. Goodbye, Warden. I hope your help is not needed here."

"Well you are not the only one hoping that, durgen'len," Lenya muttered and set herself in motion again. She had no idea what this dissension meant for their original plans and not to mention she had no clue _what_ or _where_ the 'assembly' actually was. Thankfully, there was only one door leading further into Orzammar, so at least she wouldn't get lost for the time being.

Going through the door was as good a start as any. She only hoped she'd be able to figure out the rest in the process.


	23. Lost in Orzammar

_**A/N:**__ This chapter is not beta read, because I was beta-less at this time. Enjoy nonetheless.  
_

* * *

.**  
**

**Chapter 22: Lost in Orzammar**

.**  
**

When Lenya entered the commons of Orzammar she finally understood what the redheaded shem meant with 'vast halls'.

By all means, this place was enormously _huge_.

Carved stone as far the eye could reach, brightly enlightened by the lava vents which were continually fountaining liquid rocks. They also kept those grand halls warm. Though that was by far not the only thing that immediately caught her attention; from afar she could perceive various enraged voices screaming at each other. Alistair who walked aside her, bowed down to her ear and whispered. "Is _this_ the dissension the dwarf meant?"

Lenya only looked at him and shrugged. "Well, looks like it, eh? ...or this is just normal behavior. How should I know? You are the smartass here."

Growing curious, her pace fastened until she stood close enough to witness how two groups of dwarfs were facing each other, two men of each group up in front. From what she could recognize, all of them were wearing exquisite clothes or well crafted golden armor, so Lenya assumed them being nobles or at least rich enough for that.

One of the dwarfs stood out from the rest.

He was by far older, his grey hair braided to a long tail and he was one of those two dwarves up front, barking at the other, younger dwarf in armor. "It is the assembly who decides the king and a king decides his successor. Blood kin has no meaning in those decisions."

The other dwarf glowered back and encircled him in a menacing way. "Or it is now just the chance for a usurper like you, Harrowmont to land a coup and claim the throne. Who knows what my father said in his final hour when you were the only one present?"

_Okay,_ Lenya thought and raised an eyebrow, _so __**these**__ are the durgen'len responsible for the stalemate? Charming..._

"Why are we still stopping here?" Shale inquired, not caring if they could hear it. "Is it hoping for the dwarves to crush themselves in a following fight?"

The elf turned back at it. "That would solve many problems at hand, I suppose."

"Even if not, it would be quite a sight." The golem chuckled. "And it looks like if we'll just get to see it. Nice."

She focused her attention just in time at the incident again to see that Shale could be right with it. In the last few moments, the tone had increased in volume and harshness. Both of them were glaring at each other, as if they would want to spill each other guts every minute to come.

Suddenly, another armored dwarf stepped into the scene and between those two men, trying to calm the situation down. "Handlers, separate these deshyr lords and get them back into the diamond quarters. I will not have Prince Bhelen incite a riot. Not here or _anywhere_."

Immediately, one of Behlen's men stormed in front of him with the weapon ready in his hand. "Do not speak that way of the man who should be king!" he spitted and before anyone else could react, the dwarf had sunken his axe into the abdomen of Harrowmont's supporter. The dwarf howled out in pain and fell badly-wounded to the ground, just to be instantly gutted by him again. Blood squirted out of the wound and into the face of Behlen's man, before it colored the ground it its eerie dark-red.

Morrigan observed the still bleeding corpse on the floor. " How nice. So this is how dwarven politics works? No wonder there are so few of them left anymore."

Still under shock about the turn of events, the rest of Harrowmont's entourage retreated as quickly they could. Behlen did the same, but with much more equanimity and arrogance, like a man who was having the upper hand now.

Alistair watched him vanishing. "That Behlen...he is such a sympathetic fellow, isn't he? Warms the heart."

"Hmm, let me guess these are the ones we have to talk to, huh? This is just getting better and better..." Lenya rolled her eyes and motioned her companions to move on. "Let us go, the sooner we have this done, the better."

Sten nodded. "Agreed."

Out of nothing, a heavy armored dwarf appeared in between the mess, muttering loudly. "Bunch of irresponsible fools, I will not have fighting in the commons. Especially not in front of outsiders." He noticed the strange group coming closer and stepped into their way. "Veata, surfacer. I'm the captain of the guar – "

"Good for you," Lenya cut him off and without to regard him further, continued to walk downstairs. It was enough to her that she had to cope with human madness all the time, there was no room and need for the insanity of the dwarves left, really.

Leliana hesitated on the steps, her gaze rested unsure on the slightly baffled dwarf. "Well, shouldn't we... – "

"Should we _what_?" The Dalish snapped as she reluctantly stopped." Get away? Yes we should. Talk more? No we shouldn't."

"Though it wouldn't hurt to ask him a few things..." Alistair interjected. "We are foreign here in Orzammar, after all."

"Thanks for being captain obvious. Still for a change I would prefer _not_ standing in a pool of blood while talking."

He chuckled." If you put it that way, it indeed has an appeal to it. So what now, then?"

"Dunno," she shrugged. "Just saw the merchant down here and thought I finally could look for a new sword." Directly to her left had a dwarf built up his stand; well-crafted weapons and armor were carefully draped onto the ground for display. It immediately caught her eye.

Morrigan scoffed. "So you don't have a plan? How very surprising."

"As Alistair already pointed out, I'm foreign to this place, Morrigan." Lenya parenthetically noted, without to tear her eyes from the goods.

_Alistair_...his name from her lips were still such a rare thing to witness for him. He certainly liked the ring of it. The other words however made him sigh. "That is exactly the reason why I suggested to ask the guard."

"No, puppy." _Great, back to square one. _The Dalish woman didn't even watch up to him, the swords much more interesting to her. "And besides, in such an overly immense place like that, there will be a tavern, or not?"

"Why a tavern? Does it need a drink? I would also start drinking if I were it – regarding the futile, overall situation it is in."

For a golem, Lenya found the creature rather nosy. Then again was it the first golem, she had ever met. "No, Shale, that's not the reason. Some smartass..." Now she looked up, her green eyes gleaming with humor as she caught Alistair's for the shortest of moment, "...told me once that you get all information and rumors needed there."

_She actually paid heed to what I was saying?_ His breathe shortly stocked until he finally remembered to show some sort of reaction. Maybe it wasn't needed but he felt compelled to. "I suppose there is a tavern here, somewhere at last...in one of these dozen of buildings." _Hmm, that sounded funnier in my head..._

"Parshaara, this will be just a waste of time."

"Got a better idea, Sten?" Lenya countered, while her attention was drawn to the blades again.

The Qunari roamed with his eyes over the place and he saw nothing but stone, lava and even more stone. It was frustrating to him. "No."

Lenya sighed, frustrated of the high, unattainable prices this merchant held. She decided to come back later to bargain properly with him. "Good, let's search for the tavern then."

.

.

* * *

.

"Atrast vala and welcome to Tapster, stranger. You must be the Grey Warden we heard about. My name is Corra. How can I be of service?"

After various minutes of running around rather headlessly, they'd finally discovered the tavern on the other side of the commons. During their journey, Lenya was actually looking forward to meet dwarves and couldn't help to be curious about them and their culture. Now after only an hour down in Orzammar her curiosity was more than sated and throughout replaced by confusion. Utter so many things and nothing, all in the same time. Alone the wideness of the place where they lived and all this stone _everywhere_ were overwhelming her. How should she ever able to find here anything, or _anyone_? At least they had made it to the tavern. It was a start, however.

"Yes, _we _are. We would like some information, that would be nice." Alistair's voice put her out of her thoughts, noticing a female dwarf in front of herself. Her rounded face was framed by red, half-length hair and her eyes peered curious but friendly at the group of new arrival.

"So you came to Tapsters?" The dwarf noted, amused."I guess this is rather an unofficial sort of request, otherwise you would be at the shaperate. Well. I can help with that, I think."

Morrigan observed the premise with an irked face. "Better not drink, eat or _touch_ anything here, really." The tavern was already bustling with laughter and music were played in one corner, but it was almost lost in the tangle of voices. The smell in here, however, was not the best due to the overall stale air...and most likely to the tremendous amount of alcohol consumed here. Lenya preferred to not know that too precisely. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, indeed.

_Oh, information, right_. "What is the shaperate?"

Corra smiled at her and the elf decided to like that woman. She seemed nice enough. Not to speak of that she was the first _friendly_ dwarf she had met here. "Well you could say it is the bureau of our history. There the shaper hold record of all our records, laws, genealogy and so on."

Lenya made a face. "That sounds rather... complicated."

She laughed out loud. "You can say that, Warden. So if you got question about the history of Orzammar and don't mind an enormous long lecture on that, this is the place to go for you."...Oh," Corra added,"...and in the case you are wondering where to find the shaperate, it is in the Diamond quarter, upstairs from here. Also you'll find the palace, the assembly and a bunch of nobles and their estates there. Hope that helps."

"Definitely, thank you." Leliana nodded pleased and turned to her Dalish companion. "Assembly? I think we should go there first."

In Lenya's opinion, this was the best idea she had yet heard from the redheaded shem. An obvious one, but still somewhat decent. "Yeah, you are right. Though I haven't said that you are going as well, or have I?"

The woman scowled. "What is _that_ now meaning again?"

"Simple. "The elf sighed. "It's stupid to venture through a city even this big with _everyone_. Besides we still need a place to sleep and somewhat decent to eat later on. I don't know which of both you'll find here, but one of them would certainly be nice. Preferably the food first." She handed her a few coins out of her pouch and sighed anew at its light weight. They barely had any money left. And even though she loved her Dar'Misu daggers, they wouldn't suffice alone for the things to come.

Leliana gaped at her, bewildered. This time not for being excluded again but all the more for hearing the most amount of words Lenya ever had spoken to her. "I- err, sure. I could do that."

"So you are suggesting to split up groups?" Alistair questioned to make sure he heard it right.

"Oh, captain obvious is back, I see." Morrigan tried, but eventually couldn't suppress the tiny grin that wanted to come up at Lenya's remark.

"If you give me any more names, Lenya..." her fellow Warden groaned," I surely get some sort of identity crisis..."

"Then get your crisis while you are walking, because you are coming with me. You have the treaties, after all."

"Okay, fine with me." Somehow this already brightened his mood up again. Although a little rest would have been nice as well now, but he preferred to do this after all was done and finished.

"...Or we can make it short and call you moron all the time. 'Tis really easy to remember, even for you."

"You are coming too, Morrigan."

"What? Why?" She pointed at Alistair," And with _him_, of all things. Don't I have ever a minutes rest of his idiocy? It seems not."

"Hey..."

Lenya shrugged, not actually caring. "You can also stay here with Leliana, if you like. I bet you both have _much_ in common."

Morrigan was aware that she had lost this argument. "I- uh... no. I'll wait outside then," she pressed through gritted teeth and quickly left the tavern.

Amused, Alistair watched after her." Great. Maybe you'll even get her to jump into a pit of lava later on. That would be fun." He turned just to see that the recipient for his words wasn't even listening anymore. Lenya was busy...with hugging the mabari.

"Sorry Arai but please stay here. It was such a long journey for you, now you have to rest and eat a bit first." Arai whined plaintive at that and she scratched him behind his ear, smiling. " I know. I'll do the same as soon I have returned here. Until then wait here, okay?" Now the dog barked and it sounded as if he would agree with it. Alistair was somewhat fascinated, while watching. She certainly had her ways with animals, and was so totally different from her usual self then; soft even. Was that a Dalish thing? Sten's grumbling snapped him out of the thoughts.

"He is a warrior, not a yipping, pitiful lapdog. Treat him like one."

"You may do this for me, while I'm gone. You'll stay here with Leliana as well."

Sten hesitated at first as his eyes wandered to the human, but then he eventually nodded. "As you wish."

"Good we will be back, wait here." Lenya stood up again, and moved into the direction of the door before halting once more. "Come on Shale. You will only scare the people here."

Reluctantly, the golem moved, its heavy steps echoing dull on the ground."Hmpf, is it afraid I could do that, so I _have _to come along as well?"

"No," her eyes sparked with amusement,"... actually I thought out there, there are _more_ people to scare than in this tavern."

Shale suddenly seemed eager to follow."I like the way it thinks."

Leliana watched the group leaving, then searched for a spare table to sit on, with Sten and the mabari in tow. The qunari didn't sit down, instead he remained standing, right beside her. Leliana decided to attempt a conversation. "What have you done the whole time in that cage in Lothering, Sten?"

"Sitting, as you observed." For him, the talk was over with that answer. He didn't understand why humans always had such an urge to talk. It was unnerving, needless. At least the noisiest of them was gone for the moment, yet was that gained peace instantly traded in for the noise those small people made here. Sten was displeased.

Sighing with the perception that she wouldn't get another word out of him, the woman waved the hostess Corra to their table, ordered a few drinks and a bit to eat. This would become a long afternoon, after all.

.

.

* * *

.

Outside Lenya found Morrigan up in front of a dwarf, who she was yelling at."Leave. I have nothing to say to you or your ridiculous beliefs."

"Only five minutes and she already has made a new friend, it seems. She is such a sweetheart, isn't she?"

The Dalish woman ignored Alistair's remark and instead decided to ask. "What is the matter, Morrigan?"

She was still fuming."We are so deep under the earth and yet is here no end to this darn chant of the light. 'Tis unbelievable."

The dwarf approached closer to her again. "Quite the opposite, it is a reason to rejoice. Everyone should have the right to hear it."

"...and he persists. Maddening." Knowing that dwarves were immune against her magic, the witch only backed away. Either way, this would be the last warning she was giving him, before she would resort to more...primal methods.

Eventually, the man had discovered the new arrival and turned to them instead."Oh are this your friends? I'm Brother Burkel," he bowed politely down," welcome to Orzammar."

Alistair was amused. "He is ticking Morrigan off? I like him already."

Lenya was not even particular interested in his person and only passed him by for Morrigan."Yeah, whatever. Let's go, Morrigan." For once in her life the witch was more than happy to oblige.

"Do you know the chant of light?" he called after her. "I'm petitioning to open a chantry here in Orzammar and would need your help, sister."

Immediately, she stopped dead track on the spot, her head snapped back at the dwarf in anger. "_Help_ you? Why should I help a zealot like _you_? Dwarves don't believe in the chantry, the last time I checked." She was drawing closer to him. "Nor am I your sister."

_Oh, oh, he used the bad ch-word..._Alistair flinched at the furious wrath his fellow Warden suddenly displayed. Nevertheless he stepped closer to her, because he knew it would indeed be better for anyone involved to stop her, before it was getting worse. Especially for the dwarven priest.

Said dwarf unfortunately lacked the discretion to stop now. "It is true, there is... resistance. Though it is obvious that the world wasn't created by mortal souls, who dwelt within it. Yet the dwarves of Orzammar persist in worship their own forefathers."

_Breathe..._, she told herself, but all attempts to calm herself down failed miserably. It was too close, too personal to her own sight now and the boundaries between this topic, her people and herself all began to blur. "That is because it is their_ damn_ right to believe in who and what they want. No one can force that upon them," she screamed and grope him by his collar, "Your filthy chantry can do thousand exhaled marches, nothing will change _that_. Nothing!"

"Lenya! Leave him be." With a great ounce of his strength, Alistair was able to tear her away from his neck. He searched for her eyes, trying to somewhat ease the rage within her. "Calm down, please!" He said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Although the dwarf probably couldn't have known the cause and effect, it was unwise to say such things to her, to a Dalish. Alistair had noticed almost from the beginning that Lenya venerated her own culture and who she was very much. Especially religion had always been a touchy topic for her.

Since there was little resistance of her now, he was able to push the still fuming elf behind him and himself between. Then he faced the dwarf, his tone calm but assertive. "Normally I would say I'm sorry for her behavior, but you kind of brought that on yourself. My fellow Warden here is a _Dalish_ and therefore her tolerance level for anything concerning the chantry is naturally rather..._low_." Brother Burkel stared shocked and wide-eyed at the both, actually at loss for words.

Lenya breathed heavy, the blood still furiously pumping through her veins. So much that she thought she must hearing things. Was that human – who blocked her from yelling at the dwarf – peeved with Burkel, himself? Was he standing up for her? She blinked. _No, that couldn't be..._

Burkel tilted his head. "A Dalish? I –...see. No, actually, that would explain a lot of her behavior. She has never learned that the path of enlightening exists, and haven't even heard His name. So it is her lack of knowledge that let her reacting similar to the dwarves before."

Alistair groaned, nerved. Now the dwarf sounded like the revered mother in his chantry and it started to annoy him. "I do believe in the Maker and was even raised in the chantry. Though unlike you, I don't run around and try to force my belief on others. You should keep it that way as well. Which means, we can't help you with that." Alistair turned on his heels and only stopped once for his fellow Warden, his tone calm again." Come on, Lenya. Let's go."

For a moment, Lenya simply gawked at him with utter bewilderment, before she finally remembered how to move and wordlessly followed.

Morrigan arched an eyebrow at his retreating back. "Interesting. Chantry boy is growing up, huh?..."

"How disappointing!" Shale exclaimed and gleamed at the perplexed Brother Burkel. "It is still alive after all." Only a few seconds later, the golem lost its interest in him and stomped off to its other, fleshy companions.


	24. Tripping stones

_**A/N:** Thanks to **Malymin** and **Kissychan1101** for the beta read. If you like awesome stories go and read **Malymin's** "**Echoes of Grace" **too. It's made of excellent angst trains, plot bunnies and characters. Now have fun with that belated but finally new and betad chapter. _

**

* * *

Chapter 23: Tripping stones**

.

The way to the Diamond Quarter was shorter than originally expected, but the severity of the silence lingering over them made it seem like another days-march. Cautiously, Alistair stole a glance over to the muted, ground-staring elf aside him. She hadn't spoken a word since that incident with Brother Burkel and for him the stretching stillness became almost unbearable. So he decided to speak up. "Remind me to never take you with me when we are visiting a chantry." he said, humor perceivable in his voice. " I mean...not that it'd stand on my to do-list at all –"

At the sound of his voice, Lenya finally lifted her head. "Why have you done this?"

"Huh?" He blinked. "You mean ignored that the dwarf opened a chantry in Orzammar, or..." a grin sneaked into his face, "...that you killed him?"

"Both."

Morrigan chuckled at her answer. " I've begun to like you, Lenya. Too bad that idiot knight stepped in when the last part started being fun."

"How surprising, Morrigan...wait...y-you really would have killed..." he saw her shrugging at that and sighed. "You know, it doesn't make the best impression if a Grey Warden throws a dwarf directly after their arrival here into a pit of lava..."

"Oh," the Dalish elf tilted her head, her tone sardonic, "_that_ was your concern, hmm? Then we can all be glad it didn't happen, huh?" And she already thought... Lenya shook her head. _No, this was stupid to think from the start._

Another sigh of from him. With her, he just couldn't win. No matter what he said, she always turned his words around, and just understood what she wanted to hear. _Maddening_. "No. It was _not_ the sole reason. I think I've already explained my point of view concerning the chantry to you. In case you have forgotten, I'm not fond of them forcing their religion upon others. That is why I'm glad it turned out this way...well minus the violence, of course."

"I...see." Lenya averted her gaze from him. "Let's find that assembly, wherever it is." She quickened her pace again, not willing to deal with this topic any longer. However, if he had been honest with her just now, then she probably had something to thank him for...but first, it was more important to get the task done. Lenya didn't want to spend more time here than needed.

Shale looked around, watching the towering buildings and huge estates they walked past. "Is this where the higher-class of midgets live? Such big houses they have. How ironic."

As they went on, they saw exquisitely-clothed dwarves who were eying the odd, foreign group with a mixture of curiosity and disdain in return. Criers gave their endorsement for either Harrowmont or Bhelen on the street, making it apparent that the discord was far from over.

Shale side-glanced to at Morrigan, who silently walked behind the two Grey Wardens in front. "Why does the swamp witch still travel with the Grey Wardens?"

She didn't even stop or look at it. "Swamp witch? 'Tis me, I take it? How nice. You think I shouldn't, hmm?"

It shrugged. "You simply have no reason to stay."

"But you have found reasons for yourself to stay, I take it?" Morrigan sneered. "Without a control rod, you have as few reasons to stay as you think I'd have."

"That is not completely the truth. I have no history or purpose, but the one of the swamp witch is simply unknown. I wonder why..."

Now Morrigan had enough of the nosy and annoying golem behind her. "Keep wondering, golem and I'll turn into a bird. I can do that."

"Oh, go on and do it," Shale snorted. "As a feathery fiend, I could at least crush it then."

The witch smirked and deliberately looked at Shale. "I haven't said, I would be _in reach _then. I would simply hover and wait, until–"

Shale let out a loud, dull groan. "No. I shall be silent now."

Morrigan smiled, pleased with herself and the win over that talkative pile of stone. She walked on. The group eventually came to a halt before a massive gate. Morrigan looked up at it and rolled her eyes."Oh, what a surprise. The assembly is to be found in yet another huge building." Glowering at the two guards in front as she passed them by, the witch followed the others inside the premises.

.

.

* * *

.

"So, this is the assembly, huh?" Lenya muttered while looking around. Shortly, she wondered _where _they would actually assemble in a small room like that, but then she discovered yet another massive door up in front.

"Welcome, stranger," the guard in front nodded to her, "the assembly is in session right now. You can enter and observe, if you remain very quiet."

Unconsciously, the elf's eyes darted to Alistair. "_What_? Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, bewildered at first, but then he seemed to grasp the meaning. "You don't think I can be quiet for a little while? Well, I can. Really, I'm capable of th–"

Lenya silenced him with knowing look and pushed the door to the assembly room open. "Let's hope to find some answers here."

Unfortunately, quite the opposite was the case. In the middle of the vast, circular hall stood an elder male dwarf. He was having trouble keeping the session in order. The deshyrs and lords sitting in the balcony rows were bickering at each other as if there was no tomorrow.

The elder dwarf moderating the assembly therefore called out a recess and everyone turned to go, still vexed. It was over again faster than everyone would have thought.

"Midget politics is a curious thing, isn't it? Why all this talking, when it could be settled with one good, sanguinary fight?"

Lenya remained quiet as she turned around to leave, but she had to give Shale credit for that thought.

"Well," Morrigan breathed, as they returned into the main hall again, "...that was impressively unhelpful. Got any more of those wonderful ideas, Warden?"

The elder dwarf who had taken the same way out as Lenya's group suddenly turned to them, eyes widened. "Warden, you said? Ahh, but of course. Which other topsider would be otherwise interested in an assembly session _and_ also permitted to enter it?" He nodded to Lenya and Alistair. "I beg your pardon. I'm so exhausted, that I've forgotten about the message of your arrival from the gate guard. Welcome to Orzammar, Wardens. The respect for your role is great, but you won't receive a proper hearing until the throne is settled. My name is Steward Bandelor, what can I do for you?"

_How about__ you__ shut up? _Lenya stood in front of him with her arms crossed, tapping her foot on the ground. She was without doubt annoyed at the whole tantrum the dwarves made, and all the more annoyed at the million tripping stones they seemed to enjoy to throw in her way. That the assembly preferred to tear each other apart than to help them now added yet another stumbling block to their rich collection. "We have the treaties that oblige you to help. So how about giving us troops to fight the blight? That would be a good start."

Bandelor's face saddened. "Alas, Warden, this is not in my power to do. Only a king can send out troops, and we are still a bit in a shock of the loss of King Endrin."

"So," Lenya breathed out, " ...you durgen'len are not bothered by the blight in the slightest? You know...darkspawn overrunning the land, killing everyone in sight...not a beautiful thing to observe, I can assure you. Already experienced that in Ostagar." Alistair shot her an uneasy glance and swallowed hard.

"This is not the case at all, Warden. We _do_ care, but right now giving you you deserve is beyond our limit, until the vote over the throne is settled."

The Dalish groaned. "I keep hearing that, so what must I do to speed up the process?"

"Harrowmont or Bhelen are the ones you have to talk to, Warden," the Assembly steward explained. "Though they hide in fear of each other and are slow to trust anyone in such unstable times. Therefore they speak through their seconds; Dulin Forender, Steward of Lord Harrowmont can be found in Harrowmont's estate. Vartag Gavorn; Bhelen's first is often here in the assembly."

Lenya looked left and right, seeing nothing but empty halls. "Seems like he is not today."

"Yes, he left an hour or two ago." The dwarf bowed down to her. "I'm sorry, I wish there is was more I could do for you."

Shale peered down to him."This was so unhelpful in so many ways. Astonishing how the midget have managed to do that." Then it turned to Lenya. "So it has to search for _other_ midgets now? Wonderful."

Alistair sighed. "It seems there is indeed no way we can talk directly to Harrowmont...or Bhelen. So shall we go to Harrowmont's estate, or wait here for Bhelen's second? The choice is yours."

For a moment Lenya hesitated and simply stood there, unsure about what to do next. She had no idea of dwarven politics, nor did she really care. All she wanted was the troops and to get out. Yet, it seemed as if another tripping stone was just flying her way, and this was one she could not dodge. She had to make a decision, and quickly, because everyone was waiting for it. _Ugh, being leader is... _

"Warden..." A voice called out at her, making her turn with a groan. _Does _everybody_ here know who I am?_

She glanced into the face of yet another male dwarf, and the only remarkable detail she discovered was that he didn't sport the usual long beard, just a bit of grown out stubble. "How do you know who I am?" she voiced her thoughts.

"Word is traveling fast, and no one travels with..." he glimpsed up to Shale and Morrigan, "...such an extraordinary entourage. I'm Vartog Gavorn, Prince Bhelen's top advisor. Welcome to Orzammar. How can I be of service?"

She simply stared at him, annoyed. Although she was glad that she didn't need to choose between the two advisors anymore,was he the next one of the already long line of unhelpful dwarves, despite him offering help. Lenya was tired of repeating herself over and over again, so she kept it short. "Treaty. Blight. Troops."

"Err, what my fellow Warden wanted to say is that we have treaties that oblige Orzammar to help with its troops," he rushed to throw in, eying the dwarf critically. Alistair's first impression of Bhelen and his men was still fresh, and not the best to start with. Therefore, speaking to Bhelen's second wasn't exactly on the top of his list. They needed to start somewhere, and they couldn't wait until the Assembly had voted for the new king. Time was a luxury they didn't have. "So we heard you are one of the men...err, _the_ man to talk to for that."

Gavorn laughed. "Eventually that would be our king, but I feel flattered. Though if you want to seek the aid of Orzammar's finest, I probably am the best man to talk to."

_Not so sure about that. _Alistair pressed his lips together and stayed quiet, out of fear that this thought would bubble out from behind his lips.

"Treaty. Blight. Troops." Lenya repeated, tapping impatiently with her feet.

"Yes, the treaties. I've seen them in the Shaper's library, but as you should know by now we don't have a king to which those papers could compel to. Still, my prince is the rightful king," he paused, his face contorting and irked. "But sadly, that upstart Harrowmont's bid for the throne is supported by many deshyrs and lords. I'm sure my Prince would do everything possible to help you against the blight, but before the matter of his rightful succession is settled, his hands are tied."

"So I assume we cannot speak to Bhelen now?"Alistair interjected.

"Please understand, Wardens, as honorable you might be," Gavorn started, "this isn't possible. Harrowmont hides himself behind his friendly facade and sends out many spies and assassins. Bhelen can't know who to trust."

Lenya's feet-tapping increased even more. After all this pointless talking—and with the added nagging feeling of hunger inside of her—she was on the brink of losing her patience. "Yeah, yeah...whatever. Can we _finally_ get to the point where I get done _whatever_ must be done? That would be nice."

"Eager, aren't we?" The dwarf laughed.

"No," she said, and crossed her arms again. "Just annoyed of this all, if you need to know."

Vartog's tone stayed amused. "Forthrightness is such a rare trait today, really. There is, however, a way you could prove yourself worthy of Bhelen's favor and trust. It's quite simple. I have a few papers here which proves that Harrowmont was engaged in a campaign of bribery." He rummaged shortly in his pockets and put two slightly yellowed parchments forth, each rolled together. "In these documents is evidence of how Harrowmont has promised the same portion of his estate to two _different_ deshyr lords; Lady Dace and Lord Helmi. With that, he wanted to ensure the support of both houses. And, of course, they won't find out about it until their vote is cast."

"Interesting..." Lenya said, though her indifferent tone didn't quite match its meaning of the word.

"Where did you get these papers anyway?" Alistair inquired, suddenly feeling uneasy in the pit of his stomach. Something just didn't feel right.

"That is not important. If someone asks, say you found them in the Shaper's library while searching for your treaty. They are just copies anyway, but showing it to both deshyr lords would be sufficient to make them reconsider their vote. This is what I need you to do."

"Uh-huh..." The elf uttered in the same bored tone like before, and reached her hand out to the parchments. _Enough time wasted, already. _

But..." Alistair insisted, earning a glare from his fellow Warden in return. "Isn't there someone you could...well, report that to?"

"Normally the Shaper of Memories in the Shaperate would handle such an accusation," Vartog explained. "Sadly, we can't turn to him for this case. He would be biased, because he's related to Harrowmont. His grandfather was Lord Harrowmont's aunt's first cousin, after all. So you can't expect him to be objective. This is why I need _you_ to handle this."

The Warden took a sharp intake for yet another question, but one single warning glance from Lenya let the words die on his lips. She took the papers with a nod and turned to go, glad to be finally able to leave.

"You'll find me here, Warden," the dwarf called after her. "I'll await your return soon."

.

.

* * *

.

Right after leaving the Assembly, Alistair stopped at its doorsteps, frowning. "I have a bad feeling about this. As Grey Wardens, we shouldn't meddle with dwarven politics. That's just not right."

"I figure you haven't noticed that we have no other choice? What a surprise..." The sarcasm was unmistakable in Morrigan's voice.

Lenya peered at the parchment still in her hands and scowled as realization dawned in her. In her rush, she had completely forgotten to ask _where _to find those two deshyr lords, nor had this dwarf told her. Not to mention that she wasn't exactly enthralled by the general's desire to treat her like some messenger. At all. In fact the more she thought about it, the more she hated it. There she was, away from the surface where her kin were, only to be regarded and treated as servants in the shem's world. And down in the very cavity of the earth the dwarves were now trying to do the same with her. If it wasn't herself in this very situation, the Dalish would have laughed about the irony of it.

"Lenya?" Alistair's voice startled her, her eyes trailing up from staring at the papers to him. "You know where to find this Lady Dace and Lord Helmi, right?" It was an innocent question, but one she had no answer for.

She bit her lip. "Well...not exactly..."

"Wonderful," the witch exclaimed, exasperated, "I'm surrounded by idiots. I surely don't want to run all over this vast place and search for these two pampered dwarves." She glared at Lenya. "Go back and ask where to find them."

"So the swamp witch is playing boss, I see? Curious," Shale commented on Morrigan's behavior, amused.

Lenya again sneered at the documents, unwilling to give in. She would rather run around Orzammar then to turn back and ask now. Call it pride, perhaps—but at least she was able to retain this trait in the human's world, as she already had lost everything else. Hence, she didn't intend to change that, simply because she was now down here. So her mind raced, searching for another solution instead. "He said something about the Shaperate, hadn't he? And that this Shaper is normally responsible for dealing with matters like this, right? Let's go there." Without further ado or waiting for the others, Lenya wandered off to the building not far from the Assembly.

Alistair didn't entirely understood why she was suddenly so eager about visiting the Shaperate, but he certainly wouldn't object. Something about these papers stroke him as odd. It was time to find out, why.

"That doesn't make any sense," Morrigan snapped at her retreating figure. "Just because you don't want to go back and ask, you are doing the _exact_ thing that dwarf was asking you to avoid?" Much to her frustration, she was completely ignored and thus could only watch how the elf already stepped through the door to the Shaperate.

_In times like this, _Morrigan asked herself, _who_ _had the thicker head...the stone golem or Lenya?_ Not that she particularly cared for the result, though she wouldn't be surprised if it were the elf. Granted, when her intractable way wouldn't have been so damn annoying and illogical just now, Morrigan would have even slightly admired this trait of her. Because when the witch was honest to herself, she would probably have done the same.

Minus the stupidity, of course.

.

.

* * *

.

The Shaperate of Memories was remarkable.

Although there were nothing but an endless amount of dusty old books and parchment stored in towering bookshelves to see, Lenya found herself marveling at that sight. She had always loved books since she was young, and still bore a great fondness for all the knowledge they contained. In the harsh times of the Dragon Age, it was normally more important to get one's stomach filled than to be literate. Fortunately for her, the Keeper Marethari had always taken great heed on education for the clan. Back in those days, the Keeper taught everyone how to read, from the youngest to the eldest clan members. So since that time, whenever she wasn't out in the woods with Taml...

She abruptly stopped this dangerous chain of thoughts, before it could do her any more harm, shaking her head rapidity. _Okay, not so good memories_.

Lenya wistfully glanced up to one of the racks as she passed it by, smelling the same scent of dusty paper, just like the little outworn book she always had. On those leather bound crisp sheets were almost all the tales and songs of that her clan collected and written down. Of course, she knew them by heart, but since the book was once owned by her father, it was one of the few rare belongings dear to her.

And yet she had lost it.

It must have slipped out of her bag when Duncan threw her over his shoulder, when she refused to give up her clan to come with him. She swallowed, alternately deeply regretting its loss and hating the storm of emotions that item was still able to incite in her.

Maybe _this_ was an appropriate moment to start hating books.

"Lenya?" Alistair crooked his head to look down to her and checked her eyes for a sign of presence. "Did you hear me?"

Her eyelids fluttered, as her eyes came back into focus and rested on Alistair's face. "Err, what?"

Alistair grinned. "Well, while you were happily dozing off, we found out by asking the Shaper of Memories that those promissory notes are indeed forged. So, Harrowmont _hasn't_ promised the same land to two different deshyr lords. Bhelen's second had forged them in order to soil Harrowmont's name. There will be an investigation into the house Gavorn soon. Therefore my first inkling about the papers being fishy were right."

"Uh-huh. Congratulations," she muttered, still half-tangled in thoughts. Lenya blinked as she looked up, seeing the Shaper standing right in front of her. She hadn't even perceived him before, nor his or Alistair's words. Has she really missed the whole conversation? Was she still so easily distracted by her emotions that she got lost in them so thoroughly? Lenya thought that one night of crying had finally given her some rest from _those_ memories haunting her. Apparently, she had been wrong.

"Not to dim your big triumph, Alistair," Morrigan said, her eyes rolling, "but how does _this _now exactly help us again? The brilliance of this plan does elude me currently, so resolve it for me please."

He chewed the inside of his cheek and averted his eyes. To be honest he had no answer to that, and he hated it because it was Morrigan who'd asked. Nevertheless, he wasn't upset about the result just now. It felt wrong to help a man who let his fellow dwarves kill each other in the streets over an argument, or forge papers to achieve his goal by ruining the life of his opponent. Probably it was what politics was about in the end, but that didn't make Alistair resent it less.

Suddenly Lenya's head snapped up and she finally awoke out of her reverie, realizing the word's meaning. "Wait, _what_? That dwarf lied to me and _used_ me, so that I'd do his dirty forged work?" Her hands balled to fists. "I think I'll need to have a talk with someone."

"Please remember, Warden," the Shaper told her, "you are currently away from the surface...from where you used to live, but that doesn't mean you can disregard the law we have here."

"Oh, really?" She rolled her eyes but then suddenly pointed at him. "Aren't you the durgen'len related to Harrowmont? You could be lying to me as well to cover your own relative. By the creators," the elf ran her hand through her hair and sighed, "durgen'len politics really is tedious."

The dwarf nodded in agreement. "It is true that Harrowmont is a kinsman, but if you regard the six degrees of separation as well, I'm related to every noble still present in Orzammar. So this really doesn't mean much. Before you leave, Warden," he said, looking at Shale, "what I wanted to ask is where do you got this golem from? I thought they were almost all extinguished by the time of Caridin's disappearance. We have only a dozen left, and I don't recognize this one. We'd pay a high sum to get it."

"I'd sooner jump into a pit of lava," Shale retorted dryly and turned around to stomp off.

Lenya shrugged. "Since this is settled, I will take my leave now as well. After all, there is _someone_ waiting for my return."

On her way out, the Shaper's assistant stepped into her way. "Warden, I'm outraged. Someone stole an important tome from the Memories. How dare they! Though I saw the thief; he was a bald and had a garish brand across his face. Probably from the slums. If you could get it back, I woul – "

"I don't care." Lenya interrupted him gruffly and shoved him aside to leave.

She had enough of books for now.

.

.

* * *

.

"These papers are _forged_." Lenya nearly spat the last word out, her whole bearing in front of Gavorn tense, as she glared at him.

"Oh you found out, Warden?" Gavorn answered parenthetically. "Naturally they are. Harrowmont wouldn't promise the same land twice, after all." He stared up to her. "But this isn't what I wanted you to do. I asked for a proof of loyalty to Bhelen, not the truth."

"I'm not playing your dirty little game, _dwarf!_" Her gauntled hands pressed together, as she felt anger seething through her veins. How she hated being lied at. She would have happily run through Orzammar and searched for those dwarves to find, if he had told the truth before. Given, happily would have been a bit too much of a stretch, yet she would have done this task. Even independent of how much she resented the thought of being someone's messenger, Lenya didn't want it to be this way.

"Oh, you think you know how the game is played, huh?" The dwarf responded in a similar harsh tone. "But if you think figuring it all out gets you off the line, you are wrong. I was asking for a proof of loyalty, so how much truth is involved in there doesn't matter in the slightest."

But for her, it mattered.

Lenya slowly began to tear the documents apart into tiny pieces. Her companions and even Gavorn observed her wide-eyed, as she leaned in one last time to the dwarf, breathing her words in a low but menacing tone. "I'm the one making the rules." Lenya threw the pieces high up into the air, over his head and turned on her heel. They fluttered through the air for a moment or two, before settling down at on the assembly floor, framing the baffled dwarf in scraps of paper.

"We are leaving," she barked to her group in a commanding voice; a voice she didn't even know she had possessed before. They didn't object, knowing it would be wrong or even _dangerous_ to try that now with Lenya in _that_ mood.

"Y-you'll regret that," Gavorn yelled after her, but she couldn't care less.

He ought to be grateful that it was _just_ the documents she had ripped apart.

.

.

* * *

.

Outside, Alistair stared at her, somewhere between shock and a hint of admiration for what she had done. Lenya was always a tad...unpredictable, yet even he wouldn't have foreseen this sort of outcome. For once, the elf did not shrug over injustice and lies to advance further on the easy route...no, she stood up _against_ it. Although he didn't fully understand _her_ reasons behind it, and even if it meant they were back to square one now, he liked what she had done.

"_What_?" He winced at the force in her voice, her wrath still apparent. If only she wasn't in such a foul mood now, this would make further things indeed easier. Feeling brave (or foolish), he stepped in front of her, raised his gauntled hand up and tapped the middle of her forehead with his finger.

"You'll get wrinkles there if you continue that frowning thing..."

Lenya gawked at him incredulously, as if he was mad for touching her. For daring so. Many, many remarks involving _stupid human_ and _worse_ things were coming up her mind but she remained quiet, bizarrely feeling the anger within subsiding. She took a deep breath of the stale Orzammar air to gather her thoughts, still painstakingly aware of his eyes and smile resting upon herself. Though, for once she did not mind.

"Let's get back to that tavern."

At that, Morrigan snapped. "_This_ was by far the _greatest_ amount of time wasted that I have ever experienced. I don't know if I should congratulate you for that, or flame you alive."

Lenya had no patience left for anything, least for discussion over her made decisions. Even not for the witch, she normally respected much. " Wasn't it _you_, Morrigan who told me to not run through all of Orzammar? So we won't."

"I agree." Alistair spoke up." We should head back first. There we can discuss how to proceed further." Lenya looked at Alistair in surprise. not for disagreeing with the sorceress, that he did on regular basis; it was more the _agreeing with_ _her_-part that baffled the Dalish.

Morrigan's eyes darted back and forth between the two Wardens, then she retreated, waving indifferently with her hand. "Do as you like, I don't care."

Shale followed the witch in the direction of the gates to the commons. "We'd better have something to kill next time."

That left the two Warden still standing in their place, blankly watching after them. Lenya sighed and rubbed her face wearily. "I think I screw that up." It was muttered quietly to herself, and not for other ears. Especially not the rounded ones nearby.

Yet Alistair caught the words. "Naah, Morrigan will come around. Unfortunately." She glared at him for being the nosy human he was, for commenting even words she didn't _want_ to be commented. Somehow Alistair caught its meaning and felt awkward. "Oh...ehh, I thought you were talking to me. Sorry." Another dismissive look and she started walking forward first, anticipating him to follow anyway.

"As for the rest, I think you are doing fine."

The sincerity in his voice let her halt for the brink of a second before she went on, not turning to him. "Thank you."

And she meant it.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N:** Okay next update shouldn't take so long. Hopefully. Chapter is already finished for long, so I'm just waiting for the proofread version to bring it online afterwards. Review please. _


	25. Sword of Truthiness

**Chapter 24: Sword of Truthiness**

.**  
**

Leliana sat on a table in Tapsters and let her mind flood with the sound of the environment; its music, laughter, dance.

Amidst the noise of the tavern it was yet strangely still, an oasis of peace from the hectic exertion of their journey. Her eyes fell to the bearded dwarven bard on a display across from their table, singing verses in a language she didn't understand.

Oh, how she missed singing herself, those soft melodies on her lips. Though if she wanted to keep her role up, there was no way she could do this, not now. For them she was a simple Chantry sister from Lothering and Leliana decided it should stay that way, at least for a while longer. There were more important things than dealing with a past she pushed all too gladly back into the furthest corner of her mind. Fighting the Blight was just one of them, but the most paramount goal. She also hoped that concentrating on this task ahead would help her to forget eventually.

Probably.

She sighed extensively, not willing to hold the thought up any longer. So she closed it off in her mind, along with the other part of herself, of who she once was.

Was, she reminded herself, and no longer is.

Leliana was, however, not fully convinced herself.

Sten was still rigidly standing in the same place as before, glaring down at Leliana. Arai lay curled up near his feet, snoring loudly. A well-deserved rest for a warrior, Sten thought. He looked up from the human, his red eyes swaying over the room, perceiving how the strange ritual of singing, dancing and drinking of the small people continued. Would they never stop this senseless occupation? How unnerving.

"You were in the Chantry. You are a priest?" He suddenly asked the human without to looking at her.

"Huh?" She blinked, flabbergasted by the rumbling sound of the Qunari's voice, all the more that he spoke with her after the lingering silence in between. "No, I wasn't. I was a lay-sister of the Chantry. I lived and worked in the Chantry, but I did not take any vows."

This confused him. "So you... dabbled in priesthood, then?"

A small smile appeared on her lips. "Oh no, the lay sisters don't have the same sorts of duties as priests at all."

"So you were not a priestess, did none of their duties, and took no vows, but you lived among them?" he asked in a disbelieving tone. The Qunari couldn't understand the concept, nor the sense of her being in the Chantry then. "So were you a house guest of the Chantry?"

Leliana briefly laughed out loud at how dryly he had answered this question for himself.

"Well...you could say that." She thought it was for the better to leave it at that. How to explain to a Qunari her real reason for being there until the Wardens came along? Even if none of them did understand the vision she had, this was the very reason she was here now.

.

.

Suddenly Arai's head snapped up from the deepest slumber, sniffing the air. Too excited to bother stretching his still tired limps, the mabari stood up to rush to the tavern's door. Not a second later it was opened and Lenya appeared through the door first, shoulders sagging. Arai began to dance around her wildly, overwhelmed with joy at the return of his mistress. At the sight of him, her pensive expression eased up a bit and she leaned down to briefly scratch his ear.

"_Aneth ara, lethallin_," the Dalish purred once before wandering straight to their table to sit down.

"Oh you are finally back, how was it?" Leliana beamed. "Did you succeed at the assembly?"

At that, Lenya banged with her head onto the plate and it resounded with a dull thud. She was everything, all at the same time. Tired, hungry, frustrated, in the need of a bath, and most of all she was not willing to talk anymore. Or to move. Only if Fen'Harel the Dread Wolf appeared right in front of her, then she would consider moving again.

Maybe.

Alistair raised an eyebrow at her odd demeanor, but was grinning at the same time. "I guess this says it perfectly."

He just hoped that this display of pure exasperation didn't hurt too much. On the other side with such a thick, sturdy head like hers, it was it most unlikely.

He followed her to the table and took the seat beside her, mindful to leave her enough space of her own. The elf still lay with her head quiescent down on the plate, dust-coated blond wisps of hair sprawled across, which left one of her pointed ears bare. For the tiniest of moments, Alistair found himself staring at that, at her. He startled up as Leliana's voice rang through the room.

"Can someone give me an explanation about what happened? I'm a bit at a loss here."

Morrigan leaned her staff on the wall and folded her arms. "With that you are not alone."

"There were no fights, only talking. Utterly boring. I could have done that in Honnleath," Shale answered and turned away, deciding to care no longer for their discussion.

Alistair took a deep breath before he finally summarized the events for the rest of his companions, prudent enough to keep it short. Not because they were in any kind of hurry, though; more out of the reason that the earlier he was finished with it, the earlier they could eat.

_Priorities._

"Food," came the demanding tone from Lenya, muffled through her head on the tabletop.

Alistair smiled at her. "My thoughts exactly."

Dorra whirled around at Leliana's wave, noticing the return of the Wardens. "Aye, so you are back, I see. Found everything you want?"

She winked good-humoredly at the human and placed a mug of ale in front of him. Then her eyes fell onto the still rigid Dalish and her smile broadened.

"Seems not that way, somehow. Well my dear I hope this will lift your mood then." The dwarven woman put another mug on the table. "Finest honey mead, a Surfacer family delivers us a couple of barrels each month. This one is on the house, in honor of the visit of your order here..."

Alistair was surprised. "Th-thank you."

She laughed. "No big deal. You can pay me up later with a tip. So you are hungry, ehh? Roasted nug coming up soon."

At that, she turned and disappeared quickly into the direction of the kitchen.

"Wow, isn't she a ray of sunshine..." Morrigan scoffed as she watched the dwarf disappearing, then she observed the mugs with disdain. "I don't even want to know what they make their ale from, when all that is available here is stone and dirt. But don't mind me, Alistair. Have a toast on the great success today."

He only side glanced at the witch, not really interested in what she was doing.

"You know, I tried dwarven ale once. I thought it was just something they tricked Surfacers into drinking, as a joke." Cautiously he sniffed on his drink, a biting sweet muddy smell flooding his nostrils. "Now I remember again, why I thought so."

But his throat was achingly dry; hence he ignored the first aversion and took a huge sip to quench his thirst. The Warden immediately regretted the decision at the atrocious taste in his mouth and he coughed once, before swallowing fully. Though despite the taste it left a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it made him feel contented. Not that he would ever drink much of this ..._stuff,_ but it was okay and welcomed for the moment.

Alistair's gaze fell onto Lenya again and he was wondering if she was already asleep, as still she was lying there. The only movement was the steady rise and fall of her shoulders with her breaths.

"Seems like you got the better drink..." He shoved the mug her direction and was rewarded with a long, annoyed groan. "Oh still alive, I see. That is reassuring..."

She responded with a muffled "_shut up_" before eventually heaving her head reluctantly up, blinking in the sudden bright light of the lavastones surrounding them.

As she peered around, her eyes caught Alistair's and he couldn't help but to burst into a fit of laughter at the sight. The way Lenya looked was comical, her hair all disheveled and her forehead creased with a deep mark of the table's relief.

And so he laughed and couldn't stop at all, and it felt _good_. It was the first time after weeks that he was able to feel carefree and detached from all sorrow, if only for a tiny moment. So no matter her punishment, he was sure it was _worth_ it.

"I'm sorry...it's just...just..." Alistair snorted and chuckled on, his chest rumbling heavily.

Lenya grew more and more irritated with this human, who was laughing and simply didn't stop, no matter how much she glowered at him. So she took the mug in front of him and nonchalantly poured its content over his head, shrugged and put it back on the table.

There was a shocked pause from him as the sticky liquid trickled down his face and he spit out the part that landed in his mouth. Alistair threw her his best '_How could you do this?'_ gaze, but completely disregarding him, the elf dedicated her attention to her own beverage. It was Morrigan who began to laugh.

Morrigan.

Laughing.

_Creepy._

The Warden shot her a glare and wiped his face clean with a cloth Leliana handed him as she giggled loudly. It seemed that he was now at the receiving end of the mockery again, but he could endure it easily this time for once.

Lenya, however, marveled over the sweet, rich taste of the honey wine with little contented sounds as she drank. She enjoyed every sip; for it tasted a bit like home, the Dalish wine similar in flavor, yet so different because she was so far away from it now. Nevertheless it lifted her spirit, so much that her eyes glinted mischievously as she glanced at the ever watchful human.

"You are reeking of ale."

"Hmm, I wonder why that is," he answered in a same good-humored tone and actually wondered over her candidness. Lenya was far from being the grumpy elf he normally knew right now and Maker...he _liked_ it.

Alistair's train of thought got disrupted by the smell of roasted meat, and watched the two plates of pig-like animals, decorated with simple fruit and bread placed on the table before them. Despite the unknown animal, his mouth watered at the sight. Maker, he was hungry and if it was edible at all, then he would eat.

Skeptical, Lenya poked the meat before her. "What is that? I don't know such an animal..." _And I'm a Dalish hunter_.

"It is a nug. A pig-like animal that lives down here and counts as delicacy. As you can see," Leliana felt compelled to explain before she tore a part of the nug off and started to eat. She felt kind of sorry for those creatures, because they must have been cute while still alive, but pity alone wouldn't fill the stomach now.

They ate a while in silence and Alistair enjoyed it very much, though he also knew that they needed plans after that. "So Harrowmont, is it?"

Morrigan sighed, still a bit irked by the view of the roasted rats before her. "Since Lenya gave Behlen's second the understanding that he should rot so impressively, I would say yes."

"Yes, we will go there," Lenya mumbled with full mouth, "never mind the Blight business, I'm tired and we need a place to stay. If we help this durgen'len to become Keeper...err king, then it is the least he can do."

.

.

* * *

.

Leliana pulled Alistair aside as they waited for their leader to return from the merchant's stall, grinning devilishly. "You have grown quite fond of her in the past weeks, haven't you?"

The Warden was caught by surprise, not sure of what she was talking about.

"Huh?" he uttered dumbly.

She rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing. "Well, I mean Lenya, of course."

"Well, naturally I'm caring. She is my fellow Warden," he retorted in the same obvious tone and shrugged.

"Not in this way, Alistair. There are different levels of caring, I might add. In the tavern, you looked at her...more than caring. "

Alistair felt his face flushing and it wasn't really helping to resolve this stupid idea of hers; yet he tried.

"You are seeing things, Leliana. I know next to nothing about her. Maker, sometimes the way she behaves I'm not even sure whether she is a woman at all. I mean, look at this," he gestured over to Lenya who was marveling over a blade, "She loves swords ...and to kill with those. Not that there is something wrong with it in normal cases, but she is a bit _too_ crazy about it. _Giggling_ while killing and all that. Also we barely even speak...so no. NO."

Unimpressed by his protestations, the grin in her face broadened. "There are _not always_ words needed, you know."

Pleased, she observed how her words added another shade of red to his already burning face. It was perhaps a bit mean to tease him like that, especially since he could get flustered so easily. On the other hand, however, it was a good diversion until the elf was done with shopping.

_Oh, shopping_...another thing she missed dearly. Inwardly Leliana wondered if Lenya could value nice shoes in the same way she did with ….pointy things.

Lenya was clueless of the conversation behind her, but too awed by the sight of the sword anyway to care. She held the blade in her hand: it was perfect in overall size and weight, the hilt and blade remarkably balanced. She could let the blade rest on two of her fingers without it toppling over and her mind was already screaming _want, want_, _want_, over and over again.

"How much?"

"Six sovereign," the merchant dwarf said gruffly, irritated by her long fiddling with his merchandise.

"I'm a Grey Warden, you know," she mentioned casually. It had worked for a discount in Ostagar after all, so why shouldn't it work now as well? "How about giving me a lower price than normal?"

Much to her dismay, the dwarf was unimpressed of her attempt to bargain. " This is the Grey Warden price, Warden. Other prices would just ruin me. So take it or leave it."

Lenya looked into her purse and frowned by discovering only four sovereign left. "I don't have that much..."

"Then leave it." He harshly took the blade out of her hand and put it back on display next to the others. "Surfacers," he muttered, " ...thinking everything is for free..."

With a glare at the merchant and a last sad look at the sword, the elf turned on her heels, all prior good mood now ended.

"Let's go," Lenya bellowed to her companions and quickened her pace to leave the commons as fast as possible. _Stupid merchant..._

Alistair gawked after her for a moment in disbelief. He had seen how delighted she was at the sight of the blade and its shine in the fiery light of the lava stream. Why didn't she buy the sword she was gushing over for countless minutes now?

"Didn't you like it?" He asked.

"No. We have more important things to do, so come now or stay here. I don't care."

Alistair sighed. Little Miss grumpy girl was all too soon back again.

Shale chuckled, amused at her answer. "Not enough money for the expensive midget sword, hmm? Guess it must eat less then."

Alistair's lips formed an 'O' as he finally understood the reason for her sudden bad temper and felt like slapping his own forehead. Lenya had mentioned only a few days ago, that his new armor was all but cheap. In addition to that, his fellow Warden had told him very in a 'charmingly' way that she would kill him if he would ever broke his armor again. Bewildered, Alistair had offered then to pay it back to her, which the elf had shrugged off all too easily.

Alistair's gaze drifted to the merchant. It was an utterly stupid idea...and he shouldn't. He really shouldn't...

"Alistair, come on now." It was Leliana who was still waiting for him, while the others had already advanced farther ahead.

The Warden finally tore his eyes away from the stall and hurried after her, shaking his head.

Bad, bad idea...

.

.

* * *

.

Harrowmont's estate was huge.

The long narrow corridors extended farther into convoluted hallways with even more rooms lying beyond. The vast entrance hall was sparsely furnished but in contrast to that, the furniture was exquisite: Mostly carved from the finest stone, it was trimmed with wood and thickly upholstered to make it more comfortable for sitting. Despite the grand rooms, everything was brightly illuminated by lavastones in several hearths, creating warmth at the same time.

The Qunari, however, was not impressed. "Nice furniture won't help against the darkspawn."

Lenya groaned. "Sten, I'm glad not to see or hear about those bastards for a minute or two."

"Aren't you a Grey Warden? This is what you do, your duty –"

She held her hand up to silence him, unwilling to discuss the issue. "Let's just find that dwarf."

"Parshaara." Sten grumbled, following the others down the hall.

"Oh, guests?"

A middle-aged male dwarf approached them, wearing simple splint mail which made him stand out oddly amidst the estate's elegant furnishings. Nevertheless, he greeted them courtesously.

"I heard there were Grey Wardens in the city; hello, Friends. Welcome to Lord Harromont's Estate. Though if you are here to see Lord Harrowmont I must disappoint you, as he is not seeing any guests now."

Alistair turned to his fellow Warden, whispering. "We must really stand out, when everyone around here knows who we are..."

His comment merely prompted an eye roll from her. "Concerning that the rest of the population of Orzammar are dwarves, that's truly a surprise, huh?"

"Oh- err, right. Never mind, then."

"Already done."

She cleared her throat to respond, slipping into the role of the leader once more.

"We are here to support Harrowmont. ...err against Bhelen, I mean. Name is Lenya and I have a treaty. For troops and stuff." _Everything for_ _a bath and place to sleep now. _

"How very eloquent," Morrigan quipped, prompting the elf to turn to her and mouth the words "_shut up_".

The moments where Lenya would waste any more time with politeness toward her group were long past; she was just too tired for it. Morrigan glared, annoyed at her and muttered a curse under her breath, but no other remark followed, for which Lenya was thankful.

"Oh, that is a surprise, indeed." The dwarf bowed down lightly, "I'm Dulin Forender, second to Lord Harrowmont, King Endrin's own choice as his successor. In ordinary times Lord Harrowmont would be honored to meet you... " He paused and peered curious at the huge group of people, "...all. Though these times are all but ordinary. So please understa– "

"Yes, we know the story. Fighting for the throne and all that," The Dalish interjected quickly. She didn't want to hear that again.

Alistair suppressed a grin over the lack of her diplomacy skills and the ability to let other people speak out. It wasn't the best way to speak with nobles but at least it spared them some high-faluting talk and time.

"So what must we do to proof our trust to Lord Harrowmont?" he added, trying to not simply stand there and look dumb.

Dulin looked bewildered at the Wardens, but the elf only shrugged. "As I said we know the story..."

Somehow this struck the dwarf as odd. "How do you know all that? Are you Bhelen's spies?"

"As I said we know the story..." Lenya repeated flatly.

A groan was heard from behind her.

"Us? Spies? Don't be foolish, dwarf. Do you really think we would come and seek your presence, tell you our names and show our faces, when we were here to spy? One might assume that spying were equal with the term 'secrecy'... but how do I know? I'm just a wielder of magic who was living secretly for years in the wilds," Morrigan finished her rant while glowering down at the dwarf.

"The witch has a point," Sten nodded. "A warrior should always face the other to kill openly. Everything else is cowardice and dishonorable."

"Sten, in case you don't notice," Alistair breathed, "This argument is not helping."

"What an odd grou – " Dulin coughed and halted this thought. "Very well, I do believe you, for now. Yet you still have to prove your good intent with deeds, as I fear in these times words are not enough."

"Get to the point," Lenya said brusquely, prompting Alistair to throw her a look. "...please," she eventually added and glared back at him. _Happy now?_

"You will have to attend the Proving tomorrow in Harrowmont's name."

She knitted her brows. "The Proving? What is that?"

"Well to put it simply," he explained, "The Proving is an arena where the dwarven warriors fight and are considered favored by the ancestors, should they win. It is highly regarded by the deshyr's but unfortunately Behlen found some way to blackmail or intimidate Harrowmont's best fighters into stepping down..."

"Such a charming guy, he is, right?" Alistair muttered.

"So you want me to fight for him?" Lenya asked.

He nodded. "And find out what happened to our fighters. It would make your loyalties loud and clear. Also Behlen would never work with someone who had humiliated him in that way."

Not that she already had done that. This thought amused Alistair, yet he remained still.

"Okay, fighting, this I can do. Count me in." At least she would have not to run through the whole of Orzammar this time, which was a huge plus in her eyes.

"I'm glad to hear that, Warden," Dulin Forender smiled, clearly pleased. "Then I await you here tomorrow."

"Wait, what?" Lenya blurted out, aghast. "You don't offer us a place to stay, even after I'm willing to fight for your Lord now?"

The dwarf was speechless for a moment or two before he managed to recollect himself. "Err, I'm sorry. I thought such honorable guests like from your order and your entourage have already accommodations."

The Dalish rolled her eyes anew. "Sorry, forgot to bring my aravel, if I had known – "

"We have just arrived after a long, arduous journey and would be honored to be Harrowmont's guests now." Leliana chipped in. "This would also make preparation for the Proving easier tomorrow, as you don't have to search for us and you could be sure that we would be well rested. Otherwise we would go camping before the gates of Orzammar but I'm sure the cold –"

"Very well. You have a point, human," Dulin rushed to say, which made Leliana smile triumphantly. "I'm sorry I didn't offer you that sooner. Of course we have enough spare rooms for all of you, just..." he glimpsed at the golem, unsure how to continue.

"What? You don't have a fitting bed for me? I'm deeply insulted now," Shale scoffed in an ironic tone. "But if it soothes the midget, I'll stay here...and look nice. I have a thirty years practice in that. As long there are no birds here, of course."

"No, I can assure you of that," the dwarf answered, a bit puzzled.

"Good."

With that, Shale stomped off to the other side of the entrance hall.

"Wait here, there will be servants coming to escort you to your rooms." Harrowmont's steward turned to go but then stopped again. "Oh I have just one request, I have. Please don't leave your rooms until tomorrow, just in case."

He bowed down. "Thank you for your understanding."

"Oh, don't worry. If I was about to murder-knife someone, I'd make sure to let you know beforehand," the elf remarked wryly at his retreating back.

"Not helping, Lenya..." Alistair murmured to her.

She shrugged, amusement glinting in her eyes. "Not helpful perhaps...but funny."

He couldn't help but smirk at that.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya had no sense left anymore to gush over the inventory in her vast room, nor the whole wall of history books. There was only the sense left to get out of the clammy, sweaty leather armor, get cleaned up a bit and finally sleep. She stretched her limbs extensively, which made her aware how exhausted she actually felt.

The damn Blight would have to wait until tomorrow.

The light in the room was lowered to only soft shimmering, blue glowstones, which were adorned everywhere at the wall. The servant (who was a dwarf, to her amusement) had asked her if he should light the torches and hearth too, but Lenya liked it the way it was. The soft light would make it easier to sleep, at least this was what she hoped.

She still struggled hard with the dreams that came along with being a Grey Warden, and all the more she still loathed waking up wide-eyed in the middle of the night, because someone appeared to scratch the inner sides of her brain. She still was not willing to accept those dreams as a part of the new life she still did not want, but already lived. There was so much '_still_' in her life, so many things she '_still_' hasn't figured out, wasn't willing to give up, or to forget.

The life with her clan. To return once this was over. Seeing Taml –

She shook her head, standing before the washing basin and observing how a weary face in the mirror stared back at her.

Maybe it would be for the better, if she would simply forget. _Easier..._

With a deep sigh, Lenya returned to the main room after she was finished, surveying the strange object in the middle. _That __was_ _what shem's call a bed, huh? Their furniture to sleep __on during_ _the night._

The Dalish tilted her head as she drew closer to the stone-bordered, oblong furniture and experimentally sat down on its mattress. To her delight it was softer than every bedroll she ever had lay on before, and also bigger. Lenya let herself fall back onto it and stretched out. It felt good to lie here, comfortable. At least she now had one thing she could respect the shems for.

Lenya curled herself into a ball, with Arai lying at her feet, as sleep quickly claimed her.

.

***'-.'-'***

.

hahren na melana sahlin

_emma ir abelas_

_souver'inan isala hamin_

_vhenan him dor'felas_

_in uthenera na revas_

_.  
_

_vir sulahn'nehn_

_vir dirthera_

_vir samahl la numin_

_vir lath sa'vunin _

Soft whispering words, sung nearly mourning transmitted through the air; with the wind. Lenya stared numbly into the ceremonial fire in the middle, concealed, not perceiving her environment, yet painfully aware of it.

_In Uthenera, the song of passing._

She knew these words too well, they had been on her lips too many times when they had lost one of them, a brother or a sister. She heard the prayers recited for the save passing, to Falon' Din, but she did not raise her voice to join in, remaining silent in her defiant sorrow.

_It was wrong._

_"Hear us oh Falon'Din, Lethanavir -Friend to the Dead. Guide his feet, calm his soul, lead our brother Tamlen to his rest." _

There was no body to pray or sing for this time.

_So wrong._

She buried her hands into the wet soil, gripping the earth as poignant grief rippled through her, shaking her.

_Not dead._

Tamlen is not **dead**. He is still out there. She should search for him, instead of sitting here and mourning his false death.

_Wrong._

_But what if... _

She shook her head, unwilling to continue the thought, yet it happened. The feeling of pain was just too strong to hold back.

_Dead..._

The hands in the soil tightened until it psychically hurt.

_Mamae, Papae, Tamlen...I lose everyone important to me._

Her head turned to the bearded shem standing rigidly still in the shadows, watching.

_And now my clan. _

Her chest, her heart constricted and she gasped for air.

_I don't want to go._

Not much later a hand clasped her shoulder from behind, the voice compassionate but assertive.

_"It is time." _

She did not move as told, remained stonily, defiantly in her place. Tears she had pushed back for so long now started to fall vigorously, too hard to hold them back.

_Ir abalas, Tamlen...I failed._

***'-.'-'***

.

.

Lenya jolted up, her face coated in cold sweat, her whole body shaking. She needed a moment to adjust her eyes, to notice where she was. She was not in the woods; the blue glimmering light and Arai's soft snoring assured her. It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

She buried her face into her hands, laughing bitterly. That wasn't just a dream, it was what had happened, not so long ago. Painful reality...

Given the choice, the elf would rather dream of darkspawn. At least those just hurt in her head, not her whole being.

She stood up, still swayed by the dream, she stumbled to her coat on the floor to throw it over her body, and then headed to the door.

I need to get out of here.

.

.

* * *

.

It was eerily still in Harrowmont's estate, the tranquility nearly tangible while everyone else was asleep. She silently moved, aware of waking nobody that could see her outside of her room.

"Breaking the rules, I see?"

Lenya flinched at the sudden booming voice but was relieved to notice quickly that it was only Shale. She faked a smile that didn't reach the eye. Though that was the good thing on the golem, it did not care.

"You too..."

"Pah, as it maybe knows, I'm allowed to be here. It, however, should be in the room and do what fleshy, squishy things do there." It shuddered. "Bah."

"I could not sleep..." Lenya explained lamely though she didn't even know why.

"Did it dream of darkspawn?"

She blinked. "H-how do you know – "

Shale shrugged. "The clown-knight had told me so. Not that it interested me, but since it is a Grey Warden too..."

Lenya sat down on a chair near the bookshelves. "Do you never dream, Shale?"

"Dream? I? Pah. I'm a golem. I do not sleep, nor has my body other disgusting fleshy functions. I'm superior, in fact."

"Thought so," Lenya attempted another smile. "I wish I wouldn't dream sometimes too. Too many memories."

Shale paused for a moment, almost thoughtful. "I have no such thing. No memories of who I'm, nor where I come from."

"You don't know other golems? Or who...made you?"

"No," it paused, "I stood so long in Honnleath that I forgot. I can't remember. Why? Does it know other golems?"

She shook her head. "No. As you might know, I lived rather secluded in the forest before, " Lenya halted, feeling a pang of the dream earlier coming over her again, "with my clan."

_I miss them..._

Shale noticed its fleshy companion's mood swing. "Will it cry now? I could console it, but I might squish it then."

The elf smiled slightly, this time for real. "No I will not cry, but thanks Shale. I feel better now. At least a bit."

"Oh, it can thank me if it finds some augment crystals to set in my skin. I want to glitter from ear to ear, so to speak." Suddenly the creature turned to the door. "It seems that the clown knight is coming back now."

.

.

* * *

.

He must be insane.

Yes, there was no other explanation for it. Why else would he spend all his saved money on a sword to give it directly away again? To a woman who called him '_puppy_' or '_idiot_' all the time, no less.

Yep, definitely insane.

Gingerly he opened the door, sneaked in and stared directly into the questioning, green eyes of said Dalish woman.

Crap.

She looked him over silently from head to toe and then quirked an eyebrow.

"I-I could not sleep, so I took a walk. Outside...Because in here would it make no sense. Not outside of Orzammar, just outside of here. As said." _Damn Alistair why are you still talking?_

Lenya tilted her head, staring at the object in his hand. "With a sword?"

"I -I ….practice, yes. It's so narrow in here. So I went outside.

Lenya turned around, deliberately taking the wideness of the hall in, then looked at him again, waiting. She was started to have fun with the '_fluster the stupid human_' - game. It was all too easy, though.

Alistair sighed in defeat.

"Fine, here."

Without further words, he handed her the sword he was holding the whole time. Several moments passed until her eyes connected with the brain, studying the object visible in front… And yet she couldn't believe what she saw there.

Lenya was speechless, flabbergasted, all at the same time. Her fellow Warden was offering her a sword, the sword she had wanted so much before, but couldn't afford to buy. It was ...mind-boggling.

"I-I..." Her mouth snapped open and closed a few times, without words coming out. Finally she got somewhat a grip on herself and she stopped staring like a dumb halla at it, to look up to him. "Why?"

"Well, I knew you need a new sword and you liked this one, right?" He answered with a small, awkward shrug.

Her hands reached out, touching the cold silverite metal it was made of, but immediately withdrew them at the first contact. "I cannot take this..."

A pang of distrust washed over her and she eyed him suspiciously. Why was that human doing this? What was his purpose he wanted to achieve?

Her gaze did not remain unnoticed, resulting in another sigh of him. .

"Maker, you are looking at me as if I've told you to marry a Hurlock. It's just a sword, Lenya." He paused for a moment, then added innocently. "Though if you don't want it..."

"N-no, it's not that!" Lenya impulsively blurted out and directly cursed herself for that. Creators, this was what that human _wanted_ to hear, right? Maybe she was underestimating him in his wits. "I mean it was too expensive..." the elf added rather lamely.

Now Alistair smiled, feeling the awkward tension between them dissipating. "Oh, don't worry. It was from my saved money I still had for emergency cases. Like broken armor parts, cheese, or a fellow Warden in the need of a new sword. Stuff like that."

Lenya arched an eyebrow. "Cheese? For six Sovereign?"

"Well, you never know." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Good cheese is rare these days. I must seize the opportunity when it strikes."

Oddly enough, she felt herself relaxing again, one edge of her mouth curved even slightly up. "Idiot."

"I keep hearing that. Never gets old, huh?" He retorted with a grin, humoring her as she did with him.

"Gah. It should finally take the damn sword..." They heard from the other side of the room. A dull grumble followed before the golem fell silent again.

Alistair winced at the sudden loud voice at first, but relaxed fast again. "See even Shale is with me, so how can you defy the will of a golem?"

"Quite easily," Lenya said with an eye roll and sat down on her prior seat, near the bookshelves. All in all she was glad about the diversion this – rather pointless – discussion brought. Not sleeping meant no nightmares after all. And no haunting memories...

Alistair followed her the few steps until she sat down, noticing how this motion laid one of her thighs bare for a moment. He suppressed the urge to harrumph and quickly averted his eyes from her. Truth be told, he hadn't even discerned that the elf was only wearing her nightgown with a coat thrown over it. Thanks to this action he was now painfully aware of it, which let all smoothness fading from his voice.

"I-I mean you have...err paid my armor and all..."

"That was a necessity," she answered flatly, almost cold.

The tone in her voice made him flinch, there was the layer of distrust audible again and it stung him. Alistair wanted her to trust him, showing her that he was more than a mere human she so openly hated, but a comrade in arms she could rely on. Maybe this was the reason why he bought this sword for her in the first place, and was still persuading her to take it. Under her cool stare, he became once more aware of the fact that he indeed knew nothing about her and the events that seemingly made her so bitter.

"And since you are in an arena tomorrow, full of dwarves trying to kill you in front of an applauding public, I thought a new sword would be _necessary_ as well. You know for surviving the day by stabbing others first and stuff," he added after a long, awkward pause.

"Fine," she murmured, relenting, as if she would do him a favor with taking it. As Lenya leaned forward to take the blade, he remained still, shocked at her sudden motion and closeness. His heart skipped a beat and somehow he found himself _wanting_ to know more about her.

"What do you want in return?"

Though he had told her quite a few reasons for buying it, her distrust had not ceased and Lenya made no effort to hide it in her voice. There was nothing that came without a price after all, especially not from a shem. So much she had learned in their world so far.

"In return?" Alistair repeated those words disbelieving and blinked, almost hurt at her harsh words. "It was a gift, Lenya. For a fellow Grey Warden. You don't need to give me something in return."

Maybe this have been pointless, a stupid idea he has been pursuing. The attempt to come to good terms with her. According to the elf's reaction just now, he was doubting if this would be ever possible. "J-just keep it, okay? Good night."

The man spun on his heels and toward his chambers.

"Alistair..." Despite himself not wanting it, his name from her lips made him stop abruptly and Alistair turned to the Dalish once more. "I'm sorry. I'm just...not used to get gifts from..." Lenya halted her words, biting her lips.

"Humans?" He offered and the elven woman nodded, ever so slightly but still visible. "Don't worry I didn't buy that gift for an el...- a Dalish," he corrected himself, "I bought it for a fellow Warden."

He searched for her eyes and hoped she would believe him for once, to momentarily crack the thick layers of distrust. "We are in this together, Lenya. So let's...let's make the best out of it." _Despite all odds..._

She quickly cast her eyes down, unsure why she was unable to hold his seeking, intense gaze.

"This won't be easy," Lenya answered in all honesty, though didn't know what exactly she meant with it herself. Perhaps all of it...

His smile was warm and sincere. "I know..." And then he turned for real, leaving her behind to return to his chamber. The smile did not vanish, even as Alistair reached its door. Maybe this had been a fresh start.

He would like that.

.


	26. Preparations

**Chapter 25: Preparations**

.**  
**

A dull, repetitive thudding at the door left Lenya groaning in annoyance as it disturbed her all too short sleep.

She pulled the blanket over her face, needing to shut out the world for a few minutes longer, and prolong the slumber she had found too late. Despite her intention to ignore the noise, a voice soon followed, adding to the disruption.

"My Lady? Are you awake?" It was the dwarf servant who had led her into the room the day before, and she started to hate him with all of her being. "My Lady?" The dwarf sounded more anxious.

Lenya still didn't answer, instead turning her head in the direction of the door and hoping her thoughts would be magically conveyed to him: _Go away. Preferably in a corner and die...but by the creators; LET ME SLEEP!_

She turned on her other side, burying herself deep into the soft mattress and hoping that he would give up. How she loathed to be ripped out of sleep all of the sudden, especially since it had been a peaceful one for once.

"Warden?"

There was no use. He was maddeningly persistent, so after a long groan Lenya eventually caved in. She didn't want him to scream at her door for hours after all. "Yes?"

_I hate you, durgen'len, I hate you._

"Oh, so you are awake. Thank the stone," the muffled said voice through the door, sounding relieved. "It is time, the Proving will start in a few hours and you might want to prepare for it."

_Prepare? For **fighting**? _

She found herself staring incredulously at the door, and then his other words found their way through her consciousness. _In a few hours? And he wakes me NOW? Stupid dwarf._

Angrily, she took the pillow and threw it with force in the direction of the door, only to have it catch a vase and send it crashing to the ground.

At the sound of breakage, the dwarf barged in. "Is everything alr – ", but upon seeing her still lying in bed he immediately stopped, both in motion and words. "I'm sorry. I thought – "

"What? " Lenya snapped. "To disrupt the first good sleep I've had for weeks? To annoy me endlessly by telling me to prepare for a fight? I have done nothing else for years of my life. In fact, I'm fighting for my life every single day. So why do you think I need to prepare? Oh, have you ever dreamt of darkspawn, durgen'len?"

He stared at her wide-eyed. "N-no, I have not. I'm v-very sorry." He bowed deeply.

She glowered angry at him. "Then. Go. Away."

"Y-yes. B-breakfast w-will be b-brought soon," the servant announced with a tiny, stammering voice and let out a sigh of relief as he shut the door behind him.

That elven woman was crazy.

.

~V~

.

Lenya reluctantly stood up and sighed. Now that she was awake, there was no sense in lying down any longer.

Her gaze fell onto the sword her fellow Warden had gifted her and she found herself staring at it, admiring its clear shape and artful crafting. Before she could look away, Alistair's words resounded in her mind more than she actually wanted, making an impression on her that Lenya couldn't discern the reason for.

_Stupid human._

After her return from the basin, the elf searched for the parts of her leather armor that she had recklessly scattered all over the floor. She gathered them fast and buckled them piece by piece. It was her daily routine, so it didn't take long until she was dressed again.

As she put on the belt and her belongings, a little black stone tumbled out and landed right next to Arai's feet. She knelt down to pick it up and was greeted with a splash of slobber across her face she didn't want, but still it lifted her mood.

"Ahh, Arai. Stop that boy," Lenya chided him pleasantly, scratching his ear as he obeyed. As she stood up she studied the strange stone that she had found on their journey through the Frostback Mountains.

It was shining black and had white angular writing carved within. _Runes._

The Dalish wondered why she had picked it up at all and was still carrying around; it was not as if it was of any value, just junk she could not use.

_"I like those runes within, or runes and magic symbols in particular." _

She shook her head as she suddenly remembered the old conversation, but then smirked. _Why not?_

At least she would get rid of it that way.

.

.

.

* * *

.

"Here."

A black stone got shoved into Alistair's face while he was still chewing on his bread.

He swallowed the food and peered up at the elf and cocked an eyebrow, amused.

"Well, good morning to you too, Lenya. Mind if I ask why you are in my room all of a sudden?" He looked down at himself, checking. Thanks to the Maker he was already dressed, not armored but fully dressed.

Much to his surprise, Lenya sighed and squatted down beside him. Not that he wasn't baffled enough already by finding her suddenly here in the first place.

"I found that and I don't need it. So you can have it," she declared flatly and shoved the stone anew in his sight.

_Charming..._

He grinned and decided to take a look at the item the Dalish wanted to get rid of so desperately. Alistair's expression brightened even more when he realized what it was. "A...runestone? Maker, wh-where did you...get this?"

She shrugged indifferently. "As said I found it on the road, but I don't need it..."

"Soo...you are giving it to me?" he asked again, wanting to be sure he had heard her correctly.

Lenya groaned. "Yes, do I need to repeat myself every single time? You do like those runes or am I wrong?"

Alistair was taken aback: Not only was Lenya giving him something without throwing it at his head, but now she was giving him this particular item knowing full well that he liked runestones. Despite which, he was sure he had only told her this once and that she had even listened to what he said was shocking.

"I-I do. Thank you so much, Lenya." He took the stone out of her hand and brushed her fingers ever so slightly. They were rough and calloused like his own but still so …different. The young man blinked and quickly shifted his attention to the stone again, observing it happily in his hands.

Lenya scrutinized him critically and his exulted joy puzzled her. It was just a stone after all.

"Uh-huh," she uttered in return and tiredly rested her arms on the table, her head resting against them.

Contented with looking at it, he stood up to put the stone into his bag, noticing her wearily posture. "Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine today?"

"Shut up," the Dalish groused. "That idiot durgen'len woke me out of my darkspawn-free sleep all too early. As if I need to prepare to fight in that stupid Proving," the last words were muffled by her head on the table, like the Dalish had done in the tavern the day before.

It seemed quite the habit she had picked up the last days, or possessed all along and simply hadn't shown yet. Alistair couldn't say for sure, but it was ...endearing somehow. He chuckled, the words _endearing_ and _Lenya _seeming an unlikely combination in his mind.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Could that be the reason why the dwarven servant was so quick to leave your direction? Honestly, he nearly ran away from your room. Scary, scary woman that you are." Alistair laughed and didn't know why he was brave enough to speak so openly with her, but it somehow felt easier than before.

Lenya grumbled, mumbling something about "_stupid dwarf shouldn't have woken me up_," before her head shot up and her eyes caught the sight of the apple on Alistair's plate. With one fluent move she snatched it from him and bit into it, chewing delightfully.

"Hey! That's my breakfast, don't you have your own?" Alistair protested, pouting.

"I already had it. Still hungry," she answered with her mouth full and shrugged.

He looked over her form from head to toe, baffled.

"Maker's breath, sometimes I really wonder where you leave all the food..." As he realized what he had just have done and said, his face felt suddenly a lot warmer.

Thankfully Lenya didn't seem to have noticed or she just didn't care.

"I'm the one fighting today after all, so I need more food," she explained to him, her expression completely serious.

"I would fight with you, you know. After all I'm not too thrilled by the idea – "

Suddenly Leliana's head peered into his room, interrupting his sentence. "Alistair have you seen..."

She halted and grinned mischievously at the sight of Lenya. "Oh, somehow I thought I would find you here, Lenya."

Now Alistair was the one who had the urge to bang his head onto the table, and he nearly did. Since that woman had seized the ridiculous idea of him being...interested in his fellow Warden yesterday, she seemed to enjoy pushing it further. Maybe Lenya was right and she was indeed mad.

Leliana came in and close the door behind her, advancing slowly toward the elf. "It's not long until the proving starts, I was told. So I thought of letting you know, but here you are – already fully armored and ready to fight. In Alistair's room, no less."

At that, Alistair gave in to the prior urge and let his head fall onto the table, followed by a plaintive, muffled "_ouch._" Instantly, the Warden rose again, rubbing his forehead. _Lenya must really have a thicker head._

"Obviously," the Dalish muttered in her direction and then did what she preferred to do with that shem: She ignored her. Instead, Lenya concentrated on finishing her small meal. When the elf was finished, she unwillingly looked up to the still-waiting human. "Is there anything else?"

"Well, Dulin Forender, Harrowmont's second is waiting for you in the entrance hall..."

She threw her a glare. "And you couldn't say this earlier?..."

Leliana blinked, then pouted. "I tried but you haven't listened."

Groaning, the elf got up from her seat and wordlessly left the room. The two humans were left to watch after her in bewilderment.

"I still need to buckle my armor, you know..." Alistair uttered after a moment.

"It's okay Alistair," she smiled. "We will meet then there in a few minutes, I'll go and get the others."

Nodding, the Warden turned to the armory stand and began with his practiced, daily routine.

.

.

.

* * *

.

Because of Leliana, the entire group was quickly gathered in the entrance hall of Harrowmont's estate where Dulin was already waiting. "Thank you for your time, Warden. I hope you have slept well?"

At that, Lenya just questioningly raised her eyebrow and looked at him.

"Anyway," the dwarf cleared his throat, "...before you search for the Proving master and tell him that you are entering Lord Harrowmont's roster, make sure to find out why our other fighters don't want to participate. The key fighters we lost are Gwiddon and Baizyl, most likely found in the fighters' preparation chambers, behind the ring."

"As if I'd need them," she scoffed at first, but then added: "But if you insist..."

"Yes, Harrowmont would be pleased to see those fighters on his side again. Just make sure, Warden, that you convince them before the fighting starts. After the first round, no one will change the roster anymore."

Morrigan coolly glared at him. "And after completing this task, your Lord's ridiculous game of hide and seek will finally have an end, I assume?"

The dwarf blinked, surprised by her rudeness. "I must beg for understanding, my Lady. These are harsh times, therefore it's not wise to give someone their trust too easily. Especially not my Lord. Though he will no longer be afraid to meet you after your successful return then, Warden. Just come to me after the Proving and I shall escort you to Lord Harrowmont." He bowed lightly to the elf. "You will find me in the Tapster's tavern. Word travels there fast and I may even hear about your triumph. So best of luck to you, Warden."

With a slight nod, the dwarf turned and left the estate.

"Parshaara," Sten growled after the man was gone. "Why can't they settle political matters amongst themselves? They need an outsider to do this? They have no sense for honor and pride for their race, obviously."

"Oh," Lenya said in a sarcastic tone, " ...you don't trust me to beat a few dwarves in order to achieve the goal, Sten?"

"That depends what your goal is, elf. Fighting the Blight or needlessly setting up a dwarven king..."

"I think one goes in hand with the other, Sten," Leliana tried to reason with him. "We need the king in order to get the troops against the Blight."

The Qunari was still not convinced. "We'll see."

"Pah, politics. We should toss the midgets all together into this 'Proving' arena and the last one alive shall be king," Shale offered and waited for approval. To the golem, this idea made the most sense.

Lenya shook her head, smirking. "It certainly has its appeal, but I suppose we won't get troops then with everyone dead, hmm?" Her ears twitched at the faint, rustling sound of metal and soon after, Alistair appeared in the hall, breathless.

"What did I miss?"

"Pointless rambling," Morrigan scoffed. "Which will now greatly increase, I fear."

He ignored the witch. "So what are the plans for today?"

"Going into the arena, kill some dwarves and leave it again," the elf announced, emotionless.

"Riiight, I actually meant the non-stabbity part for the rest of us..."

"We should go to the Proving too and support Lenya," Leliana intervened quickly, earning herself a dubious look from the Dalish woman.

"Oh, blood sport and front row seats. How endearing. It's been too long without blood in my face already, so excuse me while I get sentimental here," Alistair declared and wiped a few invisible tears away with his gloved hand.

Morrigan only groaned in annoyance, turning away from him deliberately. Lenya almost did the same, but more out of the reason being annoyed of them all talking all at once.

"We need money," she eventually threw into the hectic, never-ending tangle of voices. Everyone turned to her, growing silent. _Right, the effect of being leader._ Sometimes it was almost practical. "We just have few sovereigns left and we need to restock. Once this is over, we will travel on and therefore need lot of supplies, new weapons and armor too. I doubt that we'll get far with the money left, so we have to earn some. I don't care how, actually."

The silence stretched while everyone stared at her, puzzled. They have never seen her acting so much like a leader as right now, except for yelling some orders while fighting or grumpily uttered pieces of words in a whole before, perhaps.

"'Tis reasonable, elf," Morrigan nodded, breaking the stillness first. "Any particular ideas how to achieve that?"

Lenya shrugged. "Nope...but I can remember that one of the durgen'len in the shaperate was missing a book, saying the thief came from the slums and had a garish branding. Or something like that. He might pay well for getting it back, if not …we sell it otherwise. So I want you to search for that dwarf and retrieve this stupid book, Morrigan."

"Ugh, lovely," she made a face. "Might I remind you that my magic is not so helpful against dwarves, for they are mostly resistant against hostile magic?"

"Then take Shale and Arai with you. That should be convincing enough for everyone."

"I have to go with the swamp witch again? I hope it intends to kill something today..." The witch shot the creature a vicious glare. "Oh, so it does intend to do this. Fun."

"The rest are coming with me and we'll all meet later in the tavern. That's all," Lenya finished with a sigh. How she hated it, but without her intervention they would unintelligibly have rambled on without ever finding an end. All of them went to their rooms one last time to gather the supplies and weapons needed. All but Alistair, who already stood fully geared in front of her.

"What?" the elf bellowed as she caught him staring at her.

He lowered his gaze again, but the smile on his lips remained. "As I said you are doing fine, yesterday...I really had no idea how fine, Lenya." It was said in an earnest tone, and the Warden meant it. He was impressed.

Lenya moved to the door, the new sword dangling loose at the side of her waist on her belt. "Don't get too overjoyed, puppy. I'm just doing this to achieve what is needed. Then I can leave this creator-forsaking, smelling, hot place of rocks as fast as possible again. Nothing more."

With that she rushed out the door, knowing the others would follow anyway, whether she wanted them to or not.


	27. Discoveries

_**A/N:** Thx to Malymin for being made of __beta __awesomesauce_. Long chapter is long. _Tis the Proving and ...other stuff *snicker* Have fun._

* * *

**Chapter 26: Discoveries**

.**  
**

As with every part of Orzammar, the proving hall was excessively vast, as well.

Lenya stopped and let her eyes roam over everything: the flickering fire in the middle, the carved stone pillars, and the huge crowd of dwarves whose voices bustled through the hall.

What she saw and heard annoyed her. How was she supposed to find those fighters here, or in fact anyone? The elf bit on her lip, trying to figure out the best way to proceed with the overwhelming picture before her eyes.

Alistair used the pause to satisfy his own curiosity.

"Leliana? You said before that you weren't always a lay sister of the Chantry, right? What have you done before? I can't imagine how someone from the Chantry can fight so well."

Leliana sighed. There it was, the question, she had gladly still avoided hearing for a while. She had known that it would be asked one day...just not so soon.

"Suit yourself, Alistair. You were a brother yourself, or weren't you? And you fight," she answered, trying to deflect the initial question.

"Touché, Leliana." He laughed. "But I was trained for many years to become a templar, so this is where my fighting skills come from. Quite the difference here, I think."

"So you think all Chantry sisters are helpless then? Some of us had colorful lives before joining the order," the red-head retorted innocently.

"Oh no, not at all. I know they can handle the cane quite 'deftly' for sure," he winced at the memory. "But...you aren't telling me, or?"

"Okay, I'll tell you," Alistair's face brightened up at her words. "It's just not really so interesting as you think, Alistair. Before I came to Lothering, I was a traveling minstrel in Orlais." She hoped this explanation would sate his curiosity, though with Alistair she could never be sure. He was like a child at times and a nosy one, no less.

He nodded. "Minstrel in Orlais, it was? That would explain the accent you have. So you know stories...and sing?"

"Yes, tales and songs were my life. I performed, and they rewarded me with applause and coin." Leliana smiled, somewhat glad now that the harmless part of her secret was out. She really missed singing during their travels, and like she had done in the cloister in Lothering. Now she could do this again, at least.

"That sounds great. I would never have expected that. So do you know," he hesitated, fumbling with his gloves, "umm ... any tales of the Dalish as well?"

She giggled, amused. "I know all sorts of stories and I can tell you a few, when the time is right. Also I do know a few Dalish tales, yes, but I think our leader here is the expert for that." Grinning, Leliana looked at him in a sly way, her tone teasing, "Why the sudden interest in their culture, hmm?"

_I want to know more about my fellow Warden..._ It lay on the tip of his tongue but he decided to swallow it down again, and with it the question. "Forget I asked..."

"That would be for the better," Lenya snapped all of a sudden, even more annoyed. It was not that she had wanted to listen, but she had no other choice while standing here searching for a solution that still evaded her mind.

"So your tactic is to remain still and stare the crowd down until the ones we search for come out? Interesting," Sten remarked dryly.

"Well it has worked for you before, hasn't it?" Lenya retorted in the same dry way without tearing her gaze from the crowd.

"At times," the Qunari confessed and fell silent again. He impatiently drummed his giant fingers at the armored sites of his arms, waiting that the leader would finally act properly. If not, he would.

Fortunately for her, this bizarre tactic seemed to work, as one of the dwarves left the crowd and strode right to the elf, his posture all timorous. "St-stop staring at me this way. I've already told Bhelen that I withdraw. So why must you keep harassing me?"

Lenya knitted her brows and gaped at him as if he were insane. "I don't even know you."

_The effect of Lenya's Glare of Doom_... Alistair chuckled quietly. He knew it all too well himself. But hadn't the dwarf mentioned Bhelen?

"Are you one of Harrowmont's fighter? Baizyl, maybe?" he asked.

The dwarven man grew now even more anxious, his eyes fidgeting from one end of the hall to the other. "H-how do you know? I t-told you I've withdrawn, so report this Bhelen anew, if he needs to hear that again."

"No," Sten growled briefly and glowered down at this strange little creature. For the Qunari, it was inconceivable that the man had backed out of a fight before it even had begun. "Vashedan, you have no sense of honor. When your arishok says you fight, then you fight, even if it costs your life."

"See, my tactic has worked, Sten. We have found him." Lenya announced proudly in his direction.

"Parshaara, this was just based on pure luck, not skill." She only shrugged in return.

The dwarf peered up at Sten, confused, and then at the others in the group. "So you are not Bhelen's henchmen? Who are you then?"

"No, quite the opposite. We are working for Harrowmont and are here to find you, and to find out why you won't participate," Leliana explained.

Baizyl blinked, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"Oh..." he just uttered. "You know, when I was younger, there was this Aeducan girl named Revelka. Lesser cousin, nowhere near the throne. She got into an arranged marriage but that didn't stop us from seeing each other. The point is I should have stopped seeing her, but I couldn't." His expression saddened. "Because I love her."

Lenya groaned loudly, making an irked face. "Oh please. There are things I don't want to know. THIS is one of them."

"Charming, Lenya," Alistair laughed and ignored her following glare. "Sooo, you were blackmailed? Love can be a dangerous thing, huh?...Not that I would know, of course – but you know. You hear ...things. Tragedy and stuff." Noticing that he was actually rambling, his face flushed a little. "And I stop talking now."

"That's too kind," the elf sneered, then turned to the dwarf again. "So what is the problem now? And make it quick, I don't have all day."

"Yes, I was blackmailed by one of Bhelen's fighters, Myaja, who threatens to expose me. Look," he sighed, "there are letters...love letters I wrote Revelka and she has them now. If they were made public, Revelka would be dishonored and I would have to die in a duel, if I was fortune enough. Her husband is a deshyr lord, after all."

Lenya rubbed her forehead exasperatedly. Were these durgen'len really too stupid for just everything? It was irritating. "So, you want me to retrieve the letters, I take it?"

"You would do that?" he beamed. "I know it is my own fault and I would have married her if I could. Thank yo–"

"Not so fast," she interrupted him. "How much?"

Baizyl gaped at her, at loss for the meaning.

"I mean how much are you willing to pay to get them back?" she added unwillingly.

"Lenya," Leliana exclaimed. "You can't do that."

She whirled to the bard, her tone caustic. "No? Then just watch me, shem. We need money. Weapons, armor and supplies aren't available for free after all."

Leliana pouted, but couldn't reason with her about it. Even if it was hard to admit, the elf was right.

"So this is how it works, Warden?" Baizyl paused to wage the offer. "Okay, understood. Ten sovereigns for the letters."

"Fifteen," she replied firmly and started to stare him down.

"Deal," the dwarf nodded. "If that saves Revelka's life it's fair enough. You'll find Myaja in the chambers to my right. She'd probably stored them somewhere private."

"Wait here, Durgen'len. We will be back with those damn letters soon. Better keep your promise then."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow. "You are such a hopeless romantic woman, you know that?"

"Love is foolish," she stated matter of factly and meant it. Love was what got her mother killed, after all. "...and this now is just further proof."

Without further ado, the Dalish entered the hall to her right. Frowning, his eyes trailed her way until Lenya vanished through the door. He couldn't help to wonder what actually made her think this way.

Shaking his head and dismissing the thought in favor for the actual task, Alistair eventually followed her.

.

.

* * *

.

"Are these the ones you are looking for?"

Not much later, the group returned with the letters in their possession.

Leliana had proven herself surprisingly useful, as she had single-handily sidetracked the woman and her brother and then stolenthey needed key out of her pocket. Not only were they were able to retrieve the wanted letters in the room nearby, but they also found and easily convinced Gwiddon to fight for Harrowmont's cause again. If Baizyl would pay up now as promised for the items, the day wouldn't be as bad as Lenya originally thought.

He blinked to distinguish the bunch of papers shoved under his nose. "Y-yes, they indeed are," Baizyl exclaimed, overjoyed to have them back. "H-how do you get...no I don't want to know. That I have them now, and therefore Revelka is safe, is all that counts," he sighed happily.

"And my money, do not forget..."

"Y-yes, Warden, I take pride in the things I promised, so there you have it."

Instantly her face broadened with glee as fifteen pieces of gold found their way into her hand and purse.

"So, I will see you in the arena, then." With a slight nod, the man immediately turned to the Proving master to revoke his withdrawal.

"Whatever," Lenya muttered dismissively and put the purse safety back into the bag on her belt.

"You have just fulfilled another errand. Impressive," Sten remarked dryly.

"Well at least we were paid...and not too shabbily at all. I think you need new equipment as well, Sten?"

He drew his plain two-handed weapon to observe it. Although it was easy to wield like every other blade of this sort, it felt foreign in his hands like the country itself. But the Qunari had no other choice than to use it, for his own blade and soul were forever lost.

Asala... For the tiniest of moments his giant hand pressed remorsefully around the hilt of the weapon, before he eventually answered. "This sword is primitive but sufficient – as long as it kills."

"Well happy to ...err hear that, Sten," Alistair coughed then turned to Lenya. "So ready to stab some dwarves with that new sword of yours - oh princess of all slice?" He mock-bowed to her and pointed to the Proving master in the middle. She gave him a warning look to stop the nonsense, but nevertheless took heed of the suggestion.

It was time. The talking and errands were done, now her blades would speak instead. This was the way she liked it best. The elder of her clan had always chided her for being too impulsive, too impatient. Maybe she was all that, but when it came to fighting she could endlessly wait and linger for an enemies' mistake to seize it to her advantage.

The talk to the Proving master was short, the usual disdain she had seen in so many eyes before also visible in his. He couldn't imagine that this little elf would stand a chance against the numerous champions, Piotin Aeducan and the experienced fighters before him, but he would love to see her try.

"We ..err... will be cheering from the sidelines. If we are not to busy wiping the blood from our faces, that is." _Just not your blood, please._ Alistair frowned as she eventually vanished through the heavy gate leading to the arena. He had an unsure feeling in the pit of his stomach and only hoped it was wrong.

"Come on Alistair," Leliana cooed and pulled at his arm. "Let's get to our seats or else we will miss the first round."

"Yeah that would be a shame indeed," he mumbled absentmindedly and slowly followed her, even though his feet urged him to run away or after the Dalish to fight along her side.

Either opportunity would be definitely better than just to watch.

.

.

* * *

.

The roaring of the public was similar to the one in her head, filling her senses.

The blood pounding in her veins, Lenya didn't even notice how the Proving master announced her name to the masses. She was too focused on the opponent before her, lingering and waiting for his mistakes that came all too soon.

Seweryn was a young, simple warrior in every way possible: too slow and completely unable to grasp the concept of the foreign moves that the nimble elf displayed. Moves of the hunter that she was, and he only the simple prey. Lenya was always one step quicker, a thought faster with her movements. One final subterfuge was eventually enough to let him run into the offhand and to knock him out cold with the hilt of her sword.

"And the winner is the Grey Warden," the Proving master announced and the crowd responded in an earth-shattering volume.

It had been all too easy, really. And despite her enjoyment attesting her prowess and skills in one on one combat, somewhere in her mind she knew that not all fights would be so quick to win.

She had no idea how right she would turn out to be.

.

~V~

Alistair shifted nervously on his seat as he watched the second fight. Lenya was doing well against Myaja, but her brother Lucjan was a deft rogue, always evading her attacks and even landing a few blows himself.

Lenya soon had a few fairly long, bloody scratches on her arms as she deflected the attacks from hitting her more delicate body parts. Alistair winced in unison with her, growing more and more anxious.

"Is this a fight to the death, or just knockout like before?" As far he understood it, the fighting rules were changing from time to time, but he didn't know when.

"The proving master has announced no changes, so no, it's still knockout," Leliana replied without to tear her eyes from the events, equally nervous.

"Then why are they always aiming for her vital organs, for Maker's sake?" he nearly shrieked. Alistair was no fool; he had participated in these types of sparring fights countless times before. He could recognize that those two dwarves were actually serious.

"They are trying to kill her. Cheating bastards! Someone should tell the Proving master." By 'someone' he actually meant himself, because it was serving him little to sit here and continue to simply watch.

A big paw-like hand hindered him from jumping up.

"Let her handle this," Sten said calmly and focused his eyes back to the middle of the arena.

Lenya dodged another attack and kicked the dwarven woman as she whirled around, sending her into the dust. Due to her heavy armor that made her unable to balance the fall, Myaja crashed on the ground head first, and her neck twisting with a sickening _crack_ sound when she landed.

She was dead.

Noticing what just had happened, Lucjen stared at the elf, raw intent of murder in his eyes.

"Y-you monster! I'm going to kill you!" the dwarf roared and stormed with full speed toward her. Blades crashed as she deflected the assault. Lenya was aware of the fact that he was willing to kill her now, and if needed she would disregard the Proving rules in order to survive. The Dalish gritted her teeth as she felt the cuts burning, the blood seeping down her arms. He was good. Quick and witty in his movements, almost on par with Lenya's prowess. But the blind fury weakened him, made him vulnerable, so that the elf was able to dominate him eventually. She turned and sent him to the ground with another kick and knocked him out with the stub side of her sword in the end.

~V~

.

The cuts didn't refrain her from immediately carrying on, much to Alistair's horror, though to his relief the following fight was vastly less complicated.

Lenya sparred against Hanashan, one of the Silent Sisters, who had cut out her tongue to emulate the Paragon Astyth the Grey. Therefore it was no surprise to see her respecting the rules of the Proving. It was also no surprise to see his fellow Warden winning this round.

What caught by him surprised was what came after that.

"I choose Alistair," Lenya yelled up to the Proving master, her chest heaving heavily with the exertion of intense fighting. The next round was a paired combat, therefore the Dalish was allowed to choose a partner for the fight. And from all the possible options, she chose him.

Alistair froze in astonishment for a fragment of time, until Leliana called him out of his reverie to finally get down to her. And so he ran as fast his armor allowed him to, to do what he wanted since the tournament started: to fight along her side.

Lenya seized the little pause to stretch her muscles and to glower darkly at her opponents: two dwarven fighters, one named Wojech, a heavy armored warrior and his second, the rogue Velanz. The rules had been changed to please the masses: it was fighting to death now.

Lenya would make sure that the dwarves would be the ones sharing this fate. She didn't break her gaze from them even when Alistair appeared, out of breath. Though she didn't have to, for she was strangely feeling his presence, the blood humming in her veins.

As he caught his breath and the Proving master did his usual shouting, he glanced over to her. She looked quite the sight: Her posture an exhausted one, her body partly bruised and smeared with dirt and her own - now dry- blood. The long, blond hair – former bounded in a loose bun – was only a wild tangled, dusted mess anymore. Despite all this, her eyes were gleaming vividly; actually amused. "Ready to kick some asses, puppy?"

He smiled at her, but there wasn't time to answer as his sword clanged and parried a mighty attack of Wojech. Fight to the death it was, Alistair had to remind himself and couldn't perish the thought that it was stupid for both Grey Wardens to be fighting here now. Though there was no place he would rather be, being forced to watch has been the far more atrocious option before. Coming out of this alive, however, would make this day for him even more beautiful.

"You die here, for Bhelen, the true king," Velanz snarled, and an arrow whizzed close past her head to follow this threat. Cursing his miss, he dismissed the weapon to draw his daggers, but Lenya seized that second to run toward him and set her blow, a smirk of glee on her lips.

Faster than the dwarf could react, her blades were sinking through the leather armor deep into his flesh, making him gasp in agony. That was the mistake she had watched and waited for.

_Survival_...the most primal instinct in her sang to the Dalish with joy as she twisted the blades to end his misery.

She had survived him.

Now the other dwarf would follow. Smirking, Lenya rushed to Alistair's side to fight with him. Stupid human or not, she respected his fighting skills and together they were already an almost unstoppable force.

This was the reason she had chosen him for the fight after all.

.

.

* * *

.

Morrigan hated to wait.

She never had been the most patient person in the first place, and now she stood in the Proving halls - together with a golem and a mabari - and was forced to do exactly that.

Ugh...

She had at least been successful in finding that useless book in a side hall here, and had instantly resold it for a good price to another thug. Why should she trouble herself with bringing it all the way back to the Shaperate? It would be just wasted time and 'twas also the money they needed, not the recompilation of dwarven history.

The cheering and shouting in the arena made it obvious that Lenya had fulfilled the task of winning this useless Proving tournament, but this didn't surprise her. Out of the remaining two Warden's, the Dalish was the capable one. But considering that the other one was the simpleton Alistair, she was unsure herself how much of a compliment for Lenya's skills that actually was.

Apparently not so much as thought, because as the door opened and the group appeared, Morrigan blinked with shocked at the sight.

Lenya was a mess.

Nearly unable to walk herself, she was supported by Alistair and Leliana. Her whole body was covered in moistened blood, and the witch was unable to discern how much of it was from the elf herself. A stab wound on the side of her hip was profusely bleeding, and the hand she pressed onto it not able to stop it from gushing. Several bloodied scratches across her abdomen and arms showed that this wasn't the only injury. Lenya winced in pain with every step she was forced to take.

Shale tilted its stony head, observing the bruised and bleeding Dalish. "Is it dying now?"

Smelling his mistress' blood, Arai whined plaintive, sensing something was entirely wrong.

"No! She will not!" Alistair snapped, his voice cracking with desperation, then he saw the witch. "Morrigan, heal her!"

Morrigan bit her lip. "I do not have such skills."

And for the first time she regretted it.

"Useless bitch," Alistair yelled at her with such force that it nearly made her wince.

Suddenly a male dwarf appeared in front of Lenya, completely oblivious – or disregarding – her battered state. It was the Proving fan they had seen earlier. "By the stone that was an amazing fight, you fighting alongside with Harrowmont's best, Gwiddow and Baizyl. How you was able to beat Piotin even after he stabbed y– "

Sten growled and with the weakest punch he could muster, the Qunari sent this disrespecting little person to the ground. "Go away."

"I'm oookaay, " Lenya slurred, feeling dizzy, "just need...rest." Her head slanted to the side as she felt too tired to stay awake, the option to sleep suddenly too alluring.

"Let me handle this," a deep male voice resounded behind them as the person stepped out of the side door. He was a meager elf, his face edgy but still young of age and dressed in a simple blue mage robe. Alistair was positively never happier in his life to see an apostate mage, than he was now.

The Proving master accompanied him, striding close behind the mage. "Hope this helps. After all, we can't have the champion of the Proving and a Grey Warden bleeding to death on our doorstep."

"Tis most kind," Morrigan snarled in return and watched how the dark-haired mage approached the unconsciousness woman. He bent down to her, inspecting her wounds and focusing his attention, which was soon followed by the sizzling of magic filling the air, a sound the witch knew well.

Faint blue light radiated from his palms and enveloped Lenya's small form completely for a moment as it did its work. The elf roused and sighed, relieved as blood stopped flowing and flesh mended together again. Within her, the fierce pain stopped and even the ever present fatigue subsided quickly as well. Lenya didn't dare to stand fully on her own feet yet, so she uncharacteristically let them further support her, feeling weightless and ...good.

The whole spectacle didn't take long, but the elf mage looked drained and exhausted as he rose again. "I did a rejuvenate spell as well to renew her strength, but given the exertions she has endured today, it would be best if she would rest soon."

Seeing her expression at ease again, Alistair tore his gaze from her and nodded to the elf. "Thank you, I.. – what is your name?"

The elf blinked, surprised by the question. "Err, Nithius, ser."

"Ma serannas, Nithius," Lenya mumbled, before Alistair could answer.

The elf smiled. "You are welcome. May the Creators be with you, Warden."

At Alistair's questioning gaze, he added, "I used to live with a Dalish clan for a time. They offered shelter...from the Chantry."

"Oh..." was all the young man could manage to bring out, suddenly feeling all too awkwardly aware of the Templar side within him. "I ...see. Thank you again, Nithius."

And as soon the mage had appeared, he was gone, melting within the crowd of people as far he could manage. Such was a typical behavior for someone always on the getaway.

"Ironic, isn't it Alistair?" Morrigan sneered, still infuriated from earlier. "Once again the magic of an apostate has saved your sorry ass..."

Lenya eyes snapped open, her feet stable on the ground again. "Rather mine, in fact. Though I doubt that this would have killed me. I have survived worse," she stated matter of factly and pushed some space between herself and the humans again.

Morrigan's steely glare softened a bit, and she nodded to her. "Of that I have no doubt..."

"So, you are really alright?" Alistair asked her, and searched for affirmation in her eyes.

"Yes, I am," the Dalish woman sighed. Her wounds were still itching and burning a bit, but she had no desire to tell them this. The desire to get out of here and back to the estate for a bath and sleep, however, grew much greater by the minute, since she felt the rejuvenate spell slowly wearing off.

"Thank the Maker," Leliana uttered, relieved, the genuine tone in her voice puzzling the Dalish.

"Good," Alistair breathed. "But I would prefer if you would stop to give me such heart-attacks in the future, Lenya."

The elf raised an eyebrow. "Still afraid to be left behind, huh?"

_No_, he thought as he looked at her, frowning, _I was actually worried about you._

"Oh, thank the stone. You are...okay, Warden."

All eyes darted into the direction of the relieved voice, which belonged to Dulin Forender.

"I heard the news of your triumph in the tavern, yet also that you were wounded. So I decided to come here instead."

Lenya crossed her arms. "Your unneeded concern is really fluttering, durgen'len...so what about keeping your part of the promise now?"

"My Lord will be extremely pleased over your success and will be surely looking forward to meeting you, Warden." His eyes roamed over her bloodied and dirtied figure. "Though I suggest that you and your companions get back to the estate first for a well-deserved rest until tomorrow. I can assure you that all your rooms will be fully prepared at your return."

"But..." Alistair's mouth snapped open to object, yet Lenya was quicker and overrode his words.

"Tomorrow then? Okay I'll take your word on this, durgen'len. If not I may resort to the prior idea of murder-knifing. Just to let you know..." She shrugged nonchalantly and inwardly was glad about the procrastination. She was neither in the mood, nor shape for any negotiations today, so the offer of rest was welcomed.

The dwarven steward paled a bit as he nodded. "Understood, Warden. I'll send word tomorrow, when my lord is ready to receive you."

"Whatever..." the elf muttered dismissively and passed him by, with her companions slowly following.

.

.

* * *

.

Despite having eaten and bathed, Alistair still felt too restless to sleep and didn't know exactly why.

After all, they had been successful, and had earned the trust of the lord and even some much needed money today. So why he couldn't rest now? It was stupid to pass up the opportunity of a good, long slumber, especially when there was even the luxury of a bed for it.

Notwithstanding the good reasons, he stood up from the bed, his woolen tunic and breeches rustling within the movement. Unsure what to do now that he had neglected the idea of sleep for the moment, his feet somehow found their way out of the room he occupied.

Everything was quiet in Harrowmont's estate, with only a few servants still scurrying around. Preoccupied with their steady work of cleaning they didn't regard the Warden further. The light in the hall was dimmed but still sufficient, bathing everything in a soft glow. From afar he could see Lenya's Mabari lay curled up in front of her door. As Alistair advanced further in that direction, the dog heaved his head up and growled quietly, making him stop.

Laughing, he shook his head. "I see she took some preparations to ensure her sleep remains undisturbed from dwarven servants this time."

But the smile faded quickly as the images of her being wounded during the final fight returned to his mind.

Maker, he had been afraid.

Afraid to be left alone again, but also for her. Yes he cared for her, but despite Leliana's belief it was for totally different reasons. After all, she was the only part left of those he ever had thought of as family; his fellow Warden.

Much to his surprise, Arai eventually stood up and sauntered over to him, greeting the Warden with a wagging tail. Then the Mabari turned around to the closed door and uttered a heartfelt whine at it. "Oh don't say, Lenya shut you out from her room?"

Arai quietly barked once, as if agreeing to him.

"Told you she is a scary woman, but you didn't listen." The Mabari growled in return before scratching at the door impatiently. Alistair hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to press the handle down or not. After all, he shouldn't just burst into her room. Though as Arai started to scratch his leg to urge him to finally open the door, Alistair did.

And froze on the spot.

Lenya stood across the room with her back to the door, her naked frame only wrapped within a white linen cloth. Wet as the piece was, it revealed more than it hid. Shaking her hair slightly, the blond wisps fell over her shoulder and the movement loosed the cloth down to the floor.

Warmth crept into his face...and other parts, and he forgot how to breathe or think as he gulped hard. Somewhere in the corner of his mind Alistair knew he should simply close the door and be gone, for he was intruding her privacy, her very _private_ privacy. Still inert, his eyes remained transfixed on her, drinking her form in as she flexed her muscles and sighed, thoroughly lost in thought. Her back was one sinuous curve, adorned with an artful, intricate tattoo along her spine, which only ended in the graceful curve of her hips.

But Maker, even if this was without a doubt the most sensual thing ever seen in his life, why was he still looking? Now would be a really good time to look somewhere, anywhere else or shut the door or even to pass out. Just something that did not include leering at the naked form of his fellow Grey Warden. He knew that if he didn't move now he would be struck down by lightening by the Maker Himself for staring so, or she would...

"Arai, who let you..."

_Crap._

Dead he was, more than this. _Can a person be more than dead?_

In that moment where she groped for a blanket, turned and saw him, Alistair was not only sure of that, more so he _knew_. The furious wrath was apparent in her eyes as she approached closer and he still didn't move, now for an entirely different reason. Like the sinner he was, he waited for the punishment... that did not come. Instead she only coldly shut the door closed without to regard him further or leave him room to explain. Which wasn't a completely bad thing, for his brain was unable to form coherent words or any words that did _not_ include _stammering_.

Alistair leaned his forehead on the now closed door and cursed himself, as his heart still raced in a frantic beat, the heat coursing through his veins and his very being. He couldn't discern if the shame was responsible for the burning and he only hoped so, because he deserved no more. How could he do this? Why didn't he just quietly back away? Questions arose in his head, as he tried to shove the picture aside from her being so soft, ethereal and naked with that tattoo on her back...and Andraste's ass that trail of thought was entirely _unhelpful_.

_Maker, sometimes the way she behaves I'm not even sure if she is a woman at all._

Ironically, what was said to Leliana intruded his thoughts again, and he nearly laughed about it now, wouldn't the situation be a total disaster as a whole. If Alistair was honest, he had never seen her before like that. In fact he was always a bit afraid of her, the fierce and grumpy elf she was, ready to kill everything in her way when needed. She was downright intimidating and frightening most the time and not feminine and soft like she had just been, and the way the wet cloth had clung to her curves and bottom... _oh brain would you please stop doing that?_

But more important than all this, was this one particular question for himself, as his breathe slowly calmed: How could he ever look into her eyes again without instantly reciting the whole chant of light out loud to beg for her forgiveness? Which eventually only would make her hate him more, because as a Dalish, Lenya wasn't really fond of anything from the Chantry.

He sighed wholeheartedly as he started to move toward his own room again. No matter how Alistair looked at the situation now, he was ultimately screwed. Maybe the Maker would show mercy and strike him down with lightening if he prayed fervently enough for it.

Although… jumping into the lava pit outside Harrowmont's estate suddenly seemed like a very appealing option.


	28. Anger Management

**Chapter 27: Anger Management**

.

It was Ostagar all over again.

Save for the pain and guilt that was still bound to that place, there was yet another reason for Alistair to think so.

Lenya was treated him _exactly _like she had when they first met. For the Dalish, he was simply _non-existent_ on the morning after _it_.

And this was more difficult for him to handle than all her yelling, glaring and insulting ever would have been. It was apparent to him how different she had already become in the past weeks. She had started to trust him somewhat, and he now had ruined it all once again.

_Damn, damn, damn..._

Alistair fought back the urge to repeatedly slam his head against the nearest stone pillar in Harrowmont's study. Or to poke those _treacherous_ eyes out with the tip of his sword. Instead he concentrated on staring at his boots, as if they were the most interesting things _ever_. He didn't dare to look up at his fellow Warden in the slightest. Considering her foul mood -which she directed at Harrowmont - this was probably the wisest decision.

"I won this stupid Proving for you, and yet you want me to do another ridiculous task? Seriously?"

Lenya was utterly frustrated.

Directly after receiving them in his study, the dwarven lord dared to ask her for another favor. First the Proving, and now this? What _else_ must she do to finally get the needed troops? And why does it also require locating a durgen'len named Jarvia in Dust Town and killing her? As soon these questions popped up in her head, she provided her own answer.

_Because durgen'len are obviously too stupid for just everything_.

Vexed, the Dalish folded her arms, her stare at the dwarf a clear demand for an explanation.

Lord Harrowmont was a gentle man, his words always well-chosen and diplomatic. Yet he found himself a bit at a loss with the fiery behavior of the Warden; his so-called champion of the Proving.

"It's understandable that you think like that, but if you want my support for your troops against the Blight, I have to be king and right now there is no sure way to get there."

She tipped her feet, a clear sign of irritation. "Been there, done that."

He tried to appear unperturbed by her behavior. "My point is the assembly has much power in that matter, so helping me with the Carta would show the Assembly that I and not Bhelen have the ability to rule and defend this city."

"So... the midget wants to falsely take all the credit for the work it hasn't even done _itself_? Interesting." Shale turned to Lenya. "Can I crush its head?"

For a long moment the elf paused, as if she was pondering the option.

"No," Lenya said eventually, " ...but somehow your idea with the Proving from yesterday gains appeal."

The golem nodded contently. "It _is_ a brilliant idea in fact, isn't it?"

Lenya pinched nerved the bridge of her nose, considering the options giving to her. Since they lacked the time to simply sit around waiting for the assembly to decide on a ruler, there was no other option left than to play along once more. Not really. And this only made the task more frustrating.

Actually, the Dalish had planned to seize the day to rest after the exhausting Proving match yesterday and the short hours of sleep in the night. But she had barely found any rest after... - _Ugh_.

Reflexively, her eyes darted toward her fellow Warden, who did everything _but_ look at her.

_Wise decision on his part,_ she thought, while glaring at his lowered head. This made it at least possible for her to suppress the burning urge to stab him in the face.

Lenya took a deep breath to distract herself from her thoughts and spoke up. "Okay, I'll regret saying that but I will hunt down Jarvia. If that helps to get your damn throne, then I have no other choice, right? Creators, how I loathe dwarven politics."

"That is most the most sensible choice, Warden," Harrowmont replied, pleased. "If I take the throne in the end, I promise you I won't stop until the Assembly sends the troops."

"Yeah yeah, whatever," she sighed. "I've heard that before and it starts to get old, really. Better tell me something I need to know about that Jarvia durgen'len, old man. How huge is that base of her? How many men does she have? I dislike the thought of waltzing into the wolf's lair without being prepared beforehand."

_A good hunter always knows and __respects_ _the hunting ground..._

She shook her head to keep Keeper Marethari's words off her mind. So deep underground there was no hunting ground to find, at least not in the literal sense.

"Of that I'm not sure, Warden. I just know that she hides her base of criminal and casteless down in Dust Town, the raw edges of the city."

"Oh, now _that_ was helpful..." Morrigan muttered sarcastically behind the elf.

Lenya briefly turned at her, a little smirk on her lips as she nodded in agreement. The elf found it somehow remarkable how often she easily could agree with Morrigan's opinion.

"I'm sorry I wish I had more information you could use, Warden. The assembly, however, receives complaints about her on daily basis. Jarvia is a huge threat, but also has many supporters among the criminals there in Dust Town."

"More to kill, I gather. Nice," Shale chipped in, rather excited.

"Yes," Harrowmont nodded, "...this is why I need you and your companions to take care of it. So far no one has succeeded in bringing her down."

"Unsurprisingly so. You small people are doing nothing but _talking_," Sten grumbled, looking down at Harrowmont in a most disapproving way.

"Warden, if there is anything you need before you go there," Harrowmont declared broadly, "... just let me know and I will do my best to get it for you."

_Do your best, huh? Like what? Sitting in your office and __waiting__?_

Lenya scowled at him before going through the needed supplies for the mission in her mind. Since the Dalish didn't know how many dwarves intended to murder her _this_ time, it was better to be prepared. "Okay I need a couple of health poultices and if you have magical potions that would be even better."

Harrowmont smiled. "No problem, Warden, I have already arranged something." He cleared his throat, then directed his voice toward the closed door. "Come in, please."

Almost instantly, a well-known face appeared in its stony frame. It was Nithius, who had healed Lenya's injuries after the Proving match.

"Hello Lady Warden, you _indeed _look _better_ today." the elf mage smiled and winked at her. He also turned to Alistair and bowed politely. "And a good day to you too, ser Warden."

Alistair only nodded briefly to acknowledge him, before returning to his boot-observing routine.

"Nithius," Lenya burst out, surprised to see him again. "You are working for Harrowmont?"

He smiled, and in his fair, pale face appeared a dimple. "Well, right now I am, yes. However, it was truly a coincidence that I was watching the Provng yesterday. Naturally I felt inclined to help after you got injured like that."

_How noble..._Alistair thought sarcastically, but out of respect for the mage's deeds it remained unsaid.

"I appreciated that," Lenya added briefly.

Nithius grinned as he looked at her. "Good to know. Anyway, at Lord Harrowmont's advice, I have prepared a few magic potions for your...err... excursion today. Those Carta thugs are a nasty bunch, so you may need them." The mage handed the pouch to Lenya, then turned to Harrowmont again.

"If you agree, I'll take my leave now, my Lord. Though," the elf smirked at Lenya, "I'll be here later in case you need my healing services again...or just want to _talk_."

_Oh Maker..._Alistair suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Uh-huh," she uttered rather uninterested since her focus was on the fine and shiny little vials within the pouch. The last she had seen were the ones she had stolen – correction – _found_ in Ostagar. The vials would come in handy for sure.

Lord Harrowmont nodded. "Yes, you are permitted to leave. Thank you for your services, Nithius." With a bow, the elf mage turned and vanished out the door.

"I think I should come with you," Leliana suddenly exclaimed to her. "It is highly likely that such a thug base is full of traps. I have experiences in disarming those."

"That is nice that you have so many talents, shem. First singing, then stealing and now disarming traps. Impressive," Lenya retorted caustically while she fastened the straps of her leather armor.

"I...I – " Alistair started in his need to say something, _anything_ but his treacherous tongue failed him. And before he could make up for his stumbling over words or blurt out the most needed _'I'm-sorry-for-watching-you-while-you-were-naked-_' apology, the elf snapped at him.

"...should jump in a pit of lava? **Yes** you should. Come with me? **No** you _shouldn't_. "She turned to the witch, her tone composed again. "Morrigan, you stay here as well, since your magic is not really helpful against dwarves."

"Brilliant. So I have to babysit this idiot?" She pointed at Alistair. "I think _I _would rather jump into the pit of lava, really."

"Oh please do so, I will not stop you," Alistair snarled back at her, glad to have an outlet for his frustration. He mustered all his courage to direct the word at his fellow Warden again. " A-accepted. I could ...err.. shop missing supplies in the meanwhile."

Thoroughly ignoring him otherwise, Lenya handed Alistair the money pouch. Being so close to that human made it even harder to resist the strange urge to slap him senseless. So the Dalish quickly whirled around again to face her other companions, effectively dismissing Alistair.

"The rest of you are coming with me. I want you to be ready in a few minutes."

And with that, Alistair was left behind as his companions cleared out to get their equipment.

The stone pillars in Harrowmont's study never ever looked more alluring.

.

.

* * *

.

Dust Town did its name justice.

The difference compared to the Diamond Quarter was enormously jarring. As if this were another world, one without hope and future. The whole place was covered in multifaceted layer of dirt and filth and the air even bore the same nasty odor. It was hard to breathe within the overpowering reek, and Lenya bit down the urge to gag. Buildings that were carved out of the finest stone and towered high in the air within the Diamond Quarter, but here they only wrecked ruins. The denizens of Dust Town were filthy, their patched up rags grimed with stain, but most of them seemed not even to notice it or simply didn't care.

The Dalish paused for a moment and blinked, caught between disgust and bewilderment. _How can someone live like that?_ It was beyond her comprehension.

As they delved further, they walked passed a small group of cruddy dwarves sitting around a makeshift fireplace in the dirt, keeping themselves warm. "Hey fancy, did you got lost and ended up here?" One meager, nearly toothless dwarf snorted, but immediately went silent at Lenya's glare.

"Th-this is -" Leliana started but the Dalish fiercely interrupted her.

" - not so glorious like rest of Orzammar you have constantly gushed about before? Bummer, huh? Let's just find that base to clear them out. I so don't want to linger here." With that she quickened her pace again, until she reached the north end and met a line of wrecked buildings.

In front of one sat a young dwarven girl, who desperately peered up to the elf. "Have a coin to spare, my lady? It's for my son, he is sick. He hasn't any clean clothes to wear and nothing eaten today. Neither have I."

"We should help her," Leliana suggested and Lenya instantly regretted that she had brought the shem along.

Groaning, Lenya halted and reluctantly turned to the woman. "Ugh, get a job or something."

"And what do you suppose I am to do? With a little baby and without the father to take care of him?" The woman answered in a wavering, whiny voice, then calmed herself down. "My name is Zerlinda. I wasn't always like this. I was born into a minor mining caste and we weren't wealthy, but I never had to starve back then."

"Which would bring me to the question why you aren't _there_ then, though since this all doesn't bother me much..." Lenya turned, as an idea hit her mind. "Unless you know about the Carta and where to find their base. In that case I will help you."

Zerlinda's mouth snapped open and closed a few times, before actual words came out. " I know a bit...but they are dangerous, y-you shouldn't..."

"_That_ shouldn't be your concern, like your problem shouldn't be mine. Normally," the female Warden countered harshly. "So what now?"

She peered down at her, waiting. The dwarven girl was dressed in patched linen, which was stained with dirt and mud like her face. The long brown dust-coated hair was bounded back into a simple bun. Unlike the other durgen'len here she didn't wear a tattoo in her face. These tattoos the Dalish had seen so far looked more like a stain or brand than a denomination like her own one was.

"I s-see. Well okay. I'll tell you about them. All I'm asking for is listening to me and maybe a coin or two."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "I'm here or am I not?"

"It's all my fault. Ancestor's cursed me, I'm sure. But there is nothing I can do to set it right."

"Let me guess you expect me to set this right now, huh? Charming." Lenya took a deep breath and regretted it immediately because the reek of the girl was as pitiful as she looked. "Okay, what happened?"

"I fell in love. He was really something, I can tell. The thing is he was a casteless and as our child was born, it was a son and therefore casteless like his father. My parents disowned me and stripped me from my caste. Unless I'd abandon the child somewhere in the Deep Roads and pretend I never bore him." Zerlinda frowned. "I can't do that. Even if he's casteless he smiles like every other child and cries when he is hungry. He is _my_ son."

"You poor girl," Leliana interjected. " ...why would they do that to their own daughter?"

Ignoring her interference, the Dalish asked, genuinely confused. "What is it about those 'castes'. Why would your child be casteless? I don't understand."

"You don't know the caste system, don't you my lady? It's understandable since you are an outsider. Let me explain." The dwarven girl let out a long sigh. "In Orzammar lineage is everything. It is traced through the child same sex parent. Had my baby been a girl, she would have been a miner caste like me. But as a boy the baby is considered tainted forever through his father's seed. So I have become casteless with him. What other choice do I have?"

"This system of your people is absurd. Why deprive yourself from valuable talents just because one isn't born in the _right_ way?" Lenya was surprised herself how indignantly that came out of her mouth.

"You can say that aloud, my Lady," Zerlinda laughed bitterly, "but there is nothing I can do about it."

Seeing her wallowing in self-pity made Lenya furious. "Why don't you _try_ to do at least something to change your situation? You could leave this place you whine so much about behind for example. I have seen durgen'len on the surface, after all."

The dwarven girl blinked. "I could do that, yet I don't know anything about the surface. I don't even know if it's safe there..."

"You should be fine. Up there it's _my_ people the shem's are looking down," Lenya scoffed scornfully. And with that, she became aware why she had reacted so strongly before. The Caste-system of the dwarves was similar to the oppression her people had and still have to endure. This thought only made her even more angry.

"I-I see. It's confusing that you can speak about it so hopefully and be so bitter in the next moment. However you are well clothed and fed. I will take my chances and leave together with my son. Thank you stranger, for helping me out in this. So there was something you wanted from me, right?"

"Information," she flatly said. The Dalish was no longer willing to spend time standing here. "So be quick."

"Y-yes, sure. You see that door over there," Zerlinda pointed at a huge building almost right beside her. "I think that it leads to their base but for that door you need a special key, otherwise they won't let you in. What that for a key is I do not know, sorry."

The dwarven girl stood up and picked the sleeping bundle aside her up. "I will leave now. All the best to you and maybe we see each other again in the light of the sun." The girl bowed politely to the Warden and made her way to the entrance to leave Dust Town and Orzammar behind.

"May the Maker guide your way," Leliana uttered after her retreating back and smiled.

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Ugh, leave _your_ god out of this. Anyway let's check out the door."

With that she moved in the direction of it and scrutinized it more closely. The rusty iron door had no handle and there seemed no way to open it. There was only a little slit in the middle, fitting enough in size for a small item.

"We don't have the fitting k-" Leliana started but was once again interrupted by her leader.

"Shale, smash the door."

"Why _should_ I do such a thing? I'm not its personal battering ram."

"Because otherwise we will stay here for a very loooong time. Though this won't be a problem for you since you stood in Honnleath for about thirty years, right?"

The golem gleamed down at the elf and eventually sighed. "Hmm. It has a good point. Unfortunately."

Without further preamble, Shale hauled off with one of its stone fists and smashed the door in, cracking the iron to pieces. Pleased, the golem looked back at her. "So we are going to crush some midgets too, I hope?"

"Believe me Shale, I'm the last to stop you in that intent," Lenya darkly muttered and drew her weapons before descending further underground.

Time for some anger management.

.

.

* * *

.

"Oh great, now I have completely lost my mind."

Alistair stood in front of Morrigan's room, hoping and fearing at the same time the witch would be present in there. In his hand he held a dark-red rose, its fine velvety petals lightly reflecting the glow of the lava hearth nearby.

Morrigan didn't even glance up from the old tome she was studying as the Warden entered. When she did, her expression mirrored pure annoyance. "Oh, 'tis you. What do you want?"

Alistair peered around in the room while ignoring her. "Hmm, no animal bones or sacrificed children. I'm surprised, actually. But the day is still young, I guess."

"_What_ do you want?" Morrigan repeated louder in a more warning tone. "To share with me your very astute observations? I think I'll pass."

Alistair hesitated for a long moment before answering, literally having to muster all his will to do so. "No. I...I wanted to apologize." Momentarily, the word hung stifling in the air, while the witch stared incredulously at him. "I think I overdid it yesterday when I yelled at you, but Lenya was injured and I freaked out, I guess. Sorry. I take it back. You aren't ...err... useless."

_The bitch part, however..._ his mind automatically added and he had to suppress a grin.

"And your apology should now mean something to me?" She scoffed. "I couldn't care less."

If he was honest it wasn't even a halfhearted apology and he was here for something entirely different anyway. He just needed something to open up a conversation with..._her_ to get to the actual point. "Alright, forget it. Actually I need...err...your...well... help." He nearly bit his tongue in half while pressing the last _particular_ word out.

Morrigan barely contained her amusement at that. "Help? Can't you find the way into a lava pit, idiot? In that case I will gladly _help _to advise the direction. Otherwise, forget it."

"Oh, it's so surprising you would say that, Morrigan. Your creativity amazes me every time," Alistair snarked back and took a deep breath. "Anyway, I have a rose here. I picked it in Lothering and even after all the weeks it's still fresh...but I don't think it will stay like this for much longer. So could you preserve it...with magic, I mean?"

Morrigan laughed out. "This is getting better and better by the minute. Now I'm intrigued. No wait, the actual word I'm searching for was...," she feigned a thoughtful gesture, "..._amused_. But to return to your actual question, of course I _could_ do that. If I had the desire to. And I have not."

Scoffing, she snapped the tome closed and glared up to him, a spiteful smile on her lips. "You know, I can comprehend _why_ Lenya let me stay here today, these are completely valuable reasons. Yet I wonder what _you_ have done that she left you behind, _you_ who _is_ her fellow Warden. Not that I'm really surprised about it, for she possesses something you lack direly. Something called _intelligence_. It must be something _grave_ since you feel the urge to apologize to her with..." she pointed at the rose, "such a lame gesture."

Pleased with herself, she observed how the fool in front of her immediately changed his face color and sputtered some incoherent syllables. It has been all too easy, really. So easy that it was almost no fun. _Almost._

Oh, how he _hated_ her_. _

Even more that she was able to conjure _those_ pictures again in his mind with merely one question. Alistair's first impulse was to turn around and run far away from this room and that shrew, but then it would have been a total victory to Morrigan... and he wanted all _but_ that. So he took a deep breath and tried to break the unhelpful chain of thoughts of '_Lenya naked Lenya naked' _in his mind to calm down again.

"This is not the case...but thanks for the suggestion, Morrigan," he eventually managed to bring out. "I just want to keep it as a token which otherwise would have been destroyed by the Bligh... – but why am I'm even telling you this?" he sighed. "Heartless like you are, you wouldn't understand it anyway."

"I can be nice if I have the desire to, Alistair. Alas your desire for more intelligence won't result in success."

"And here we go again," Alistair groaned annoyed. "Why do you always go on how stupid I am? I was educated by the Chantry. I studied history. They don't make stupid Templars."

"Oh my, I'm sorry then. How could I ever be sooo wrong about it? I feel terrible now," the witch sneered and her sarcastic tone didn't cease. "So when you are so smart, then tell me just _one_ good reason, _why _should I do _this_ for _you_?" Her view fell onto the flower again, raised her eyebrow in question and waited for an answer.

"Err...because I asked...rather... nicely? For once?"

This answer taunted her to a mere scoff. "That is rather a pathetic reason, but fitting for a fool like you. Alas I have nothing to gain from this."

Morrigan stood up from the bed she sat on and sauntered to the other side of the room, waging the option. "Two sovereign and I'll do this ridiculous task of yours," she added eventually.

"WHAT?" Alistair exclaimed in disbelief. "T-that is a rip-off."

"_That_, Alistair, is what I call a _deal_. Take it or not. 'Tis your choice."

His eyes narrowed and many, many remarks that contained the words '_greedy'_ and _'bitch'_ ran through his head, yet he could hinder to burst them out somehow. How exactly, Alistair didn't know. He was only aware that he didn't have the money for it, since it all got spent on a particular sword earlier on. He still had, however, the pouch, Lenya had given him...

"Alright, I'll do it," he impulsively blurted out and regretted it almost instantly. This was so _not _what Lenya meant with restocking after all. Well on the other hand, it was not that she wouldn't hate him already, right? He doubted that _this_ would make any more difference now.

Morrigan coldly smiled, as if she had expected this answer from him. Maybe she should have charged more to begin with, but alone that this moron was willing to pay up such a sum for it was laughable enough in her eyes. "Good. Apparently you are more clever than you look," she said in a deridingly tone. "Now pay up."

_Don't smite her, don't smite her, don't...Ugh. _It took him some effort to keep himself from realizing this thought as he took the needed amount out of it and gave it reluctantly to Morrigan. "Need something new to wear, I take it? I don't know if Orzammar has your bitchy style of clothes, actually."

She only glared at him then, as she took the rose and rapidly put distance between herself and that Warden simpleton again. Her eyes fell onto the rose. It was a remarkable, beautiful flower, oddly still blooming even after all the time. The thought to simply crush it and laugh in his face was tempting for a short while, but she quickly ditched the childish impulse again.

A deal was a deal, after all.

A faint gleam radiated from her palm for the slightest of moments, then the deed was done. The flower remained unchanged in its natural beauty, but the difference now was that it would _stay_ this way, and never wither. The witch turned to her unwanted guest again and almost shoved the rose into his hands, hoping he would finally get away now.

Much to her disgust, Morrigan noticed him watching her. "Have a care where your eyes linger, Alistair."

Alistair carefully put the rose aside, a gleeful smirk grazing his lips now. "Yes, but it's not what you think. I was looking at your nose. You know that it looks _exactly_ like your mother's? A spot on match, I would say."

To his huge delight, Morrigan immediately groped it, checking the form of her nose with her fingers. As the witch finally became aware of what she was doing there, she glowered spiteful at the Warden. "I HATE you sooo _much_!"

Now actually gloating over her reaction, Alistair left the room without regarding her further.

"Don't worry, this feeling is _mutual_."

.

.

* * *

.

"Somehow it's touching, how all the midgets are throwing themselves at us to die. It might move me to a single tear later on."

Lenya couldn't help but to agree with the golem. The Carta's base _was _crowded and at every corner it seemed there were at least three of those thugs waiting for them – just to die painfully in the end. She had lost count of how many they already killed and frankly she didn't care. Still, their leader Jarvia was nowhere to be found. The Dalish wondered how much further down in this damn convoluted, huge rotten cave they'd have to descend until they'd finally find her.

Seizing the one quiet moment to breathe, Lenya wiped the blood and sweat out of her face and peered around in the dusty, old room,its floor now inked red. Her companions didn't look any better; blood covered their whole armor and was dripping from their weapons.

Leliana bent down and gasped for air, the exertion visible in her face. Surprisingly she had proven herself useful in that dangerous lair the carta thugs had created. The bard had disarmed many traps which would have become a problem otherwise.

Arai whined and licked Lenya's hand, as if reminding the Dalish to move on. After all the wrong turns and ways they took in this confusing tunnel system, there was now only one door left which they hadn't checked.

She took another deep breath to calm her racing heart and moved toward the said door. "I hope you are ready...for whatever is on the other side," she whispered, then added with an eye-roll. "Once again."

Leliana shouldered her bow only to collect some of the stray arrows from the ground to refill her nearly empty quiver. "Be cautious, I think there are yet another traps set."

She positioned herself behind the elf in case she had to react very quickly, bow already strained and ready to fire.

"_More_ midgets who throws themselves at us like pesky little flies and then they all go squish? Sounds like fun." Shale apparently enjoyed the mission and impatiently waited for their leader to progress.

Lenya pushed the door open with force and half expected arrows flying her way like usual. Instead she was greeted by a dwarven woman, enveloped by five of her men.

"So Harrowmont has realized we finally taking the city and yet he doesn't bother to send his own men. Interesting. But it doesn't matter anyway who becomes king as long there is a queen." Her bearings were proud and cocky; one didn't have to be a genius to recognize that the well-armed woman in front was the leader – _Jarvia_.

Lenya's eyes flickered over the place: it was a relatively vast hall and hence a perfect fighting ground. Yet one riddled with traps, which made the barrels that were standing closely in between of pillars obvious. She glanced over to Leliana, who seemed to catch the meaning and nodded lightly in return. Once the chit chat was over, she would take care of those devices like she already had with the many others before. Obviously their element of surprising wasn't all _surprising_ anymore, so the Dalish didn't even bother to play along.

"Jarvia, right? You are a hard woman to find. Nevertheless I killed my way through many, _many_ of your men to reach you. And there you are. Go figure, what _that_ now means for you." Her hands tightened around the hilts of her blades, every muscle in her body was strained, while she expected her to charge first.

Jarvia's face contorted with pure rage. "You'll pay for their deaths a hundred time over!" The dwarf looked to her men and her eyes narrowed visibly.

"Kill the others, but leave the _pretty_ elf alive. I have _plans_ for her."

Ugh.

Jarvia's words made Lenya furious and she felt how _this _gave her the needed push to keep going on. Even worse, the words reminded her on yesterday's incident with Alistair and _this_ made it only easier to seize the rage. The elven woman sliced her way through one of her men to reach Jarvia, to make her shut up forever.

Leliana fired an arrow and precisely took one thug down, who was lunging at the rest of the group, and then another further behind. She moved toward the traps and warned Sten with a scream as he stood too close to it.

The Qunari nodded and quickly backed away again. Metal clashed as he deflected a thrust of a roguish dwarf before him, while the other blade tore through the clad of armor into his thick flesh. Sten grunted, irritated at the now smiling thug, and punched him so hard with his fist that the crack of his skull was audible. He shook his head as he watched him fall to the ground.

Confusing, little people that were, thinking that one little blow would bring him – the Sten of the Beeresaad – down. Nevertheless, the wound was bleeding, but the Qunari choose to ignore it in favor of the fight, drawing strength out of the pain.

"Death to all pigeons!" Shale yelled and was very much unimpressed by all the arrows fired at it. The Golem tanked its way through to the two lurking dwarven archer and triggered one of the explosion traps nearby. To its huge disappointment the device took one of the thugs with it, who foolishly stood too close to it and smashed his body at the wall.

Though the delight quickly returned into its stony face as the fists found their destined, other target, crushing the dwarf like the little fly he was in the Golem's eyes.

While Leliana was busy with disarming the last of the remaining traps, the Dalish was occupied with the leader herself. She was an able fighter, a rogue with great speed and experienced in fighting. Lenya lunged and she parried once again, smirking cockily at her as she drew closer.

This incited the fury anew in the elf and she kicked her with force away, just to have some space on her own again. Everything about Jarvia irked her. She even grinned as she tumbled back from the kick, ready and concentrated to attack once more. In her eyes Lenya could see the confidence of victory, even as Arai assaulted her from the side, biting deeply into the flesh of her flank with his massive jaw.

Lenya seized the moment of distraction to haul back and finally decapitated her with one single strike of her blades. Despite all the blood and gore covering her, was _she_ now the one who was smirking.

Lenya couldn't grasp the reason why, but killing the carta boss had been liberating. In spite of the weariness and aching of her body she felt good; relieved actually. Exhausted, she let her blades sink clattering to the ground, took a deep breath and allowed herself to smile anew.

_Still alive_.

As quickly the smile was there, it faded again. The expression was now all stern as she looked at her companions, checking.

"Everyone okay?" As she recognized that their injuries were rather small, the Dalish added. "Check the bodies for money and other supplies we still can use."

With that she reclaimed the dagger and the sword from the bloodied floor and frowned at the weapon her fellow Warden had gifted her. Truth be told, it did a good deed until now, as expected for a blade so perfectly crafted. Lenya just doubted if it was ever a good idea to _accept_ the gift from him. Sighing, she shoved the thought aside and turned into the direction of a secret exit that the others had discovered in the meanwhile.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair inhaled deeply, knocked and only entered Lenya's room as she begrudgingly responded. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

It had been a few hours since she returned from Dust Town, completely caked in blood and gore. The time since her return, Alistair had mostly pondered over and over again whether and _how_ to apologize to her what happened. He didn't know how he should manage that, but he also knew that it was a thing he needed to do, independent of her forgiving him or not. What he had done had been just so wrong that he couldn't leave things as they now were.

He spotted Lenya sitting cross legged on a wooden chair near the study across the room. Her upper body was bent over the desk before her, so that the still wet hair fell into her face. She wore simple woven, dwarven garments that sat a bit too short for her arms and legs. The Dalish didn't even turned to him as he stepped in and continued reading.

"Oh, it's you. You learned to knock. That's a progress."

There was a biting, sneering nuance in her tone, Alistair didn't miss to catch. He flinched. "Y-yes."

Now she looked up and slowly into his direction, yet without fully regard him. "What do you want?"

Alistair gulped. All the words he previously had prepared to say to her, fled suddenly from his mind. "I-I'm here in your room and you haven't killed me yet. Wow. I figure that's a progress too," he nervously brought out after a moment.

The Dalish sighed, her legs now tucked up on the chair. She leaned forward to embrace them. "I've killed enough today, so I'm tired of that. Don't tempt me to change that notion, though."

That position made her seem so small and frail and he could hardly believe that this woman was capable of slicing her way through a horde of darkspawn. Appearances could be deceiving, it seemed.

"Look, I don't know how to say this, so I simply say it. For what it's worth: I'm sorry for what happened yesterday." He felt his face getting warmer. "I...really just wanted to let Arai in and then...I don't know. I shouldn't have...Maker, I'm not that kind of guy, actually. You are my fellow Grey Warden and you should know that I respect you as such...but this wasn't actually very much respectful. I'm sorry."

He felt her questioning gaze upon him. "Please stop looking at me as if I'm a drooling lecher or something. If there is anything I can do to make that right again, just say it, Lenya...and I do it."

"Anything?" Her eyebrow shot up, and Alistair already regretted saying that.

He cleared his throat and pointed at the desk to distract her. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Now the elf scowled, peering at him incredulously. "What does it look like? I'm reading, you idiot. And before you make any dumb comment: Yes I can do that." She pointed at the book. "This is one of the few here written in the common tongue."

"I ….err... see. What is about?"

"That stupid caste-system of the durgen'len. I hoped to find a logical explanation for it in there, but I don't get it. They are all dwarves – to use your word for it – and still they treat each other so differently. I don't understand it and this whole political system is even more tedious. We Dalish don't have something like that. We don't need that." Frustrated, she shut the book closed with a sigh. Lenya was looking forward to gain more knowledge about the dwarven culture in Orzammar, yet the more she learned the faster she wanted to get away of it again.

"Never mind, where are the next Grey Wardens to find?"

"The next Grey Wardens?" He repeated dumbly. "Outside of Ferelden?"

"Umm... yes?" Lenya rolled her eyes. "You are longer a Grey Warden than I am, you should know..."

"Not exactly. There is of course the main headquarters, the Weisshaupt fortress, but that is a thousand miles away from here. The nearest location from here where Grey Wardens reside would be Orlais, though even that is _weeks_ away. Even _if_ we would make it that far, we wouldn't be back in time and the Blight would spread unchecked in Ferelden in the meanwhile." He shook his head. "This is reason alone for me to not try it, so don't ask for that."

Lenya tilted her head as she gleamed up to him. "I see. So then I have to keep up with you, I take it?" She groaned loudly, but the corner of her mouth quirked up. "The Creators have really a bad taste of humor."

Alistair couldn't help to chuckle at that, her subtle humor was just too contagious. "Yeah. Horrible, isn't it?" For a moment his eyes lingered on her for no reason, until her voice shook him to attention again.

"Anything, huh?"

He blinked. "What?" Lenya really had a talent from springing to one topic to another.

"Yes, you have said you'll do _anything_ to make up for it," she muttered and feigned a thoughtful pose.

Something in her voice terrified him greatly. It sounded way too amused for his taste. "Y-yes?" It was rather a question than an answer.

The elf pointed at his tunic. "Okay, off with that shirt..."

Somewhere along those words, Alistair momentarily froze in bewilderment. "WHAT?"

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting mischievously. "It's only fair, don't you think?"

"I-I.." he stammered, his brain still too busy to move to action. It was clear that this was payback for his committed crimes. He really didn't want to do this, but unfortunately he already had promised her 'anything' to atone himself. A notion he now regretted deeply. Alistair counted up to ten in his mind to calm down, pressed his eyes shut and was ready to push tunic overhead, but she halted him with his words.

"Oh STOP, would you. As if I'm interested to see _that_." She shook her head with barely contained amusement. "What? You really would have done _that_?"

He didn't answer, only felt how his face started to burn. Then all the sudden she burst into laughter. "I can't believe it."

Lenya inhaled deeply, just to fall into another guffawing fit and simply couldn't stop anymore. Alistair stared at her in consternation, too baffled of the fact to actually hear _that_ kind of sound from her lips. There was nothing musically or magic about her voice, she sounded rather raspy and unladylike with all the chortling in between.

Oh...and there was still the fact left that the Dalish was indeed laughing about _him_.

Lenya held her belly which was rumbling heavily as she gasped for air to speak. "Oh Creators, mercy, please!"

Without a pause she continued to crack up and couldn't even explain _why_ exactly she was still laughing. It just felt too good to stop right now.

"Oh yeah, go on. Laugh about me. Don't mind that I'm standing right _here_." His objection only fueled her laughing once more and Alistair's bewilderment shifted into irritation. Having enough of her thoughtless ignorance, he stormed out of the room. Lenya's mocking snickering resounded after him as he strode across the hall to reach his room nearby. Shaking his head, Alistair entered and closed the door behind him with a sigh.

What a weird day that had been.

Eerily reminescent of Ostagar in the morning, then his unpleasant encounter with Morrigan and now even his fellow Grey Warden was making fun of him. He shouldn't complain, maybe this has been his rightful punishment after all what has happened. However, discovering the astonishing fact that Lenya could actually _laugh_ was almost making up for the ordeal the day has been. And not only that, _he_ has been the one coaxing this almost impossible sound of out of her throat. Oddly enough, Alistair found himself wanting to hear it _again_.

If all was needed to make himself to an idiot to achieve that..._Sure no problem_, he thought dryly. _I __already have experience in that._


	29. Lost in between

**Chapter 28: Lost in between**

.**  
**

"No!"

It's a word he had heard often enough from her lips, yet never before had it been spoken more resolutely than now. Lenya stood in front of Harrowmont in her typical pose of annoyance: arms crossed, her foot restlessly tapping on the ground and a defiant glare visible in her eyes.

Everything about her posture screamed _refusal_, but still Harrowmont didn't give up in his adamant attempt to sway her. If Lenya's bearings were any indication, then it was time for Alistair to start worrying about Harrowmont's well-being.

_Would it be possible to leave Orzammar alive, __if she murders_ _a deshyr lord? _It was a little frightening how much this thought entertained him. Then again, he wasn't really keen of the inane idea of braving the Deep Roads, no doubt full of darkspawn, just to find a Paragon himself.

"You are a Grey Warden, this should be no problem for you. I need the voice of a Paragon to secure the throne for me since Bhelen has raised the stakes at the Assembly. My men have traced Branka's disappearance to an ancient crossroad named Caridin's Cross. It is many miles below, but I have a map of that and will of course provide you with all supplies needed, if you are willing to do this for me, Warden. "

"No!" With that, Lenya whirled around and stormed out of the study and estate, leaving Harrowmont and the rest of her group behind, baffled..

Searching for help, the dwarf looked at Alistair, who sighed in defeat. "Alright I'll go and talk to her. You shouldn't expect too much of this, though. She has a thick head."

_...and somehow I can understand her reluctance this time_, he added in his mind.

"Wait. Before you go Warden," Harrowmont called out to Alistair, making him halt, "...take that map of Caridin's Cross, you'll need it either way. I hope you can convince her to reach a more _sensible_ conclusion. I'll be here, if you need anything."

Alistair took the parchment rather reluctantly. "Gee, thanks..." His eyes were already transfixed on the exit, wondering where she would be now.

"A _new _errand? I knew I should have squished its head the last time." The golem stomped off, while comparing dwarves to birds. With their leader gone, the rest of the companions turned to go as well.

"Should I help you find her?" Leliana called after Alistair.

He stopped right before the estate's door, turning to her. "No, I think I'd rather do that myself..." _though I have no idea how to convince her __of an idea, I don't like myself__._

_._

_~V~_

_._

Outside was the usual scene: the noble dwarves were gossiping and the screamers still advertising either Harrowmont or Bhelen, but… no Lenya in sight. Yet something to his left seemed different, a loud voice reaching his ears.

"It'll be two years tomorrow. By all the sodding ancestors, how can you people just ignore that?" It belonged to a scruffy red-haired dwarf guy, who did his best to not be overheard.

"Branka didn't go alone, she took her entire house with her. Everyone, except for you, Oghren." The guard answered, annoyed. "Just get over to Tapsters and drown yourself. We both know this is how it always ends."

_Branka?_ Suddenly Alistair's interest was piqued for this rather random talk, and he stopped next to them to listen in.

"Pah," the dwarf named Oghren snorted to the guard, his posture tense. "You think I'm afraid of some cub warrior, who is barely off the teat? I'll – " Noticing the human aside him, he stopped and his anger shifted to Alistair. "Whadda ya looking at, huh?"

Surprised to be addressed, Alistair sputtered a muffled apology. The dwarf approached him, squinting his dark eyes. "Wait, I know ya, boy. You are one of those fancy Grey Wardens walking around here. Coming from the surface, great crisis to the world and all that. Working for Harrowmont, I heard. Heh, their only real concern is whose ass is on the throne and not to find the only living Paragon, Branka, in sodd-"

"Yeah...about that," Alistair interjected, "we are going to search for Branka, actually. But why do you care so much about her, anyway?"

He observed the man before him and the most fitting word that came to his mind to describe that dwarf was _odd_. ...And drunk, although judging by his demeanor he seemed to be sober. He smelled like a whole brewery however...

"I'm her sodding husband, Warden! That's why I care," he groused loudly. "And you? Trying to find out what I know about her – the secrets of a Paragon – to use it for your power hungry deep lord?"

"Uuum...no?" The Warden offered, blinking perplexed. _Odd_ was too weak a word to describe this guy, really.

"Tell ya what, boy. Ya ain't gettin' nothing out of me. Not until your boot-licker of a lord results in serious sear..." he trailed off, gaping at him. "Wait, did you said you are going into the Deep Roads to find her? I'm not sure if I heard that right. I hear a lotta things, ya know."

"Of _that_ I'm certain," Alistair countered sarcastically. "And yes we are going to find your lovely wife in the Deep Roads next. If my fellow Warden ever returns, that is."

"Fellow Warden? That little scrawny elven girl?"

"She is _not_ scrawny..." he objected impulsively.

The dwarf named Oghren shrugged. "Got a little touchy for insulting _your_ woman here, heh? Don't understand the appeal. Well, whatever rolls your oats."

Alistair's face turned a faint shade of pink. "Maker, she is not _my_... however, have you seen her?"

"Nope. Might be hugging trees somewhere on the surface. That is what they do, right? Heh."

Alistair sighed, exasperated. It was hardly likely that he would get any sensible information out of this dwarf.

"Okay forget I asked." His eyes wandered over immediate the area. "Need to find her, though."

"And Branka." he reminded him. "But Warden, until you tell me what Harrowmont has found out and this all puts me one step closer to finding Branka, you can sod off for all I care. Or join me at Tapsters for a drink. It's all the bleeding same to me."

With that, the man turned and headed for the exit to the Commons.

Alistair stared after him and shrugged indifferently the same way Lenya always did. "Whatever."

Then becoming aware of what he just had done, he blushed slightly. Somehow she really was rubbing off on him.

A scary thought.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned and continued to look for her, however his chances of finding her in such a huge city like Orzammar were more than slim.

Especially when she didn't _want _to be found.

.

.

* * *

.

She was running.

Out of Harrowmont's estate. Out of Orzammar, out of the market place, just _away _from all the _stone_.

Lenya didn't know how long she had been running, and she only stopped when the overwhelming feeling of constriction in her chest finally became too much. It could have been minutes or hours, the unchanged starry night sky overhead didn't reveal the passing time. Her head placed against the firmament, the Dalish smiled while she snapped for air. A childish glee filled her being as she looked at it and giggled, relieved.

_The sky...I can actually see the __**sky**__._

A deep intake of air followed, the real _fresh_ air and not what that durgen'len place was filled with. Lenya squinted her eyes to recognize in the faint moonlight where her rash escape had led her. She was on a mountain's plateau, surrounded by a few high-towering trees and the ground was covered by a thin layer of snow.

Now stopped, she felt the chill of the night, the rough coldness seeping into the leather of her armor. It still had the rifts from the final proving fight, exactly there where the blade cut her flesh deeply. She looked down at it, driving her fingers over the roughened, chapped material and sighed.

She was aware that she needed to repair it, was aware that she _needed_ to return soon and face what would come next. Lenya was _aware_ of all those things and yet she found herself _unable_ to move back.

She didn't hate Orzammar as a city, she simply hated it to be buried under the earth and rock like being dead, without the sun, the sky or fresh air to breathe. Spending her days there made her itchy, nervous and she felt trapped. It was ridiculous perhaps, but with entering the Deep Roads, she'd have to venture even further down into the earth, and the rock would enclose her even more than before, with no chance to flee outside when it all became too much. The very thought of the Deep Roads frightened and suffocated the Dalish more she was willing to admit, even to herself.

Lenya lay down flat on her back, uncaring for the wet, cold soil drenching her clothes, rather welcoming it. She stared up to the sky and observed the glimmering of the stars, letting her gloomy thoughts flood away into the hard earth. For a long while she lay there still, unmoving until the rustling of leaves startled her up. Even before she could draw her weapons or stand up, the slobbering tongue of an overjoyed mabari was on her face. She let out a disapproving noise out as Arai continued to greet her, though he did not come alone. Slowly shifting into human form again, the witch descended from behind the trees.

"There you are. Tis annoying to search for you, yet less annoying than to continue listening to that idiot's anxious prattling."

"Morrigan?" Lenya exclaimed, utterly surprised. Of all the people searching for her, she would have expected the witch to be the last one.

"Yes, who else," she groaned and rolled her eyes. "I followed your hound, 'twas obvious that he would lead me to you. Also obvious like the fact that he would find you outside. Not to your fool of a fellow Warden, of course, for he is driving whole Orzammar insane with asking everyone about you. 'Tis annoying."

The elf knitted her brows. "He is? Why?"

"Why should I care?" The witch huffed. "We shall return, Lenya. Obviously I don't want to keep up with that laughing stock being the only Warden."

"Is that why you are here?" Morrigan did not answer. "...and if I don't want to return?" Lenya added after a pause.

"Then you'd have traveled north to your clan long ago, but you are still here. Do not fool me," she noted, slightly vexed and leaned herself on a trunk of a tree, arms crossed.

"True, I give you that," the Dalish laughed mirthlessly. "Maybe I'm still here because I have no place to return to anymore, I don't know. I just needed to get away for a while. Orzammar is impressive, none of my people have never seen such a city or can even imagine it, I'm sure. But there is no life aside the dwarves living there. No trees, no stars, no flowers, no sunlight. Only cold, dead rock tinted in ever the same dull brown color. How can someone live like that?"

"That sounds incredibly whiny. You should save that for Alistair, I'm sure he'd be overjoyed to listen to that," Morrigan scoffed, yet smiled slightly. Orzammar wasn't her favorite place either.

Now Lenya laughed for real. "Probably." The stillness returned and she reveled in it for another moment, before turning to the witch again. "Wasn't life in the wilds lonely?"

Morrigan looked at her, confused to hear that question. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you once told me you grew up in the wilds."

"And you figured that this would make me an oh-so lonely, poor girl? You lived in the woods yourself, so shouldn't this illogical rule of yours apply to you as well?"

Lenya stood up from the ground, just to sit down on a nearby trunk again. "Normally it would, yes. But I always had my clan. I was never lonely...before."

"I see." The witch sighed extensively. "At times it was perhaps indeed lonely. But such is like that life was. If I wanted company I ran with the wolves and flew with the birds. The world full of people and buildings was a strange, abstract concept for me."

Lenya frowned. "Well, for me it still _is _strange..."

Morrigan disregarded her comment and went on. "Curiosity got the better part of me one day. I ventured beyond the borders of the wild and observed the odd townsfolk from afar in animal form. Later I came across a noble woman in her carriage. She was adorned in the finest garment I had ever seen before. I was fascinated by the view, dazzled even. To me this was how true beauty and wealth must be. I continued watching her for a while, even dared to give up my animal disguise, as I felt safe."

"Somehow I have the odd feeling that this didn't go well. ...Err.. never mind, go on."

"Too kind, Warden," she scoffed in return. "Then as she wasn't looking, I snuck up behind her and stole a hand mirror. 'Twas golden and decorated with crystalline gemstones. I hugged it at my chest with delight as I sped back into the wilds."

The witch momentarily paused as she drew a huge breath of the night air in. To Lenya it appeared as if she had to regather her emotions, awoken from the distant memory. Still she remained silent and waited patiently for Morrigan to continue. "Flemeth was furious with me. I was a child and had risked getting discovered for nothing more than a piece of pretty bauble. To teach me a lesson, she took the mirror...and smashed it upon the ground. I was heartbroken."

Morrigan maintained her straight and cold expression as Lenya gazed at her, but her voice was thick with emotion that betrayed that image.

"I'm sorry to hear that..." The Dalish uttered genuinely, taken aback by her confession.

"Sorry?" Morrigan scoffed, now her emotions full under control again. "You don't have to be. 'Twas a harsh lesson for a child perhaps, but one that served me well. They made me stronger. Beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning. Power has meaning, survival has meaning."

She paused and stared into the distance, the blackened wideness of the night. "Sometimes I do wonder what might have become of the girl with the beautiful, golden mirror," she shook her head, her amber eyes transfixed on the elf again, " ...but such idle fantasies have no place amidst reality." Her gaze lasted on Lenya for a moment before she looked away again. "There you have it. I hope we can now go back, since your curiosity is sated."

"I see," she replied perplexed. "Thank you for telling me this, Morrigan."

And she meant it. She could sympathize with Morrigan's view, even if a part of her felt sorry that she had to lead such a harsh life as a child.

"'Twas nothing." Morrigan shrugged her off. "Though might I ask of your mother?"

Lenya cast her eyes down as the unpleasant memory invaded her mind. "She died. A very long time ago."

"Oh, then I'm sorry, for what it's worth. Very little, I'm sure."

"It is okay, I never knew her. And despite that, I never was lonely. I always had my cla – " The Dalish trailed off and bit back the bitter taste of bereavement. She had no place to belong anymore, was lost somewhere in between in a still foreign world. Sighing, she motioned Arai to follow her and he barked happily.

Lenya's eyes darted to Morrigan, observing her haughty and smooth motions as she walked ahead of her.

_Maybe we aren't that different_.

Somehow the elf found a fraction of solace in that thought, as they silently made their way back to Orzammar.

.

~V~

Alistair marched agitatedly up and down the stairs in front of Orzammar gates, completely oblivious to the annoyed glares the guards shot him for his irritating behavior.

From time to time he heaved his head up and stared out into the night, hoping to see a particular elven face appear out of the shadows, and it was ridiculous that he made himself crazy like that, just because Lenya had fled out of Orzammar and probably much further.

_Okay, not a helpful thought._

The Warden groaned, and cursed his all too vivid fantasy for delivering him various scenarios and of which none of them were good. He _should_ trust her more, like the one time where she returned to the cave after the storm –

The sight of a small group approaching ended his train of thoughts, and thankfully his doubts as well.

"Maker's breath, there you _are_!" Alistair practically beamed at Lenya's sight. Her armor and face were partly covered in mud and her blond hair was completely disheveled from the wind, but she was back. And only _that_ counted.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Why are _you _here anyway?"

"I could ask you the same, you know," Alistair pouted. When the gates were open, Morrigan seized the first chance to vanish within, thoroughly ignoring both Wardens.

He pointed into the witch's direction. "So Miss Sunshine found you, I take it?"

"I can take care of myself," Lenya muttered, and moved toward the gates as well.

Alistair chuckled. "Of that I have no doubt. Still I was worried, Lenya...and apparently was I not the only one."

As impossible as the words _Morrigan_ and _caring_ were to bring together in his mind, it seemingly had been this case.

_Scary.._.

Lenya stopped in the Hall of Heroes and rubbed her temples and face. The whispering was back, the stillness in her head she found while being away from Orzammar only a treacherous, momentarily pause. She still hadn't learned to fully block them out, yet normally it was restricted to the times when she was sleeping. The Dalish blamed it on_this_ place, that she could even hear them while she was awake. The Deep Roads, where so many of the darkspawn lived, was so close nearby to Orzammar. Underground, to be exact.

"Are you okay?" Alistair asked, slowly approaching her.

Before he could come closer, her head snapped up from within her hands, her prior pained expression completely gone. "I think I need a drink."

.

~V~

Tapsters was the usual uproar of singing bards, laughter and a crowd of semi-drunken dwarves of all kind and castes.

Corra, the hostess, waved to the both Wardens from afar and pointed to a little table in a corner which still was free. If one was willing to ignore the drunken and snoring dwarven man close to it.

"Charming," Alistair commented about the sleeping dwarf amusedly and sat down across from Lenya.

"Aye, Wardens good to see you again. What can I bring ya?"

"Something that tunes the voices in my head out," Lenya mumbled absentmindedly, and Alistair's eyes grew wide.

"What she meant was the honey mead from last time. I think," he felt obliged to throw in. His stomach rumbled just when Corra wanted to turn around again. "And something to eat. A lot of it, please" he added sheepishly.

_Damn this appetite..._

Lenya didn't look at him. In fact he wasn't sure if she was present at all, her eyes and mind seemed somewhere far distant.

"Lenya?" he called to her and her eyelids fluttered as if justly awoken from a reverie. "You can – " he lowered his voice, "...hear the darkspawn? Even _now_?"

She wasn't in the mood for talking, yet figured that no one but that oaf would understand her distress. The elf took a sharp intake of air to answer, though Corra interrupted them. She brought their beverages, placing the tankards on the table and turned with a smile to her next costumer in the busy tavern.

Lenya stared at the mug for a second before grabbing it and drinking the contents in greedy gulps. Alistair watched, quite bewildered at how her throat moved as the alcohol practically flooded down it. Never had he seen a woman drinking like that, least of all his fellow Warden. With a relieved sigh, she put it back on the table, her eyes now focusing on him.

"That was what I needed, I guess."

One of his eyebrows shot up. "Looked like it. Still, you haven't answered my question. Because hearing them shouldn't be the case when you are awake, it's normally bound to your dreams."

"Tell me something I _don't_ know, smart-ass," the Dalish snarled and narrowed her eyes. "My head feels like a constant – " she trailed off, comprehending the meaning his words. "Wait you DON'T?"

He shook his head softly. "No, not at all. Though, I think the six months advantage over you could have something to do with it. I have mostly learned to block them out by now." Alistair's tone changed into an almost apologetic one. "After all, your Joining wasn't _that_ long ago and I heard that the intensity is also higher, when it occurs during a Blight."

The elf groaned. "Just wonderful."

"Was that the reason why you left so suddenly?" he inquired, observing how she restlessly fidgeted with the now empty mug.

Lenya looked down on the plate of the table, biting her lip. "Not only because of that," she told him earnestly, "...but I don't want to go down there..."

"Oh _this_ I can understand, believe me. It's not on my list of favorite places either." Alistair frowned. "The dreams seem to be more intense since we arrived in Orzammar, and I think it's due to being so close to the Deep Roads. Despite the Blight they seem to have fun down there. Charming, ehh?"

"Oh, yeah very much." She rolled her eyes, yet appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood. Even if it was a lame one. "Creator's ass, just how many darkspawn are down there? Even more than in Ostagar?"

He winced at the mere mentioning of the place, his eyes saddened. "Y-yes, I suppose so. Between the Blights they are all down there and digging for an old god, which they now have found. Thus the Blight. So it's actually safer to travel there _while_ a Blight rages on the surface, though this doesn't mean much," he confessed and took a huge sip from his own beverage.

"Now that is reassuring. I think it's due to the place too, because it wasn't like that when I –" the elf stopped and rubbed her forehead once again.

"How?" she added after a quiet pained groan.

"This taste really good," he marveled over the sweetness of the drink as the warmth of the alcohol spread within him. Then Alistair looked up to her. "Hmm?"

"How do you block them out?"

"Oh _that_. Umm, that's kind of an exercise. I told you that I was trained as a templar, right?" Lenya nodded slightly. "Well when I came to the Grey Wardens.. Duncan," he sighed melancholic, "... wanted that I keep my learned abilities up, so I did."

Lenya furrowed her brows. "What abilities? Do I even want to know?" She nodded gratefully to Corra who changed her empty mug for a new full one.

He chuckled. "Don't know about that. Anyway, I have the ability to dispel magic but that affords a lot of focus and discipline. It's quite useful against the darkspawn emissaries, as well as other user of magic. Though against all other opponents I'm just a guy in a metal suit. Just not today." Alistair smiled anew. He felt comfortable, at ease somehow. Talking with her about Warden related topics took a lot away of the awkwardness he still felt in her presence after what happened the other evening. That she was willing to talk herself and even showed interest in all the topics was surely helpful too. "I can show you, if you like..."

"As you might have noticed, I'm no templar of your pesky chantry, human!"

"Neither am I. And you don't have to be one. It's a mental exercise, more likely. To focus your mind. Quite useful if you want to keep the daily news of the archdemon outside your head."

The Dalish took another gulp out of the mug and pondered the option her fellow Warden gave her. Eventually the prospect of getting rid of the whispering while _awake_ won over her still omnipresent distrust. "Okay, then."

"Close your eyes."

"What?" She blinked. "Here?" Alistair gave her a reproachful look. "Alright, if you try something funny, I swear – "

"Yes, you will skin me alive and throw my bones on a pile to make weapons out of them later. Noted," he recited in a deliberately monotone voice. "But don't worry, really. I just want to help you, as a fellow Warden."

Reluctantly, Lenya obeyed and closed her eyes.

"Okay what do you hear?" Alistair asked her.

Her expression twitched restlessly and one eyebrow shot up. "What kind of a dumb question is that?"

"Lenya, you need to concentrate," he chided her, half humorous.

"Now you sound like...err never mind." She sighed. "Okay, I'll play your stupid game."

The young man grinned. "I feel honored by that. However, what do you hear?"

"The bard singing something in gibberish. That Durgen'len near us snoring." The corner of her lip twitched up, "Arai's snoring at my feet. Laughter and voices around us...and the whispering in my head, no less."

"Good." He saw her frowning at this word. "Except for the last part, of course. Now try to focus on one of the many things, while blending the whispering out. Let it become less prominent. Umm," he hesitated, "my voice perhaps?"

"_Your_ ever prattling voice?" she repeated in disbelief. "Why?"

"Well, you could always listen to that dwarf snoring, if you prefer it."

"Creators, I _hate_ you." Lenya groaned. "Okay, your voice then. What are you telling me now? Your life story? I swear if you are going to sing or hum, I'll smack yo –"

"Lenya..." Alistair tried to remain serious but she made it hard for him. _Really_ hard. He suppressed a guffaw that wanted to come up. " Nothing like that. Just focus. Calm your breathing. ...I don't know... like if you have to... before hunting to not scare the animals away?" He hoped that was a picture she could better work with. She had been a Dalish hunter in her prior life, after all.

And it helped.

After a few minutes her distressed expression eased up, the lines of her face now even and calm.

He slanted his head and found himself observing her face, somewhat fascinated. Her right cheek was still partly covered in now dry mud, right next to the little scar on it. He fought the strange urge to wipe the mud away with his fingers, to correct this disturbance in her otherwise fair-complexioned face.

"What do you hear now?"

She didn't reply at first, the breaths coming in slow and steady intervals were the only sound from her.

Then the corner of her mouth quirked up to a grin, the motion letting the freckles around her nose dance for a fraction. "Your ever prattling voice."

"Oh, really?" He smiled now too. Alistair couldn't help to think that she was somewhat – _adorable? Endearing? _in this very moment. But both words didn't seem to fit his fellow Warden, so he opted for something in between and blamed his way of thinking on the alcohol. Lenya wasn't a classical beauty by far, but there was something wild, perhaps a mischievous nuance in her expression and face that he found …_interesting_. He shook his head and took another sip from his mug, hoping that would scatter those odd thoughts.

"Oh food," she exclaimed all of the sudden, and opened her eyes to greet Corra and the other hostess with the overloaded plates. Partly she was asking herself who by the elvhenan should eat all of that, but then her stomach growled fiercely and Lenya found herself not caring much for the answer anymore.

Corra noticed her surprised look.

"That's the Grey Warden ration." She laughed. "By the stone, you people can surely eat a _lot_."

Alistair blushed slightly and thanked her before she turned around to go. For a moment longer, he restrained the ravishing hunger seething in him.

"Did the exercise help?" He asked his fellow Warden, who was far more..._unrestrained _right now. She literally wolfed down whatever food she was able to catch and was completely absorbed in doing so. So if he wanted to have his share of it, he'd better start eating.

And so he did.

.

.

* * *

.

"Oops," Lenya observed the completely empty plates after their feast – correction – _onslaught_. Only Arai was still pleasurably eating the bones and leftovers he'd caught from his mistress before.

"That's _one_ way to put it," Alistair commented, and felt mildly embarrassed for the amount of food he had digested. Well at least he hadn't done this alone this time. As the silence stretched, he snatched his tankard and emptied the rest of it.

Lenya tried to ignore the fact that she had eaten so much like never before in nineteen years of her life. Even more that she wasn't bursting every moment from it like a normal person would, but rather felt contented. _Frightening_, somehow. "It helped a bit, you know? It was easier somehow to focus on hunting."

Alistair sighed. He just felt _good_ right now, somewhat fuzzy and satisfied after the meal. It was an enjoyable evening with tasty food and mead and his _nice_ fellow Warden. _Okay, focus. _

"That's good. But you need to keep the meditation up to make it work in the long run. That's how I do it." He didn't protest as Corra came to clean the table and refill their tankards once more.

Everything was just fine.

A feeling that he hadn't felt for many weeks. Maybe it was only the alcohol letting him think so, but he didn't bother to fathom the reason further.

She nodded, suddenly caught by a thought. "Well, if – and that's a big _if _– I would consider to risk my life for something as ridiculous as to search for a two years missing Paragon, that would be more than a day's trip, right?"

"Yup, certainly. Harrowmont gave me the card for Caridin's Cross and its many miles away from Orzammar."

"Sneaky bastard."

"Indeed. But I do think that we don't have much choice other than to try to find Branka. Otherwise we sit here until the Blight swoops upon us. Swooping is still bad, you know?" He grinned for no apparent reasons, but then cleared his throat. "Though I find that search a very stupid idea myself. Now I know why Duncan never wanted us to meddle in politics. It's tedious."

Her eyebrow shot up. "_You_ find an idea stupid? That's news."

"Well, what can I say? I'm full of surprises." A slight smirk grazed his expression at that, but the smoothness faded fast again at her scowl. "Anyway, it's possible we won't find Branka exactly at Caridin's Cross as we hope. This would mean we have to travel, well, farther within."

Lenya frowned. "And with no idea _where_ to go? Yeah, that _indeed_ sounds like a stupid idea."

She dedicated her attention to the beverage again and took another huge swill that went straight to her head this time. A wave of comfortable indolence washed over her, and the heat of the alcohol flushed her cheeks a little.

He tried not to notice that but failed greatly. _Focus_, he chided himself and lowered his eyes again.

"Well, I met a dwarf today and he seemed to know Branka well. Was even married to her before she left for the Deep Roads. He was a bit...odd, but maybe he can help us to find her? His name was..." Alistair scratched the back of his head, thinking through the haze of his mind, "…Oghren. Yes."

The snoring dwarf aside them shot up, suddenly wide awake.

"Did I hear my name?" Then he recognized Alistair. "Heh, it's you, boy. Finally found your fancy Warden-elf, I see." Lenya gaped at the dwarf, caught somewhere between indifference and disgust.

"Aye, that reminds me of a joke. You gotta hear this one! This _human_ walks into a tavern! Eh heh. And there's an elf there." Oghren guffawed. " And she says – " The words were swallowed by his laughter and snorting, "...She says. Ah ha ha!"

With that, the man dropped his head down again and continued snoring as if he never had awoken from his sleep in the first place.

"No!"

Even when she had started to really feel tipsy and fuzzy, her mind wasn't that drunk enough that she could accept that smelly drunkard as a guide in the Deep Roads. On a more positive note, at least the whispering in her head had yielded to the haze of alcohol. Lenya almost felt giggly at this triumph that now appeared _not_ so trivial anymore.

"Baaaad idea. I just get drunk now and pretend that never happened. Stupid human, that." She muttered, before completely ignoring Alistair's presence.

The drinks were now more interesting, anyway.

.

.

* * *

.

"You haave sumthin in yoour facee, waaait." Alistair stopped and concentrated hard to wipe away the mud on her cheek that had bothered him for so long. Unfortunately the coordination of his fingers wasn't so easy anymore, so he slightly missed the target and poked her eye instead.

"Drunk," he giggled, "You arrree druuunk."

"Noo, you arrrreeee," his fellow Warden declared with confidence and nodded sluggishly. "Stuupid humaaahn." Somehow the words sounded incredibly funny to her, so she burst into a fit of laughter.

While Alistair insisted onsharing with her the only drinking song he still could remember, they stumbled back to the Diamond quarter, only stopping for non-particular giggling here and there.

One of the noble dwarven ladies trespassed their way and stared at them as if they were mad. So Lenya couldn't help to give her an _actual_ reason to think so.

"Grr, argh. Ima darkspaawnn," she roared in her direction. As the bewildered lady quickened her pace to put some space between herself and the drunkish Warden, the elf snorted with laughter.

"You arreee meeaan, Lenya. You shouln't lieee like that. You arreee a Wardeeen like meee," Alistair slurred and looked at her with all the sincerity he still could muster."Aaand I liikkeee that."

"Idiiiooot," she only muttered and shrugged him off. The way before her was oddly turning and swaying and required her full attention. She had no time to spare for her fellow Warden if she wanted to reach her bed soon. _Sleep,_ the thought sounded suddenly alluring to her.

_If only the world would stop spinning..._Lenya grappled with her fingers at Alistair's tunic for stability and he giggled in return, yet together they managed to move somewhat coherently forward.

Eventually, they even made it back into Harrowmont's estate. How, Alistair didn't know for sure. The houses all looked the same after all, so huge and ..._stony_.

They entered the entrance hall and staggered through it, still arm in arm ...because in Lenya's drunken logic it was easier to walk that way. Fully concentrating on avoiding trippingover those treacherous feet of hers, the elf disregarded the direction and ran into something hard and rigid.

"Ouch," she complained plaintively and rubbed her forehead.

"Oh it is finally back. And _is_ drunk. Disgusting." Shale glowered down at the Dalish, then noticed Alistair. "And the clown knight is with it, also drunk. I'm hardly surprised."

"Cloowwn knight," he repeated and snickered, "you arreee fuunnny, Shaaalee."

"Yes, haha," the golem retorted dryly. "It should go and sleep it off. We still have many heads to crush. _It_ doesn't want to be _one_ of those, hmm?"

"Psssch, Shaaaale," Alistair made the silence gesture, but missed his mouth with his finger," you arreee waking eeeeveryyyoneeee when you arrreee so LOUD!" he nearly screamed the last word and snorted at his own joke.

The golem however had already chosen to ignore them and their annoying behavior. Only a quiet "The world is doomed." was heard from its corner, then it fell silent again.

"Hmm, sleeeep..." Lenya's voice trailed off for a second before affixing her attention on Alistair again, "... come puuuppyyy, we should sleeeep."

She dragged him away from staring fascinated at the giant golem, who fitted so well to the other furniture in his opinion. Everything was made from stone in this room, after all. Still the thought of sleep made him happy to oblige and so he tumbled after her.

It was the most logical thing to do.

Lenya targeted the rooms at the end of that long and persistently_swaying _hall, knowing still that one of _those_ was her own. She just couldn't remember _which_ of those it was. She pondered over it for a second, before shrugging and taking the next best door beside her. To her joy that room was empty, had a bed and was therefore very much _suitable_. Oblivious to everything around her now, Lenya slumped groggily down onto the furniture, murmured a few incoherent elvish syllables and was immediately asleep.

Alistair popped up a bit later in the same room, because he took a wrong door first and startled Leliana awake. After profoundly apologizing he left again and followed his fellow Warden instead.

She was the leader after all.

Surrounded by supplies that he surprisingly discovered to be his own, she was lyingon the bed, curled up into a tiny ball, fast asleep. Momentarily he stared at her, poking his finger against her flushed cheek and even his hazed, besotted mind couldn't help to form the word '_adorable_' at the sight. Alistair snickered shortly, which resolved quickly in some kind of disagreement, since she had taken the bed, _his_ bed.

"Yoou can't sleep heeeree, Len!" He tried to protest, the words more slurred than spoken, due to the immense drowsiness within him. But with the desire to sleep so overbearing, he found himself no longer caring for the woman already on his bed and plunked down aside her to sleep.

The bed was large enough with her being so small, after all.


	30. Decisions

_**Thanks to :** Malymin, who is my beta blanket and stew when I get lost in the Deep Roads of the english grammar.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 29: Decisions**

.

Her awareness returned in layers, accompanied by a sense of being oddly sheltered and comfortable.

Within her still hazed and drowsy mind, Lenya tried to figure out what was causing this treacherous, _wrong_ feeling. Ostensibly, she was lying on something that was rigid yet warm, and her nose perceived a distinguishable scent, around her that wasn't her own.

Willing her mind to finally shake off sleep, the elf dared first to open one eye, then the other. Lenya ponderously heaved her head a bit up to take in the surroundings and gazed right into the still sleeping face of her fellow Warden. Instantly, her eyes widened with shock and she jolted up and right out of the bed, her heart racing.

_WHAT THE – ?_

Involuntarily, she looked down at herself and ascertained to her great relief that she was still _fully _clothed, but her mind was racing. Why but _why_ had she been sleeping with a human in _one_ bed, on his chest, no less? A shudder of disgust rippled through her and she suppressed the urge to puke as she swallowed, her mouth sticky with a stale, atrocious taste. At that, her mind clicked and brought the previously forgotten memory back to her consciousness.

_Right, I __drank_ _alcohol. And a lot of it. With him._

Her head was thrumming madly and only confirmed the suspicion. "Great, just great." Lenya rolled her eyes and winced, as her body responded with a fierce jolt of pain. Slowly she straightened herself up to sneak to the door without waking that idiot up. That proved to be a difficult task with every muscle in her body aching. Alas, before the Dalish could reach the door, the huge figure on the bed reared. "Argh, my heeead," Alistair groaned and discerned her frame in the semi-dark. "Lenya? What are you doing here?"

_Oh huge Halla crap._

The Dalish froze right on the spot, but the shock was quickly traded for irritability.

"You ask me that? Really?" she growled, ignoring the pain even _speaking_ caused her.

He sorted through his thoughts of yesterday, which were still hazed a lot.

"A-are you feeling better now?" was the first best thing that came to his mind.

_Way to go, Alistair._

Her only answer was an angry scoff, as she turned to go.

"Maybe, you shouldn't have drank so much." His tone was sheepish and his throat felt rough as he spoke. She responded with a fierce slamming of the door after she left, which resounded as multifaceted pain in his head. _And me neither,_ he added in mind and wondered why his chest felt so comfortably warm.

He blushed deeply, as he remembered.

.

.

* * *

.

Right after leaving Alistair's room, Arai trotted up to his mistress and whined reproachfully.

He prompted her to place a comforting hand on his head, which she did. "I know, Arai. I'm sorry for leaving you behind. Have you waited here all night?"

She couldn't remember if her dog had been followed after them when they left Tapsters. If she was honest, she couldn't remember on _anything_ too well.

_Thinking hurt, moving hurt, light hurt._

For the first time since their arrival, Lenya was actually glad that the only light that illuminated the room was the soft smoldering from the hearths and glowstones on the wall. In the bright light of the day, her head surely would have _exploded_ at once.

"Some friend, I am, huh?" The mabari made a dog-like huff and nudged his wet nose under her palm. "I'm sorry. I'm still not used to domesticated animals follow me around. The ones I have known before were all..._free_."

Arai slanted his head and whined, as if disapproving. He pawed at her thigh and barked quietly. Lenya gave in and slowly bowed down to him, embracing his massive neck. "But maybe we aren't that different. I can feel the taint in you, you know how hard that is, right?"

His answer was a slobbering lick with his tongue over her cheek. "And maybe I'm also nothing more than a domesticated animal anymore, that once was free."

Arai growled this time, the sound rolling as a low but assertive tone from his throat. His soulful, dark eyes peered up to her, as if he wanted to say _'but I have __**chosen**_ _to be with you' _with just the way he looked at her. And after a moment she seemed to understand.

"Thank you, Arai."

.

~V~

.

"Warden."

Lenya started up at the voice behind her and flinched, as the impulsive motion ached her very being.

_Right, that's it. No more alcohol. __**Ever. **_

Maybe muting the voices wasn't the only reason she went overboard with that. Perhaps she just wanted to feel so careless and free again for once, before her life became the oppressing mess it was _now_. An exasperated grumble snapped her out of her reverie and the Dalish turned to face the still waiting Qunari. "Sten."

He made a disgruntled noise at her sight. "You look awful... and you reek."

Lenya chose to revert to sarcasm.

"Why, thank you. Must be the dog-spit, I guess." After saying it, she ruffled Arai's ear in an apologetic _'I-don't mean it like that_'- way and the mabari stayed quiet.

"Alcohol, more likely. Your behavior is not acceptable."

She arched an eyebrow, tone equally sarcastic. "Oh? And what should I do to make it appropriate?"

"Kill the archdemon."

"I approve of this idea." Lenya said and pinched the bridge of her nose. "But as you might have noticed, Sten, this isn't so easy as it _seems_."

"So behaving like a fool is easier? You are a Grey Warden, are you not?"

"Yes, but this was not by choice."

He looked at her with a stern expression. "Why are you _here_ then?"

Her eyes shot up to him, utterly surprised. This question hit the elf thoroughly unprepared.

"I–I..." she swallowed and her head hammered as she searched for an answer underneath the layers of pain and haze only to realize a few moments later that she hadn't a _proper_ one.

"To fight. To survive," Lenya finally managed to say, though it was more for the need to say _something_ than a _real_ reason.

"And still you hesitate," the Qunari stated evenly.

"The Deep Roads –" The Dalish halted and sighed. It would make little sense to explain it to him. _He wouldn't understand it like -_ Lenya frowned at the mere thought of that human and subsequently shook herself in the need to dispose of the memory of his odd warmth from her mind. At least the following pain of headache put her back on focus, and Sten.

"I don't have to justify my actions to you," Lenya finally added, putting her chin defiantly up to glare at him.

"Maybe," he answered, unimpressed. "But if you fail you will have to justify it to others. And even _if_ you succeed it will be just by sheer chance, anyway. You are a Grey Warden, yet you know little of your own order; nor do you know yourself or what you are here for. Parshaara."

With that he turned and left her behind, dumbfounded.

It took a moment until the almost forgotten feeling of pride kicked it, creeping its way from underneath back into her consciousness. The fist balled, she stared into the long hallway where Sten vanished.

"I know who I am. I'm a Dalish." And with muttering that, she became aware of what she had to do, even if she didn't want to. She was a Dalish and would never simply give up like that.

Her pride wouldn't allow it.

.

* * *

.

.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm like that coming in like this."

Arai shot up and growled at Nithius, who justly entered her room without to await her answer.

"Actually, I do. And my dog does as well." Lenya casually uttered, without looking up. Various papers and books were sprawled around her on the floor, with her sitting in the middle of the chaos she created. "What?" she added as he still didn't turn to go.

"I hoped to..." his eyes flickered nervously to Arai who still was snarling at him, his massive form protective in front of his mistress "...speak with you. It's important."

"Uh-huh." She was not even particularly interested in another talk, especially not with someone who simply barged into her room. The last one who did that saw her – _ugh_. Lenya made a face, irked. That was the sort of reminder she really didn't need. It only added to her foul mood.

"You are venturing into the Deep Roads soon, I heard?" The elf mage asked, a bit unsure, driving a hand through his cropped, raven hair. "Errm, could you call your hound off? He is making me nervous, you know."

"Good. He would be offended if you _weren't_."

The Mabari barked in agreement, glancing proudly over to the elf, who had changed her dirty and ragged leather armor for a casual set of dark linen. If it weren't for the soft light adjusted just bright enough for reading, she would have melted completely within the shadows.

"Not so loud, Arai," she chided him softly, her hand reaching for the side of her forehead, groaning. The dog whined quietly in return and pawed at her, momentarily forgetting about the intruder.

"Rough night, huh?" Instantly at the sound of his voice, Arai flexed his massive muscles again, as he turned and growled to keep the foreign person at the same huge distance.

Lenya was still rubbing her temples, her eyes burned from reading. Although she hadn't been doing that for long now. "Huh?"

Nithius smirked, his pale blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, nothing. Just a night of drinking, so I heard. Singing from the top of your lungs and frightening noble passersby, that kind of thing. With the other Warden." He lifted an eyebrow. "You two seem to be close."

Lenya's breath stopped at that. She looked up to him and had to suppress the wish to throw the book within her lap into his head, just to wipe that irritating smirk out of his face. Or let Arai eat him for breakfast.

_Food_, her face contorted, _all but that. _Suddenly she felt very ill and there was yet _another_ urge to suppress.

"Got a bit of a hangover, huh? Let me help you," he uttered softly and with a wave of his hand a glimmering blue light enveloped her being, making her sigh in relief. Unfortunately, Arai saw that as an attack on his mistress, so the dog leaped forward to bury the mage's lithe form under him, snarling vigorously.

The Dalish got up in one fluent movement and was for a second amazed how everything did _NOT_ hurt anymore. Ironically, quite the opposite was the case for her unwanted guest.

"Ouch," was all that was to hear from the elf, buried under Arai's sinewy body.

"Arai, back off," she commanded and her Mabari obeyed immediately. As he trotted back to her side he glanced over to the mage, still not trusting him fully. "It is okay, boy," she reassured him with a pat on his head and the dog huffed critically. Then she turned to the mage who lay on the ground, panting and shell shock in fear. "He's quite protective, you know? Sudden magic makes him nervous."

Lenya shrugged and reached him a hand to help him to get up.

"Good to know," Nithius shuddered as he got up, wiping the dust from his dark blue mage robe. "Such a hound would surely come in handy when the Templars are on my trail again." He sighed. "Can we speak now? I think you own me at least that much, Warden."

"Lenya."

He blinked. "What?"

"My name is Lenya. Everyone calls me _Warden_ here, _Warden_ there. I truly don't need to get a constant reminder of _what_ I am, so use my name, for Creators sake." Lenya sat down on a chair in front of the desk and Arai lay down aside of her feet. "So you wanted something, right?"

"Yes, Wa-Lenya. You are venturing into the Deep Roads soon, right?"

She sighed. "It appears that there is no other way than this, so yes. Why are you asking, Nithius?"

"Take me with you."

"Why? She asked, flabbergasted. "Have you a death wish, or something?"

The mage chuckled. "As well as you then, huh? But no, not really. I just want to help. I want to become a Grey Warden."

"As much I appreciate the first sentiment, you are clearly insane for the second one."

Nithius knitted his brows. "But you are a Grey Warden as well. You don't like it?"

That comment caused her to laugh out loud, but its sound was cold and mirthless. "Oh, I'm sure there is certainly _nothing _wrong with sharing the _same_ blood with those rotten creatures I _kill_." She looked him in the eyes, making sure he understood. "I'm tainted. Just like _them_. You want _that_ kind of life? You got to be kidding me."

He sat down on a small footstool near her and shrugged, his mage robe rustling at this movement. "Better than to run away all your life, like I was forced to do."

"I would be glad to have this option right now," Lenya mumbled, more to herself, yet he caught it.

"You disappeared yesterday and yet you came back. So you had this option, but decided against it."

"Seems like I have a death wish as well, then," the Dalish scoffed, shaking her head. "But as you might have noticed 'we' – that includes me and that dimwitted human who happens to be my _only_ fellow Warden– aren't actually recruiting right now. Not while we are too busy focusing on survi – " he silenced her with holding his hand up.

"It might sound crazy to you, yes, but I for myself, am tired of running away. And as much I enjoy the safe shelter the dwarves gave me as an apostate in Orzammar, _this_," he made a sweeping gesture within the stony room, "... is not a life for an elf. I have lived too long in the forest for that. I want to see the sky again, the sun. Smell the scent of grass again and all those little things I miss so much being constantly under all this _stone_."

"Yeah, then are the Deep Roads the most logical step, of course..." Lenya muttered and averted her eyes. Despite her words, she understood what he meant. Maybe even better than she _wanted_.

"Touchè, I would say, my lady," he laughed. "See it as a test to prove myself worthy. I know that when I'm travelling with you that the Templars and the Chantry can't touch me anymore. Being conscripted by a Grey Warden would give me that kind of immunity."

"What you don't say..." Lenya rolled her eyes and sighed annoyed. "I was conscripted myself, actually. So you had planned it all along, huh? Charming."

"No, it's rather a fortunate coincidence. Also," he winked at her, "I'm quite useful. I'm an adept healer, as you already know. I have dabbled in the old magic of your people as I lived with a Dalish clan for a couple of years. You know Zathrian, the keeper of the Alvaran clan, perhaps?"

"Not personally, but that name rings a bell. Our...clan has traded often with them, though. And at the last Arlathvhen I was too young to really remember much. Or better said it was much more interesting for me to play tricks on our guests with my frien – " she stopped and frowned. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"I see," he murmured, rather perplexed by her sudden mood change. "So what do you say?"

She shrugged. If that fool wanted to risk his life, why shouldn't she profit from it? "You are aware of the severe darkspawn corruption down there? I'm immune but you –"

"Yes, I know, but there exist potions to hold it off for a while. I could make some and not only for myself. Provided Harrowmont gives me the needed and enough ingredients for it, of course."

"He will." Lenya nodded. "After all that durgen'len wants something from me. Just one condition about them. I want you to show Morrigan – the mage in our group – how to make the potions, _while_ you make them."

Nithius arched an eyebrow. "Still don't trust me, huh? Well okay for me, if _that_ soothes your mind."

"Nothing personal." Lenya heaved her shoulders. "So since there are a couple of things to do beforehand, it will take a while until our departure. Yet it's better when you stay nearby."

"_Ma nuvenin, Lenya. Ir ma serannas_," the elf exclaimed in joy and smiled.

Upon hearing those words, the Dalish closed her eyes and did not answer until he left. The melancholic feeling of its sound was just too strong, overwhelming her. As the door clicked and she was alone again, she uttered. "_Na'nehn_" but asked herself at the same time if taking him with her had been a good idea just now.

Lenya had her doubts.

.

.

* * *

.

The tone in her voice was indifferent and mirthless.

"Okay, I'll do it."

Alistair was surprised to hear that she wanted him and the rest of their companions to gather in Harrowmont's study after supper. Yet nothing came close to the surprise he felt upon hearing _those_ words from her lips. Lenya had been reluctant about Harrowmont's idea from the start and it baffled him now that she had changed her mind.

The Dwarven lord, however, seemed to be most pleased about it. "I'm most glad to hear that, Warden. And be certain that I will do my best to ensure that you have all the equipment needed to secure the success of this dangerous mission."

"Good," Lenya breathed, bringing forth a long piece of parchment. "This brings me to my conditions."

"C-conditions?" Harrowmont repeated and blinked, rather confused.

_Oh Lenya. Typical. _Alistair had to suppress a grin. Somehow he had surmised that there was a catch to her sudden willingness.

The Dalish let out a small sound of annoyance, drumming her fingers against the paper. "Yeeees, coooonditiiiions," she echoed slowly, as if he was dumb. "_I'm_ the _one_ going down there in this darkspawn invested _shit-hole_, while you are sitting with _your ass_ in your nice, cozy _study_. You are waiting for _me_ to do the dirty work _you_ and _your_ men are too stupid to do, so that _you_ can become king in the end." Lenya closed her speech with a sweet smile, peering innocently at the flabbergasted dwarf.

Behind the elf, Morrigan burst into a laughter. As Leliana threw her an irritated glance for that, the witch only shrugged. "What? 'Tis true, after all."

"So now It is blackmailing midgets rather than the _other_ way around? Fun," Shale stated and added after a second more excitedly. "Do we crush its head if It not agrees to it?"

"No!" Alistair exclaimed and all pair of eyes darted to him. He cleared his throat. "I mean we neither blackmail someone, nor do we crush their heads."

"Boring clown-knight," Shale grumbled and turned to leave for the main hall. For the golem the discussion was over, since Alistair killed all the entertaining possibilities.

"I must advise you to rethink your tone in front of me, Warden," the dwarven lord exhorted her after overcoming his state of shock.

"I can't remember being impolite, Harrowmont. I was just stating the obvious," Lenya replied calmly. "You want me to go down into the Deep Roads to find _your_ paragon to support _you_ for the throne. One that is most likely dead by now. So the least thing I can expect then, is that _you_ are fulfilling _my_ conditions for _our_ support."

Alistair watched the scene with a mixture of fascination and horror. Maker, that woman was _even __scarier_ when she was all composed...and logical.

"Don't let us forget that you gain something out of it as well, Warden," Harrowmont objected.

"What?" She tilted her head, "Do you speak of the troops Orzammar is _obliged_ to give to the Grey Wardens in a time of a Blight?"

The dwarven lord pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, knowing he had lost this argument. "Alright what are your conditions then?"

Lenya looked smug. "Oh, it is all written down here. Only the little things, though." She handed Harrowmont the long list of supplies. "Furthermore I want for each of my companions, new armor and weapons, as well as for myself. That's all."

Harrowmont's mouth stood agape for a moment and he blinked before finally regaining his composure. "Don't you think this is asked a bit too much, Warden?"

"In exchange for risking my life?" She paused to think. "No, not at all, actually. Also haven't you promised me the _best_ equipment before, or have you not?"

_Oh, fun._ Alistair's attempt to hide his smirk behind his hand was all but subtle. "I assure you we will do our best to find Branka then, my Lord," he added.

The dwarf caved in to them. "Okay, so be it. I'll call your companions for the armor fitting then. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. I have a question, actually." The Dalish took a long breath and Harrowmont winced, afraid of what would come next. "The people down there in Dust Town, I have been wondering...why do they have to live like that? After all, they are durgen'len just like anyone el – "

"They are not!" He interjected strongly. "They are casteless. They are a worthless bunch of scum, without the ambition or the ability to improve..."

"I see." Lenya maintained a straight face, but Alistair noticed how her body tensed at those words. How her fists clenched and unclenched on her side. He wasn't with her in Dust Town on that day, and knew next to nothing about it, but seemingly it had become a touchy topic for his fellow Warden. He couldn't help to wonder why.

"I will take my leave then," she pressed forth through gritted teeth and immediately turned to go.

* * *

**_Elvish notes: _**

_Ir ma serranas - Thank you very much._

_Ma nuvenin - As you wish/ very well._

_Na'nehn- You are welcome._


	31. Before the Darkness

_A/N: Thanks to Malymin for being Mrs. beta-awesome and also all people reading/reviewing_._ Tis the last chapter before the loooong Deep Roads story-arc. Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter 30: Before the Darkness**

The Marketplace was rather quiet for the time of the day.

Or so Lenya assumed.

Since she had been down in Orzammar, she had lost all feeling for time. She didn't know if it was currently night or day on the surface, and also not how, by the Creators, the dwarves could distinguish it. Most likely was that they simply didn't care and had their own pace and time here. One that Lenya would always fail to understand, it seemed.

With a sigh, the elf made a turn to reach the merchant stand near the tavern. A tangled squall of loud voices, music and laughter reverberated out of the premises, which let her remember things from the night before that she didn't really _want _to get a reminder of.

"Something you need, Warden?" The dwarf merchant bellowed and eyed her critically for standing idly in front of his shop, together with her huge surface dog.

Lenya startled at the gruff voice and swallowed the feeling of nausea down again to answer.

"Supplies. I need a lot of potions, poultice, travel food. Whatever you have for a trip in the darkspawn shit ho – ...I mean Deep Roads," she corrected herself and patted the mabari's head.

All the sudden the dwarf changed his tone and became a lot friendlier. Presumably he sniffed the change for a very good deal for himself.

"Of course, my lady. May I recommend these flasks of acid and fire bombs to you then? Simply throw them at the darkspawn and burn them alive. Will make a nice cozy fire in the Deep Roads, I'm sure," he chuckled.

"Uh-huh," Lenya uttered, only half interested. "I have a mage for that actually... but if you give me a good price for it, I'll take them too."

Her eyes roamed over his display goods in the search of something useful and all the sudden they locked on a conspicuous hand mirror. She picked it carefully up to observe it more closely. Its fine polished glass was enclosed in a golden frame, glimmering lightly in the light of the lava vents. She turned it over, and on its back there were a golden deer and sparrows together to see, carved within the frame. It was a remarkable piece of craftsmanship with all these little, delicate details, she had to admit. The dog cocked his head and curiously looked up to her, wondering what his mistress found so interesting.

"Aye, interested in the fine arts as well, I see? Hadn't thought you are the type for it."

The Dalish averted her eyes from the mirror to glance up to the merchant.

"Well, I'm not. But a friend of mine surely would like it." Her breath hitched as she became aware of the meaning of those words. Since when had she started to think of Morrigan as a _friend?_ They were barely friendly, nor did she know much about the witch at all. And it was better this way. Yet seeing this mirror awoke the remembrance of the rather sad story Morrigan told her the night before.

"Twenty silver. If you want it, that is."

Lenya briefly pondered the option, then nodded. "But then wrap it up in a cloth. If it gets broken on the way, I'll come back. In a very foul mood, I might add. And you don't want that, believe me."

"Hmpf," the merchant grumbled as he took the mirror and put it into a linen cloth. "As if I'm afraid of little elven girls..." Arai growled in disagreement and it didn't miss its effect. Glad that she brought Arai with her, she gave the merchant a smug look and handed him the small backpack for the supplies. "Well there is the mirror, and ten of each potions, bombs and health poultices. As well as a couple of beefy sticks. I would say five sovereigns and we have a deal."

"Four," she insisted with a stern face. "Why do you support Bhelen as king by the way?"

"Do you really have to ask?" the dwarf scoffed." As much I value tradition, it was the very tradition that made Orzammar into the nug-hole it is now . Bhelen is interested in changing the old ways, to bring new ideas into the dusted shaky grounds of the assembly. That is good for me, cracking up the tradition means more trade. More trade means more money. So naturally Bhelen is my choice." He paused to snap air, then added. "Four and thirty silver, surfacer."

"Oh come on, Legnar, this stuff of yours is not more worth than three sovereigns," an older voice objected. "Trying to rip a Grey Warden off who is going to save your very ass? That's low, even for a slimeball like you."

"I'm trying to make business here, so get lost Filda," the merchant groused and glared at the elder woman approaching behind Lenya.

"Oh _this_ I see," the woman sneered with disdain and turned to the elf. "I hope you haven't paid yet?"

Blinking confused, Lenya gawked at her. "N-no, not yet."

The elder woman was dressed in worn out, old clothes, the long, fawn skirt mended with several patches. Her weathered face was framed by long grey hair, the expression weary with sorrow. Yet was she smiling at the elf. It wasn't reaching her eyes, but Lenya appreciated the notion among all the unfriendly and demanding durgen'len here.

She turned to the merchant. "Three sovereigns then."

Legnar narrowed his eyes. "I owe you nothing, surfacer. You haven't saved my life and just because you are a Grey Ward – "

"Say that again when the blight is upon us, and darkspawn are about to kill your sorry ass..." Filda interrupted sharply and Arai barked in agreement.

"By the sodding stone, you are worse than darkspawn, Filda." He sighed, unnerved. "Okay, three sovereigns."

Lenya smiled pleased as she paid up and received her goods within the backpack. Before she turned to go, she reached Arai one of the beefy sticks which disappeared in his mouth with one careful bite. Thankful, he slobbered her hand and whined as he sensed the elder dwarven woman up in front.

"Actually," Filda started nervously, fidgeting with her fingers. "I have a question. Word is traveling fast in Orzammar and I heard that you plan to venture into the Deep Roads to search for the Paragon Branka?"

Lenya sighed and put the heavy bag down. After all, that woman had helped her to save money, so she could at least hear her request. "Yes, that's the plan. Why?"

Her face saddened and she looked down. "My son, Ruck. He joined a Deep Road excursion five years ago. He was so proud being the only smith going with the warriors to repair their arms and that as a youngster. Unfortunately they got separated somehow, so when they came back he wasn't with them."

"Five years? That's even worse than that Branka durgen'len. You don't believe that he is still alive, or? That would be a dumb thing to do."

"I pray every day to the Ancestors for his safe return. If only it would – " Filda's voice broke and she had to suppress a sob, "I'm his mother, I can't stop hoping that he is alive, as foolish it may seem. And even if he is...dead, I need to know," she swallowed. "So that I can put his bones to rest and pray to the Ancestors for his save journey. Please can you look for him when you are down there? I need to know."

Arai whined emphatically and peered up to his mistress.

What? You...want me...to help, Arai?" He barked, as if agreeing. Lenya drew a breath in and shrugged. "Well, I think it won't be hard to do that, since we are down there anyway."

Filda's expression brightened up for a fraction. "Thank the stone, my prayers have finally been answered. Thank you so much, Warden."

"Uhh, yeah." She felt uncomfortable at her sudden joy. "Just don't promise yourself too much out of it. It is crazy to think he would be still alive."

Her voice was meek but beseechingly. "I need to know, Warden. Please look after my son. I'll be waiting here and pray every day for your safe return...and that of my son." The elder dwarf nodded briefly to the elf, then returned to the stone figure of an Ancestor to continue her praying.

"Down _there_ I will need more than prayers, that's for sure," Lenya muttered more to herself, shouldered the bag again and turned to go, with Arai in tow.

.

.

* * *

.

"Ouch, ah...by the Maker, you stupid cuirass, let go of me!"

An amused chuckle froze Alistair in his fight against his new but brazen armor. Following its sound, he laboriously turned and discovered Lenya standing in the frame of the door, much to his own surprise.

She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk on the lips. "I see you already got your armor fitting. Maybe you should tell the durgen'len smith that it doesn't fit so _well_ as _thought_?"

"Well that cuirass was part of a human armor he still had and he fit it on me for hours and hours, and..." he sighed in defeat," ...yeah I should do that. But now...err ...help?" Alistair threw her a pleadingly look. "I can't reach that one stupid buckle that holds this thing together. At least not without squishing my innards."

Lenya groaned and slapped her forehead. "You know, sometimes I do wonder how you have survived until now, puppy."

Shaking her head, she slowly approached to him to help her unfortunate fellow Warden out.

"Well...I'm good at killing things... with pointy sticks?" He offered, then smiled. "And I have a fellow Warden who is not too bad at that either." To distract himself from her closeness and _her_ hands _fumbling_ on _his_ side, he kept talking. "By the way where have you been, oh Princess of Slice?"

Lenya tried not to breathe more than needed, because he smelled the _same_ like in the morning when she woke up. In his arms. And these were memories she would rather erase out of her mind as quickly as possible.

"Shopping and stuff," she pressed out and grunted with effort, because the buckle didn't want to give in.

"Maybe I should name this buckle after you," he mused. "Yes, the _Lenya_ buckle. It is fitting for a buckle so _sturdy_. Don't you think?" He grinned down at her, earning himself a furious glare in return. "I jest, I jest, please do not _kill_ me. I bruise so easily, you know."

"Too bad that the smith didn't fit on a _gag_ tonight," the Dalish muttered and finally loosed it, so that the cuirass come down with a thud, leaving Alistair standing in his old woolen tunic, breeches and padding. Immediately the elf backed away again, until there was a sensible amount of space between herself and that human. "I need you to sign this. That's why I'm here."

She handed him a vellum and waited until he took it.

Alistair furrowed his brows. "What is this?"

"A letter. For the case... "

"What case?"

She lowered her gaze, her voice a nuance quieter. "...we don't make it."

"Oh," he just said and decided to read it.

.

_Dear Warden Commander of Orlais,_

_If you read this letter it means that I, Lenya – Dalish elf, originally from the Mahariel clan – and my fellow Warden – a human named Alistair – have failed our mission to stop the blight in Ferelden. It would have been nice to have your help in the first place with it...but well, I think that blight thing is now fully your problem. _

_Dareth shiral,_

_Lenya, Grey Warden of Ferelden_

._  
_

Despite the rather grave situation the letter was thought for, Alistair couldn't help to snort after reading it. "I think the last sentence is really compelling and catchy, although I think you missed the opportunity to set a '_Whatever_' after it. It would have given the letter the last touch."

Wordlessly, she picked up a book beside her and threw it in his direction, hitting him on the side of his head.

Ouch," Alistair exclaimed and rubbed his head. "No need for violence. I was just joking, you know." Then serious again. "It should suffice."

She crossed her arms, tapping impatiently with her foot. "Just sign that thing."

"You don't want me to deliver it, I hope?"

Lenya rolled her eyes and reverted to sarcasm. "Oh yes _sure_. Because you should sign it beforehand, then deliver them the message _yourself_ of us _both_ being _dead_." She took deep intake of air and let it out again with an annoyed groan. "By the Creators, is there _no_ end to your stupidity?"

"I'm not stupid," he objected sheepishly. "Also I would have been very cross with you, if that would have been your idea in the first place, you know. I belong at your side, to fight and to watch your back."

The elf arched her eyebrow and shot him a critical look for that wording.

"Err N-NOT in _that_...way," he sputtered and felt his face warming up. Oh Maker, one day this woman would be his death, so much he was sure.

Suddenly there it was again, this almost impossible sound of her _laughing_ and it made him feel … _what?Proud? Excited?_ He couldn't exactly categorize it and decided to settle for something in between.

"There you go, my evil fellow Warden," Alistair said after signing the letter and just wished she wouldn't look at him like _that_. Her green eyes were gleaming with mischief and even piercing him in a way that almost urged him to flush more. "Err want me to seal it? I can do that..." Evading her gaze, he retreated quickly with the parchment to the desk, where a little candle was lit.

"Astonishing," she retorted, deadpanned.

"Yes, I'm a man with many talents, it seems." His following laugh was weak and he felt somewhat nervous without being able to fathom the reason.

"So _this_ was the reason you asked me about the other Grey Wardens?" Alistair asked and bent down to rummage in his rather chaotic stuffed backpack at the side of his bed. "Ah, there it is," he exclaimed after a few seconds of silence and held a tiny piece of sealing wax up, frowning. "Hope you have no more letters, though."

Lenya observed him amusedly for a moment and ignored his antics. "No, at that time I wanted to know if you _really_ are the _only_ other Warden in reach." She shrugged. "Tough luck, it seems. Though now this information comes in handy for the letter. I plan to leave Leliana behind in Orzammar, since she is annoying and from Orlais."

"Ouch, that hurt, Lenya." He looked up and feigned a stab wound near his heart for dramatic measure. Then he grinned. "You indeed are a rolling ball of charm, you know that?"

"Oh? Did I insult your shemlen friend? I'm so very sorry."

"I rather meant the Warden part, actually." He sighed, sitting down on the chair in front of the desk. "Naturally I hope the letter won't be needed, but that you trust Leliana with such an important task, wow. That's great, really."

"Well, she is from Orlais after all, right? So she should find the way home. Even an animal can do that. And most of them even better than humans."

He frowned. "Okay _that_ part is maybe _not so_ great."

"I plan to take everyone else with me, except for that shemlen and Arai. He should stay here and help her to find the way if needed and if she is even too dumb for that." Lenya averted her eyes. "I don't want him to get hurt."

"Well, Lenya, he _is_ a huge wardog, in case you haven't noticed," Alistair inhaled and focused on mellowing the little piece of wax with the candle. After a few seconds, he pressed it onto the folded document and glanced up again. "But to compensate that, you want to take yet another apostate mage with you. I know he saved you once and still that guy...I don't trust him."

"He _wants_ to come with us and he is a _healer_ mage. Do I need any more compelling reasons?" The elf shook her head. "I'm not to blame for his delusion with Grey Wardens after all."

"Well for a start, you could tell him that we _aren't _in the actual state to recruit right now, nor have we the time. Blight, you know?" Alistair snapped, but she only gave him an annoyed look in return. "Maker, Lenya, I don't even know what exactly _is_ needed for the Joining. I'm not much longer a Warden than you are."

The tipping of her foot increased. "Half a year longer than me _is_ longer..."

"I know. Still there wasn't enough time for a lot of things." Alistair heaved a long sigh and rubbed his temples. "Look, I won't fight about it. It will only increase my headache again, which I just got rid of. Do as you want, just be aware that you put another life at risk with that. The Deep Roads are dangerous."

"Oh really?" She rolled her eyes, tired of this useless discussion.

"And I don't trust him..." he added rather sheepishly.

"I don't care, he'll be useful," she replied briskly. "Now give me the treaties, I will add them to the letter to give it the needed credibility. We won't need them down there, anyway." The elf scowled after Alistair handed her the ancient documents and the letter. "The dreams will get worse in the Deep Roads, right?"

His expression softened again, the tone in his voice calmer. "I really don't know that. I was never there before myself. But assuming we'll be so close to the horde, I would suppose so, yes."

Lenya looked away and swallowed. "I...see."

_Vir Assan_ , she thought while calming her nerves again, breathing deeply, _fly straight and do not waver._

"Well, a few days still until we have all the supplies and are ready to depart." The Dalish spun on her heels, suddenly eager to be alone.

"Lenya?" He called after her.

She stopped, although reluctantly. "What?"

"I don't know why exactly, but I still feel the need to apologize. For yesterday."

She sighed. "Again?"

He chuckled. "Seems to become a habit of mine, huh? I hadn't planned for that..." he searched for words but found none " ...uhh to happen," Alistair finished eventually.

The elf turned and glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "For getting drunk? No need, I wanted that. If I'm going to die in that darkspawn shit-hole, I wanted to have fun for at least once. Good night." Without further words she strode out of his room, closing the door behind herself.

_Fun, ehh?_ He stared at the closed door for a moment, then smiled. "Good night."

.

.

* * *

.

"Ahh, tis you. Want do you want, Lenya? 'Tis a bit late for a visit, so make it quick."

Morrigan sat on the bed and glanced up from the tome she was reading. The room was softly lit by the glowstones and the witch had her few belongings piled tidily in one corner, so that it almost appeared uninhabited. It was a jarring contrast to the chaos in the elf's own room.

"I know, sorry about that," Lenya muttered, surprised by the unusual sight before her. The neatly bounded bun the witch normally wore was gone. Instead her long raven hair cascaded freely around her face, framing it with skeins as black as the night itself. "Though, I also know that I'll forget it otherwise."

"What? That tis not your room? Already happened, it seems."

Lenya sighed, pointing on the wrapped object in her hand. "No _that._ Just take it, okay?"

She nearly shoved it into her face, leaving the witch no other choice than to obey.

"What is that?" Morrigan asked at first, then unfolded the cloth. "A m-mirror?"

For the brink of a moment, she lost the ability to speak, her breath hitched as she carefully drove her fingers over the golden frame.

"This...this is almost exactly like the mirror, that Flemeth had once smashed on the ground." Morrigan turned it around and observed the fine details on the mirror's back, completely caught by memories and a rush of rather complicated emotions, she didn't welcome. She shook it off and looked up to the still waiting elf. "Where did you get this? You surely must want something for giving me this."

Lenya couldn't help to smile. Morrigan and she were more alike than she thought. Her words resembled those the Dalish had said only days ago to Alistair, as he gifted her the sword.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's a gift. I found it while browsing for the needed supplies. It reminded me on the story you have told me, so I bought it. That is all."

Morrigan scoffed. "That is all, she says. As if I'm used to get gifts just like that." The acrimony in her voice faded, replaced by wistfulness, perhaps? Lenya wasn't sure. "Never have I received a gift that did not come at a price."

Lenya shrugged, a smile tugged at her lips. "_Na'nehn_...- you are welcome."

Morrigan's fingertips outlined the delicate carvings within it and marveled on how similar it looked to the mirror she once found as a child. She breathed deeply to recover her emotions before answering. "I think I should thank you for the gift then. 'Tis most thoughtful of you. I don't know what else to say."

"There is no need, really. I wanted you to have this. Good night, Morrigan." Lenya had reached the door, the handle already in her hand, as she stopped and turned around again. "When we depart in a few days, I want you to accompany us into the Deep Roads."

"So there is _something_ you wanted in return for it after all..." There was a disappointed nuance in Morrigan's voice.

"No, I want you to come with me, because you are one of the few people around me who are actually making sense."

A hint of a smile crept into Morrigan's face. "I see."

.

.

* * *

.

The next few days were packed with hectic preparations, armor fitting and gathering the rest of the supplies for the unknown trip into the Deep Roads.

Fortunately, Lord Harrowmont kept his word and provided them with the needed supplies and ingredients for the anti-corruption potions, which Morrigan learned to make with Nithius' assistance. Lenya spent much of the time secluded from the others in the Shaper's library and read, or was training in the Diamond's quarters own exercise grounds. Both helped her gradually to keep her nervous mind in check, as the days past by and the journey into the Deep Roads approached closer.

Once they descended into that place, there would be no turning back to Orzammar until they succeeded with their task...or died. They would be thoroughly closed in under old, thick stone, while wandering on corrupted, darkspawn infested paths to find a long lost paragon. Not really a reassuring thought for the elf and therefore she struggled hard to come to terms with the decision she made.

On the fourth day all preparations were finished and her companions were ready to depart. Fully armored and armed, they all gathered in the commons, right in front of the way that led to the entrance of the Deep Roads. Lenya wore a dark set of reinforced, studded leather which gave her more protection without to limit her flexibility in the end. This new armor finally covered all of her cleavage which gave her less the feeling of having a _'shoot here'_ sign around her neck. Though she was sure that the darkspawn wouldn't bother either way.

Despite the rather loud ado around them was the tension almost palpable, the mood within the group outright nervous.

"Creators, can someone tell me that _there is_ in fact a compelling reason to risk my..._our_ lives for such an inane task?" Lenya rubbed her face with both gloved hands and sighed, annoyed.

"The Blight? For the needed treaties and troops?" Alistair offered, though not fully convinced himself. He frowned as he thought her words over. She was right, it was completely and utterly insane to brave the Deep Roads so...needlessly. He had never expected, nor planned, to see this place within the next thirty years.

Then again he had never expected to be one of the two last Grey Warden in Ferelden either, so he actually couldn't afford to be...picky about it. Which made it no less frustrating, however – rather the opposite.

"Been there, done that." The Dalish glared at him, a warning tone in her voice. "I swear, if you now start going on about how this is my duty as a Grey Warden I might slap you across the face, human."

Morrigan leaned forward and smirked. "Somehow I'm intrigued to see _that_."

The Warden raised his gloved hands in defense, his thick plate armor creaking with the movement. "I haven't said anything..." he said apologetically, before his tone became more sarcastic, " ...but thanks for the warning. Too kind."

"Are we done talking? There are darkspawn to kill." Sten interjected, irritated, and pointed to the entrance of the Deep Roads.

"Yeah right. Darkspawn, Deep Roads and tedious durgen'len politics. My new life is really charming." Lenya rolled her eyes and walked over to the red-headed human, who stood rather secluded from the rest of the group.

"Take this." The elf handed Leliana the letter, treaties and her pouch, "You know what to do, right?"

Leliana nodded, a sad smile on her lips. "I thank you for putting the trust in me, Lenya. I just hope it won't be necessary for me to do this."

She shrugged. "Well, if you mean with trust that I trust you to find your way back home to Orlais _if needed,_ then yes. Otherwise, fat chance." Lenya turned to Arai who looked at her and whined reproachful. She bent down to cuddle the Mabari. "Don't worry boy, I'll be back. Just watch that this stupid human doesn't vanish with the money and the documents, the moment I turn around, you hear me?" He tilted his head, slightly confused but then barked as if agreeing.

Leliana sighed. "I won't. Believe me. I would have come with you bu – "

"Whatever. " Lenya cut her off and turned to her companions. "Let's go then. I just can't wait any longer. Too excited." Her voice was full of scorn.

"Warden!"

The elf half-stopped in her movements, letting out an annoyed groan. She whirled around, only to look into the face of a red-headed, bearded dwarf. He was armored in heavy dwarven plate, an enormous silverite axe swung across his back. The face of the dwarf appeared familiar to her somehow, but she couldn't put her finger on it from _where_ exactly.

"What?" She groused to him, as he approached.

"Heh. So you were serious when you were saying you want to search for our paragon." He peered over to the other companions, recognizing Alistair within the group. "Hey fancy boy, you are here too, I see."

"Since I'm a Grey Warden as well, that's hardly a surprise, really." Alistair muttered.

"No, I actually just want to make a nice trip down there to enjoy the view. You know, darkspawn are so _cuddly,"_ she answered caustically. "_Of course_ I am, dwarf, but why do you care anyway? Another missed family member I should search for? No time for that."

The dwarf grinned. "Heh, you could say that. You search for Branka and I'm her husband after all. I'm the only one who cares for her as a person and not only some sodding symbol. Name is Oghren."

Lenya was not impressed. "Uh-huh, good for you. And this should interest me...because?"

"Plain and simple, Warden," Oghren leaned forward to her and started to explain, "You work for Harrowmont. I heard he sent his men to investigate where exactly she disappeared and shared this knowledge with you. If you want to find Branka you need someone who knows how she thinks. So let us pool this knowledge together. Otherwise good sodding luck, heh."

"Meaning... you want to come with us?" Alistair inquired, raising one eyebrow.

The dwarf grinned."Yup. So let's go then."

"No." She crossed her arms, glaring down at him. "I have already enough lunatics following me around."

"Perfect. What's one more then?" His grin broadened, ignoring her fierce body language that screamed rejection – maybe even repulsion – at his sight. He was used to such a behavior toward him and therefore he didn't bother. "Look, I know what Branka was searching for and it is far past of Caridin's Cross within the Ortan Thaig. The Anvil of the Void, the legendary forge on which the ancient smith Caridin created golem's, but it got lost centuries ago. She planned to start looking there."

Shale tilted Its head, suddenly interested. "Golem's? The drunken midget knows where I was made? Maybe the painted elf should take It along for now. We can squish It later."

Alistair brought the map forth and studied it, mumbling confused. "Ortan Thaig? That isn't on the map Harrowmont gave us."

"Of course it isn't, Warden," Oghren said, ignoring Lenya's still lasting glare, "No one has been there for five hundred years." Then a bit prouder, "But I sodding know the way. So?"

"Lenya," Nithius spoke up." If he knows the way then why don't we let him come along? Given, he seems to be a bit crazy, but he is a dwarf and we are descending in the Deep Roads, no less."

"Thanks for stating the obvious, flat ear," she snapped into the mage's direction, making him flinch. "But it's my decision and I said NO!"

Nithius turned around to Alistair, who just casually shrugged. "Welcome into our group of sturdy-heads. Enjoy your stay."

"So little Missy is the boss here, aye?" Oghren peered amused at the Dalish. "Somehow you were nicer the last time I saw you – when you were drunk. Heh."

With that last comment from him, she suddenly remembered where she had seen that face before. In one swift movement, she drew her sword and pointed it at his neck. "Don't ever talk to me like _that_ again!"

She inched closer, her posture all tense. "I don't like you, durgen'len. You reek, you are vulgar and constantly drunk. Why should I even remotely think that following you _is_ a good idea?"

"Heh, I love you too," he snorted, unimpressed with the tip of her sword pressed onto his neck. "A reason the Missy – " The pressure on his neck increased and the dwarf corrected himself, " ...Warden wants? I can fight and I'm tired of sitting around on my ass waiting for someone to actually do something to find Branka. Two sodding years it has taken until ya and your group came along. I don't want to wait any longer."

He held her fiery stare, none of both moved for a long moment. Eventually Lenya lowered her sword and he grinned. "So we have a deal, I see."

"One false movement and you are dead," Lenya hissed in return and spun on her heels toward the Deep Roads entrance, sheathing the sword on her side again. The others had no choice but to follow her.

Oghren was still grinning as the elf was barking at the guards to let her through. "Heh, this could be fun."

"Just to let you know Wardens, we will close the entrance after you have entered. Aside the Legion of Dead, we are the last line that stands between the darkspawn and Orzammar." The guard explained and Lenya merely nodded, her eyes transfixed on the gate that started opening.

As the creaking stone came to a halt, the doors revealed a gaping maw of tunnels, enveloped in complete darkness. Alistair gagged at the overwhelming stench of decay belching forth at them from the shadows, making it impossible to breathe. The Warden needed to avert his face for a moment to sustain at least a part of his dignity and bit the bile down again.

"May the Ancestors be with you." The guard behind them uttered, but Lenya hardly registered it. She stepped closer within, her lithe frame half enveloped in the shadows. The elf looked up into the bleak, darkened hallway and a shudder ran down her spine, the feeling chilled her deep within her bones.

No turning back anymore.

Lenya shortly closed her eyes, whispering a short elvish prayer to herself.

And after one final breath she and her group descended into the darkness.

* * *

_Review please _:)


	32. Welcome to the Deep Roads

**_There in the depths of the earth they dwelled,_**

**_Spreading their taint as a plague, growing in number_**

**_Until they were a multitude._**

**_And together they searched even deeper_**

**_Until they have found their prize,_**

**_Their god, their betrayer._**

_– Canticle of Threnodies 8:27_

* * *

**Chapter 31: Welcome to the Deep Roads**

.

"Lovely here. No, really."

Alistair's voice echoed in the hollow emptiness of the Deep Roads, and he suppressed a shudder as they moved forward within the complete darkness. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword that he kept drawn for the sake of a more secure feeling, which was nothing more than a treacherous illusion. Yet he preferred this illusion to the myriads of other feelings that were trying to creep up his skin, uneasiness and distress the most harmless ones among them.

It was warm here, even warmer than in Orzammar and the stale air reeked of death, filling his nostrils with its unwanted foul stench. It was like walking in a pool of filth, although the path was made only of stone and their footsteps echoed hollow underneath. He swallowed hard not to gag again, as he had when they entered and willed himself to become accustomed to this atrocious smell.

_Well, it seems I will have much time to achieve that._

The Warden tried to humor himself with that thought but it had the opposite effect.

_No turning back anymore._

Alistair looked back and sighed deeply, commanding his feet to move further even though every fiber of his body screamed to abandon this place and run back to Orzammar. The other gauntleted hand pressed around the torch he held to sparsely light their way that seemed to descend even deeper within the earth.

The pensiveness within the group was so palpable that he even could hear them breathing. Alistair didn't know if the uneasy feeling was any different for a non-Warden, but as he peered over to his companions and saw nothing but grave expressions within their faces, he very much doubted that. Maybe it was intensified for the Grey Wardens instead.

Great...

His eyes flicked to Lenya, whose expression appeared calm and concentrated, but the laborious way she breathed and her tense posture told him another story. The Dalish looked up and their eyes met, a hint of anxiety visible within hers. He wanted to say something, anything, to calm her down but it would just have been empty words because he wasn't less afraid himself. So he remained still, lips pressed together as he moved on at her side.

They followed the long hall way down for what felt like hours – or days. Down here, surrounded by the oppressive darkness, time had little meaning and it was all too easy to lose all feeling for it. The deeper they went, the more the darkness seemed to enclose them and only got barely supplanted by the light of the torches and Morrigan's staff. It was hard to orientate in such a bleak environment, so the group had to stop several times to check the map to not get lost so early. That they advanced deeper within the Deep Roads became visible – and palpable – for both Grey Wardens after some time. Along the stone walls threaded spidery tendrils of black rot, where like a shining film of oil they covered nearly every part of the wall.

Alistair shuddered. "You feel that?"

Lenya threw him an annoyed look. "Hard to ignore, really."

Morrigan observed the walls with a disgusted expression. "Ugh. Tis purest darkspawn corruption." Then her head turned to Nithius, who was walking beside her. "I wouldn't touch that if I were you, elf."

He startled up and instantly withdrew his fingers, which were dangerously close to the black film. "Sorry, you are right. I guess I was too curious to know what this feels like."

"How that feels?" Lenya snapped and touched the wall, surprised at first that the wall was dry, despite the watery look. "Like shit. Big humming shit in my head. That is what it feels like."

Oghren snorted at that.

"Tehehee, seems Missy is pissy." He looked over to Shale and guffawed at his own joke. "Get it, get it?"

The Golem only let a long-suffering sigh out and chose to ignore him otherwise.

Lenya glanced over to her fellow Warden. "Give me one good reason not to kill him on the spot..."

"We... would get instantly lost within the Deep Roads?" he offered after a moment of thinking.

"Sure, because the alternative of following a drunken, retarded dwarf is so much better."

Oghren shrugged. "Hey just trying to lighten up the mood here. Everyone is so grim." He looked over to Shale again. "So. Do golems know any good jokes? "

"I know at least one. It is a drunken dwarf that travels with the Grey Wardens, constantly belching and making cheap jokes without recognizing that It is the cheapest – "

"Bah, enough. A smart-ass golem aren't you, huh?"

"Offended? Must I remind the drunken midget that It asked for it?" With that the creature quickened its pace and went to the front of the group.

A little snickering resounded from behind Oghren, coming from Nithius. "Had I known how amusing it is to travel with you all, I would have done it earlier."

"Yeah, we are funny like that. Stick around until Tuesday for some action however – that's the usual ritual dismemberment day," Alistair remarked rather caustically and wasn't even sorry for the tone in his voice.

The Warden was annoyed, to put it mildly.

Walking for hours in nothing but narrow and grimy hallways, uncertain when or if they ever would arrive at their destination, was grating on his nerves. Now where the corruption had started to spread along the walls and floors the permanent humming within his head had increased, making the feeling of being constantly watched even more prominent than before. It was even difficult to discern if this had been only his imagination, or if it was _reality._

Alistair glanced over to Lenya, thankful for not being the only Warden here. She, however, appeared composed as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, though her glare bore into the back of the leading dwarf. Then again, Lenya appeared always calm, so this was no indication for her not feeling all this. Maybe she was just concentrating on not murder-knifing Oghren while he walked so conveniently in front of her. He chuckled quietly, finding a bit of much needed amusement in the mental picture this thought conjured.

"What?" Her head snapped to him, irritated.

"Oh nothing." Alistair shot her a lopsided grin, "I was just asking myself whom do you like less: Leliana, Oghren or darkspawn."

The Dalish looked straight ahead into the darkness again and sighed. "Do I really have to choose?"

He laughed lightly, now actually amused. "Nah, I suppose not. I'm just glad not to find myself on this list."

In Oghren's case, Lenya's dislike had been even more obvious than it had been with Leliana. Upon their first meeting, the red-headed woman had at least not ended up with the tip of Lenya's sword pointed at her neck.

"Don't make me rectify that," she growled to him without further regard.

"Oh please not, where we were starting to get along so well," he jested with a wry smile. "Anyway, question time. Can you ...well...discern if there are some darkspawn close? This whole corruption around us here makes me itchy...and confused."

Her eyebrow shot up. "That are you asking me?"

"It seems so, yes."

She groaned at first but then closed her eyes, letting the humming around her deliberately filling her senses. The human was right, it was difficult to discern any presence other than the corruption around them, and the elf had to concentrate hard. She had never tried to listen in before and doubted she would be any good at it, but all she could detect so far was the eerily familiar presence of her fellow Warden.

"No, I think not," she finally stated. "Though I don't have the smart-ass advantage of six months like you have. So I could be wrong and a horde will attack us every minute. Hard to tell with all the corruption here."

Alistair frowned. "That is... a reassuring thought."

Lenya shrugged nonchalantly. "It would be a change to the dull walking at least."

With that the elf hurried to accompany Shale at the front of the group and all conversations were omitted for another couple of hours.

.

.

* * *

.

"We should rest."

Alistair's request fell on deaf ears as the Dalish simply continued walking. Many hours had passed since the last time he had raised his voice, the atmosphere too tense and oppressive for light chatting. The signs of darkspawn corruption had become gradually worse and pools of stale, brown water filled portions of the cave they marched through. The air was thick and the reek of the foul water made it hard to breathe.

A shiver run down Lenya's spine in spite of the accumulated heat within this place. The corruption here was palpable in every fiber of her being, nearly singing to her. She gritted her teeth, hating every little bit of that feeling, but was unable to shake it off.

"Lenya..." he tried again.

No reaction. At least not from the elf herself.

"Stop barking, idiot," Morrigan muttered, the light of her wooden staff emphasizing her glare. "Look around, do you really want to rest here? If so, I will gladly leave you here to rot. 'Twould make no difference to the foul stench whatsoever."

Alistair sighed, irritated, and returned the hateful look to the witch. "I'm not saying now and right in this moment, Morrigan. I'm just saying that we should consider the possibility of setting up camp soon while there are no signs of darkspawn. We can't possibly press forward all at once on until we have reached Caridin's Cross."

"Why not?" Lenya suddenly snapped. "It's only three days until Caridin's Cross and we already have walked a great distance."

"Heh, be not so sure about that, Missy," Oghren interjected. "True, we rushed down the last passages like wild brontos, but we have only managed to make a quarter of the way so far. Also it would be nice to sit on the ass for a while and have a drink, if ya know whadda mean."

The Dalish fixed him with her stare. "We. Will. Move. On."

That was about the extent of talkativeness and patience she could muster without resorting to stabbing someone in the face. She was incredibly angry and didn't even know why, but being confined in a corrupted, stinky place even _under_ Orzammar was surely part of the reason. She hated the rocks, she hated the corruption, she hated the smell and simply every_ single_ moment here.

"But you can't possibly intend to walk all the way at once, Lenya. This is insane. We need our rest in case we waltz into a deepstalker lair again, or worse encounter a horde of darksp – " Alistair's words of protest died down as he suddenly felt the steel of her dagger at his neck.

"Shut up!" She growled loudly, the raw anger contorted the lines of her face. "You made me lead, so stop complaining every single time and simple move your damn shemlen ass!"

Although he was physically stronger than her, Alistair didn't try to remove the threatening blade from his neck. In this very moment, he was too shocked to do anything but to stare at her, his beseeching eyes locked within her furious glare. Neither of them relented, both remaining frozen in their place.

Shale's interest was piqued. "Will It kill the clown knight now?"

"That would be unwise," Sten said with a disapproving grunt.

"For that they have to move first," Morrigan added with a roll of her eyes.

"What..." Alistair breathed and if as a spell were broken, the Dalish whirled around and practically stormed into the long, dark hall before them, heedless of their companions standing still in place. Alistair's heart pounded furiously underneath the breastplate and even if the situation was more or less solved, he found himself unable to move. He blinked. _What was that now?_

"Uh, lots of tension around here." Oghren grinned at Alistair and waggled his thick eyebrows. "You sure you both never rolled the oats before?"

Morrigan made a face. "Ugh. Tis a disturbing image you have conjured there, dwarf."

"Heh, I have more of where this came from." The dwarf farted. "See?"

Her expression shifted into pure disgust. "Even the Chasind did not have such disgusting habits, and they consumed the flesh of the dead. I should flame you alive at the instant."

"Try that, woman." he laughed. "Your magic is useless against a dwarf like me. There's nothing you could do."

"Nothing? I could not, for instance, kick you in your manhood?"

"Bah, now that's just violent," he muttered and his gaze wandered to Alistair again. "Hey Warden, do you plan to grow roots in this place that smells worse than my farts? Heh, didn't know that this was possible."

"It is moments like this when I am grateful for the inability to smell," Shale said, then peered into the long hallway. "We should probably follow it."

"I agree," Nithius nodded and nervously side-glanced into the darkness where Lenya had disappeared. "Is she always like that? Quite the temper." His eyes darted to the Warden again, who still didn't move. "Alistair?"

"Crap." The Warden breathed heavily and wished he was just wrong, but having become somewhat acclimated to the corruption around him, there was no doubt. He felt _their_ presence. They were tugging at the edge of his consciousness, filling his senses. "Darkspawn." And without a doubt they have sensed him, too. "They are not far aw – "

A loud explosion disrupted his words, and a flaring light of fire illuminated the hallway that his fellow Warden had disappeared into. Alistair's eyes widened and he ran that direction, weapon and shield ready within a second. "Lenya!"

She appeared right after that, her body completely covered with soot and dust, darting to where her alerted companions still lingered and waited for the attack. Alistair let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as she finally stood aside him again. The Dalish only shrugged. "Fire bomb. Told you I was shopping."

"We are getting compan – "

She readied the bow she was shouldering. "I know. The bomb possibly killed a few but overall it just slowed them down. Huge horde."

Her eyes roamed over the area, discerning two entrances in the cave. While it was a fairly wide place, it only had a narrowed path in the middle, enclosed by pools of fetid, corrupted water. Not an optimal fighting ground, but they hadn't another choice left. She sensed the darkspawn coming from both sides, trying to..._flank_ them? How was that possible when they didn't notice their presence earlier?

Lenya cursed under her breath and screamed to Morrigan. "Fireball, the other direction. Now! Nithius, stay with Morrigan."

Both mages nodded and the witch did as told, casting a massive ball of flame toward the other entrance as the darkspawn began to swarm in. Shale was already running in that direction, its footsteps echoing dully over the ground. Heedless of the still lasting effect of the fireball around it, the golem commented its rapid work with the stony fists rather appropriately: "Squiiiish."

"Heh, finally some action here," Ohgren laughed as he sunk his axe into the nearest darkspawn beside Shale. It was a horde of ten, maybe fifteen hurlocks and genlocks in total, enclosing and swarming the Wardens and their companions from both sides.

Morrigan cursed as the dwarf was blocking her way, right as she was ready to cast a lightning bolt to follow her initial spell. She turned and thrashed it into the other direction instead, shocking three pale genlocks at once, which twitched heavily as they hit the ground. The sorceress grinned satisfied at that, before her knees threatened to give in. Nithius reflexively supported her, earning him a glare in return.

"Don't overdo it, Morrigan!" Lenya barked at her and readied an arrow, and tried to remember what little training she had with a distance weapon. She strained the side and unleashed it at the next hurlock appearing. The arrow whizzed right past aside the head it was intended to hit.

"Sod it!" the Dalish cursed and dismissed the bow to storm at the approaching creature with her blades raised instead.

Using the momentum of her speed to her advantage, she sliced it down at its abdomen without stopping or looking much. The other attacker behind it didn't seem to mind the loss of its companion, as his hollow gaze fixed the female Warden, hissing low and deathly.

"Uh, I'm shaking in fear, really" The Dalish muttered and rammed her dagger into its front, twisted it and decapitated the genlock archer with her another blade before it even was done unsheathing its daggers. Spinning around within the spraying of black ichor, she witnessed how her fellow Warden was about to do the same.

He thrashed a hurlock – which was about his size – with his steely shield down and gutted it in one swift movement. His head immediately snapped up again at the flare of magic brushing him. Alistair discerned an emissary approaching from the other side and cursed, already summoning his Templar abilities as he darted into its direction. Half of the way he released the spell and smote the tainted creature back with force, hindering it to complete its wrecking spell.

Alas, Morrigan stood in its radius too, taking the elf mage with her as she hit the ground, groaning.

"Oops."

Seeing that she was conscious, Alistair went on to charge at the darkspawn mage and killed it quickly. He trusted the others to protect her instead while his holy smite spell lasted, if not...well he wouldn't be too troubled.

A hurlock was flanking the Dalish and charged at her with full speed. She was able to parry the first blow, yet thrown back by the force, and as she tried to regain a stable stance, it assaulted her anew. The elf managed to pivot to her left, and slashed its side within the momentum. The darkspawn howled out, baring its rotten fangs, as it spun around. With raw rage it sprang upon the elf and threw her down into the filth, sinking the fangs into her shoulder as both fell.

She hissed, momentarily stunned by pain and stars swimming before her eyes. Willing herself to her senses, Lenya scrambled backward by instinct, instantly groping for her dagger and thrashed blindly forward. She plunged the blade into the hurlock's abdomen by sheer luck, immediately twisting the knife within its innards and watched with satisfaction as it sunk to the ground, though not yet completely dead.

Finally having a moment to breathe, Alistair glanced in the direction of his fellow Warden and gasped as saw her on the ground. Quickly he hurried over, arriving justly as she slit the darkspawn's throat and glowered spitefully at its corpse. The Dalish jolted up and kicked the dead body with all her stored anger. "Is your biting supposed to kill me? I'm a _Grey Warden_, bastard!"

"Biting?" he asked, then Alistair discovered that she was clamping her left shoulder, a mixture of red and black blood seeping from it.

"Oh," he blinked. "...are you okay?" _Smooth Alistair, real smooth__._

Lenya snorted indignantly, the sound all but ladylike. "Yeah, never ever better. Unless you have something to tell me about Grey Wardens and darkspawn biting wounds."

"Umm, no?"

"Good." She turned away from him, hissing at the fiery burn in her shoulder.

Since the rest of their companions had no problems dealing with the few darkspawn left, the Dalish focused her mind once more on listening for them. As refreshing as it had been to do something else than just walking, her desire for another surprise attack was rather slim. As she closed her eyes, she noticed how the humming of the remaining darkspawn in her head diminished, and she heard Sten's outcry followed by a moistened crunching sound. Another one of her group apparently had slain the last of those creatures, because an alluring silence reclaimed her mind. One she welcomed greatly.

"Lenya?" It was his voice again, disrupting her fragile peace of mind. "We should tend the wound, before –– " his words halted and were replaced by a rather unmanly squeak. "Morrigan!"

A flaring heat was scarcely grazing Lenya's arm and her eyes shot open, shocked. "WHAT?"

"I'll kill that idiot. I'll kill him." Morrigan shouted and fixed the Warden with a murderous glare, another ball of fire dancing within her palm.

"Help?" Alistair tried his best to hide behind his fellow Warden, which appeared, due to the difference in size, more than comical.

"How dare you to smite me, Templar twit!"

"In case you haven't noticed, I attacked the emissary not you," came the sheepish reply from behind Lenya's back. "You were just in the way of it. NOT my fault," Alistair added as an afterthought.

"I don't care. Now step aside, Lenya!"

"Shemlen." The elven woman sighed extensively and rolled her eyes at that.

Heedless of the two humans bickering, Nithius stepped in front of the Dalish, observing the biting wound with a frown. "You are hurt!"

She shrugged with her healthy shoulder. "Won't kill me, I'm immune. Unless there is an_ extra _taint for the taint. Wouldn't be surprised, though."

"Still we should – " the mage trailed off and summoned the spirits of the fade for a healing spell. Blue light flared around the biting wound and the Dalish sighed with relief as the wound closed and the burning stopped.

Oghren peered at Morrigan, who still hadn't given up threatening Alistair and grinned. "Heh, this woman got fire, ehh?" Turning to Sten, he snorted. "Get it, get it?"

The Qunari bestowed him with a mere confused frown before looking away again.

"You know, Nithius..." Lenya reclaimed her weapons from the ground and turned to go, ignoring everyone else. "...slowly I do believe that you are the only one with some sense here."

The elf mage grinned at that. "Glad to hear, my lady."


	33. Insomnia

_**A/N:** A somewhat in between chapter. Lots of dialogue, more background on Nithius and a cultural misunderstanding. This chapters lesson: Being a Grey Warden is fun...**not**. Since I throw in a bit o' good ol' elvish, the translation is to find at the end of the chapter. Thanks like always to beta-licious Malymin *hug*  
_

* * *

_**With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.**_

_**It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.**_

–––– _Canticle of Transfiguration 1:5  
_

* * *

**Chapter 32: Insomnia**

"So, you _are_ a Templar?"

Nithius warmed his hands on the fire and looked curiously at the Warden sitting across from him. After the darkspawn ambush they had moved on for another a long while, until exhaustion won over Lenya's sturdy mind – or rather that of her companions. She had only reluctantly stopped, and was now sitting on the bare ground and staring silently into the sparse flames of their campfire.

"I was trained as a Templar, yes, but I got recruited into the Grey Wardens before I took my final vow. And I'll be always thankful for that."

The elf mage was slightly confused. "So, you are _not_ a Templar but have their... abilities?"

"Yes, it's helpful against darkspawn mages, as you have seen. So I kept it up, even after being recruited." Alistair rummaged in his backpack aside beside him, bringing pulling out a large water-skin forth that was had been a gift of from Lord Harrowmont. He took a great large swallow of the clean Orzammar water and sighed contentedly.

"Heh, good choice. A dwarven flask enchanted with a magical dwoemer," Oghren pointed at the little rune set into the water-skin, " ...never gets empty. I have one myself...but there is no sodding water in it."

With that the dwarf gulped down the brewery in his flask and belched extensively after he stopped.

Lenya made a face. "Ugh, you are disgusting."

"Heh, thanks, Missy," he simply said and continued drinking.

Alistair observed her irked reaction and couldn't help to smile. "I always wondered how that worked, actually. Though this explains a great deal how the dwarf can be constantly drunk and we never run out of fresh water."

"Yes, it is one of the easiest enchantments," Nithius explained," . "I heard the Legion of the Dead are using thoseuses them as well, since the water down here is ... corrupted."

Lenya's head snapped up. " Legion of the Dead?"

"Dwarven warriors who gave up their prior life to fight for their families and Orzammar against the darkspawn in the Deep Roads," the elf mage answered.

"That is stupid. Why would someone freely do this?"

Alistair shrugged absently as he spoke. "Their houses are often dishonored, if I remember correctly. So some disgraced dwarves will choose to go through a ceremonial 'death' to clear their names and the names of their families. Well, it is somehow not so different from what we Grey Wardens are doing, Lenya. And isn't quelling a Blight worth it, after all?"

She snorted derisively. "As if _this _has been my choice. I wasn't screaming _'pick me, pick me' _as when Duncan came along, like you were, puppy."

Alistair gave her a wry smile. " No, actually I heard that you had bitten him on the way to Osta – " he trailed off at the bitter memory, swallowing hard. "Never mind. You are here and I'm... thankful for that fact."

"Uh-huh." Absentmindedly, the Dalish poked the sparse firewood with her sword, resting her head in the other hand.

He watched her doing for a moment, recognizing the weary expression that shone through, even with all the dust and blood in her face. "Why don't you rest a bit, Lenya?"

"Huh?"

"Well, you look tired and it's not necessary that both of us stay awake. I can sense darkspawn too, you know?"

"Oh really?" She continued to poke the fire, fully ignoring Alistair's suggestion.

"Yes, great huh?" he laughed, insecurely. "Also Shale and Sten are keeping watch as well and there are no darkspawn within reach. So you should – "

"I'm NOT tired!" Lenya suddenly snapped, tossing her sword to the side. "Nor do I need someone to tell me when I have to do sleep. So stop treating me like a delicate flower."

She jolted up from her place and disappeared into the other, darker corner of their camp.

Alistair mouth stood agape as he watched after her, bewildered. "Have I done something wrong now?"

"Nithius grinned. "Well, Dalish women are – "

" – touchy?"

He chuckled. "I was aiming for independent, freedom-loving and proud, actually."

"Rrriiiight, don't forget sturdy."

The elf inched a bit closer and lowered his voice. "True, you can't persuade a Dalish woman to do anything she doesn't want herself, which is a good trait, actually. But even _if _they _do_ want something, their unyielding pride gets often in the way. _That_ is the frustrating part."

"Oh, right, you do know about the Dalish, huh? Since you...lived with them, I mean."

"Though I must admit that Lenya is feistier than every Dalish woman I have met until now." The elf glanced up to the Warden, his expression a bit impish. "And I like that, don't you not?"

"I... – well, she is my fellow Warden." Alistair shifted in his place, feeling... _embarrassed?_ Why? He couldn't grasp the reason for it. Well okay there was the fact that he was discussing Lenya with a practical stranger after all. If _that_ wasn't a reason to feel uneasy than he didn't know what was.

Nithius smirked knowingly. "I see."

.

~V~

.

"It is angry." Shale stated and glanced down at the Dalish, who was muttering under her breath.

"No, I'm not," she growled, then sighed. "Well maybe a bit..."

"Why? There are no birds here. So the place can't be the reason. It does hate those flying, evil vermin's, does It not? No one with sense would like them. And It looks like as It has more sense than the clown knight."

She blinked. "Err, yes. Thanks, Shale."

"Pah. Don't be flattered. That doesn't mean much. It is still a squishy, fleshy creature."

Lenya rubbed wearily her stained face wearily. "Maybe I'm angry, because I'm tired, I don't know."

"Why doesn't It sleep then?"

The rubbing of her face was accompanied by an adamant shaking of the head. "No, I can't. I _won't_. Because of the dreams here." She sighed through her gloves, then looked up. "Don't worry, I don't expect you to understand."

"Maybe it should become a golem then. I'm superior anyway. I don't need sleep, don't dream, or eat. And I can easily squish all those stinky darkspawn, who are almost as bad as birds. _Almost_."

She smiled slightly. "Thanks, Shale, but I actually like being Dalish."

_The Warden part, however – _Lenya shook her head, willing this the thought out of her mind. "So do you think we will find more out about how golems were made here in the Deep Roads? Maybe even about who you were before becoming a golem?"

Shale let out a disgusted noise. "Me a fleshy creature? Bah. Never."

"So, you don't want to know?"

The golem shrugged. "I'm unsure about it. I only remembering being given orders all the time. 'Golem, get this. Golem, scare the bandits away'. But beyond that ...nothing."

She frowned. "That sounds quite sad. Was confinement the reason you killed your former master, that mage?"

"Possible. Would _It_ want to remember Its past, if It didn't know it?" Shale peered expectantly at the elf.

The past. Lenya has had many moments in her life, that she could reminiscence fondly on. But those memories were also the ones that could hurt her now so easily... which were too _dangerous_ to remember on.

_Tamlen..._

Her breath hitched, but the Dalish managed to maintain a straight face, as she answered. "I think so. They made me to who I am today."

Her admission was said with a slightly bitter tone.

"Hmm, I will think about what It has said. Maybe It isn't so useless. It has found me some augmentation crystals after all. Well done."

Lenya observed the faint- violet shimmering of Shale's crystals, which was set almost everywhere within its stony skin.

"Yes, they are indeed pretty," she muttered quietly and turned to go.

.

~V~

.

"...as for the life in the Chantry, " Alistair sighed, " well let's just say that life wasn't one I chose, or would choose, for that matter."

Lenya returned to the campfire, where her fellow Warden was still talking avidly with Nithius. Without further to regard the two men, she wordlessly plunged down onto the ground again.

"Oh, you are back, I see. Nice."

"Shut up."

"And still in such a good mood. I'm impressed," Alistair chuckled, handing her some hard tack, dried fruits and a beefy stick. "Hungry?"

Lenya fixed him with a stare, but eventually took the plate of food. She wordlessly started to eat and ignored the ongoing conversation.

"You know, it's ironic that I'm called an apostate, just because I don't live in the jail the Chantry calls a tower." Nithius sighed, driving through his dust-coated, raven hair with one hand. "I'm only adapt adept in healing and supporting magic. What shall I do to harm someone? Thwack them with my staff?"

"Become an abomination, perhaps?" shot out Alistair's mouth before he could stop the thought.

Nithius frowned. "The Chantry taught you well, I see. Not every mage outside the tower is becoming an abomination by default, Alistair." The elf glanced over to Lenya, who took a huge swig out of her water skin to digest the dry food. "The Dalish elves, for example, are handling their old magic just fine without the Circle's influence."

"I – Sorry. I didn't mean it like that." Alistair scratched the back of his head, embarrassed."Must be the weeks in Morrigan's _wonderful _presence, I suppose. You seem more ...okay."

"For an apostate? Why, thank you." Nithius laughed at Alistair's clumsy choice of words, but appreciated the attempt. "Just kidding. You really don't like Morrigan, huh?"

"What?" The Warden encountered with feinted feigned shock. "No, we are all a one big, happy family, actually. Holding hands and dancing around the fire together, that sort of things. Too bad that she was already too tired for that today."

"Certainly. Why did you take bring her along then, anyway?"

Alistair heaved his broad shoulders to a shrug, looking over at his fellow Warden.

"Not my idea, mind you. Lenya is rather fond of her, which is scary – if you ask me. However," he fumbled with his hands, unsure how to ask. "You lived with the Dalish elves for a time, right?"

"Yes, years to be exact."

"But you two don't know each other?"

The elf snickered. "Oh, I would remember _her _for sure, if that were so_. _"

Lenya rolled her eyes at Alistair's nonsensical question. "There are many clans other than _just_ mine, idiot." Then she fell silent again, nibbling absentmindedly on a dried plum.

"Heh, so there are more of the tree-hugging elves on the surface than you, Missy?" Grinning, Oghren stood up and swayed, speaking with a high-pinched voice. "Hey, look at me - I'm an elf! Trees are pretty! Tra-la-la!"

Subsequently, he belched, then toppled over face first onto the dusty ground and started snoring, obviously drunk. At that, the Dalish fixed him with a glare and thrashed the now-empty plate with precision onto the back of his head. It merely prompted a snort from the dwarf, before he continued sleeping like he was.

"I _hate_ you!"

"So much is obvious, Lenya." Alistair stifled a laugh and pointed at the snoring Oghren. "But at least he pays heed to my advice, you know?"

Amused, he observed how she squatted down again, grumbling under her breath. Although it was tantamount to playing with the fire, he had lately found some silly entertainment in teasing her, all in a good mood of course. After all, she was not Morrigan...and _thank the Maker_ for that. His eyes lasted lingered a bit longer than needed on her and he idly wondered about the intricate tattoo on her forehead, as her face gleamed in a warm yellow-red shine of the fire.

Nithius' question startled him up. "Why did you ask?"

"Huh?"

"If I know her...from my time with the Dalish."

"For no reason, actually. It could have been possible...or not?"

"Curious about them, aren't you?" The elf smiled, somewhat amused. "Well, why don't you ask her yourself? She is right over there and in all things Dalish more of an expert than I could ever be."

Lenya had no interest to in following their conversation whatsoever. She rested her head into her hands and basked in the warmth of the magical firelight. It was only a little solace, but the campfire let her at least _pretend_ that she was somewhere else, and _not_ sitting on a grimed floor within a dwarven ruin that stank of corruption and decay.

Soon the tangle of their voices blurred as she fought against the exhaustion washing over her. Her whole body _screamed_ for sleep, though reluctant to give in, she opened her eyes every time they fell closed against her will. The Dalish was too horrified of the thought to sleep here, but how long could she realistically hold up like this? She somehow envied Shale now, the golem who had no need for sleep, no darkspawn dreams, just blissful oblivion that ––

"Lenya?" _His_ voice again.

Her head shot up. "What?"

"Your Dalish tattoo – which is nice by the way – has it...well, a meaning?" There was a nervous nuance in his voice, a quiver.

"Yes." With that single word, she turned her attention back to the flames.

"I see. And what is the meaning?"

"None of your business!" Lenya snapped and glowered at him. "Why do you ask me such questions? I do not probe you for information of your shemlen culture, or do I?"

_How could he even dare to ask me that? _

Infuriated, the elven woman whirled around and turned her back to him, but was ultimately unwilling to leave the place by the fire. Not this time.

"You could, you know..." he tried, appeasing.

No reaction.

"FINE, then _not_." His jaw tightened and for a short moment he felt anger seething up, as the hands on his side clenched and unclenched. That woman was frustrating, utterly so. Why was simply _talking_ with his fellow Warden so _hard?_

Nithius cleared his throat to get the Warden's attention. "Wow. I mean you really asked her _who_ her _personal_ elven pantheon is?" One dark eyebrow got raised, his pale blue eyes blinking in bewilderment. "That was ...err brave, Alistair...but stupid."

Now he was confused. "Why? You told me to simply ask..."

"Yes, but not _that_. I thought you would start with something more basic. Like the hunt for example, or I don't know...Dalish food."

"That was...wrong?"

"Well, let me put it in a way you'll understand it." The elf drew in a long breath before continuing. "The Dalish tattoos are called _'Vallaslin'_ and are the most important privilege for a Dalish. Not only does it represent the end of their childhood, the _Vallaslin_ are what makes a Dalish, well, Dalish. It distinguish them from humans and other elves and they wear those blood writings proudly."

" I see. " The tone in his voice shifted to something quieter, more sheepishly, almost as if afraid for Lenya to hear. "I still don't understand why she reacted so strongly about it."

"Proud is the keyword here as well. I lived a couple of years within a clan, and even as a fellow elf myself, it was frowned upon when I dared to ask about their personal pantheon and hence got no answer. I didn't know for a long time why, until one day the Keeper pulled me aside and explained it." Nithius paused, cracking a piece of hardtack for himself to eat. Alistair fidgeted in his place, waited impatiently for the mage to continue.

"He told me that since it is an honor for every Dalish to receive the Vallaslin and choose their personal pantheon, an outsider like me is not allowed to ask about it. More so, it is regarded as offensive."

"Why?"

"Hard to explain, or to grasp, even for myself." He sighed. "I think because it is such a personal, life-long choice that a Dalish doesn't want to share with someone not from their clan."

The Warden knitted his brows. " But you are ––"

"–– an elf?" The mage laughed, its sound bitter. " Yes, but I'm no Dalish, never was. I'm a so called 'flat ear', snatched away from the dirty streets of the Highever alienage by the Templar's to confine me in that prison, which others called home. Sure I was educated and didn't need to steal to survive anymore, but seeing the sun only while walking in the small courtyard seemed a high price to pay for it."

"This was the reason you fled?" Sure, the circle tower was there to protect the mages...or was it the other way around? Alistair didn't know for sure anymore.

" Among others, yes." Nithius stared out into the dimly-lit bleakness of the ruins was. " I didn't do it alone, however, there was a mage named ...Anders." His melancholic expression lightened up for a second. "The most talkative mage in the circle, annoyingly never shut up... but also notorious for his attempts to get away. So the next time he tried, I joined him. While the Templar's pursued us, we got parted half the way through a forest. Don't know if he made it, as I was too busy to run away as fast I could. Wouldn't be surprised however, since he always was determined to flee."

He shrugged.

"Anyway pathetic fact on my further escape alone: I stumbled, fell into a river and nearly drowned, as I hit my head. Apparently I was fished out by one of the Dalish somehow, because the next time I awoke it was in their camp. Thus I stayed, longer than originally intended, because I felt somewhat home for the first time, until – " Nithius' voice trailed off, and he, swallowed audibly.

He forced a smile. "Well I have digressed us, haven't I? What I basically wanted to say is that you don't ask a Dalish about their chosen pantheon, unless they tell you about it _themselves_." The mage halted, seemingly reveling in memories for a moment. "Which is undoubtedly a sign of trust, if she does... I mean..._them_."

"Hmmhm," Alistair nodded, at loss for anything else to say. There was a hunch that the elf hasn't hadn't told the whole story and due to his remorseful expression the part he kept to himself seemed not to be the happiest memory. So the Warden decided to leave it at that.

"Thanks for telling me all this. Now I actually understand her reaction." Then he groaned. " Maker's breath, the Dalish culture _is _interesting but, well, _complicated_."

As if he had shaken off the memory by now, the genuine smile reappeared within the elf's pale face. "Oh, you have _no_ idea."

"Do they also tattoo their back?" The question was blurted out before Alistair could stop his treacherous mouth.

"Some do have extensional tattoo – How do.. you...know?" He glanced over to Lenya, smirking. "Oh, I see. So you _are_ close after all..."

Frantically, the almost-templar raised his ungloved hands to assuage the damage already done. " N-no I-I...forget I said a-anything!" _Yes, very convincing, of words, indeed. _

Nithius' grin only widened. "Noted."

_Great. Really._

Another thought hit the Warden then all the sudden, filling him with dread. _What if Lenya heard __**that**__?_

Horrified, he turned to her but he found her still frozen in the same position across from the fire. Her back... –Oh the Maker has a twisted sense of humor, it seems – turned to him, her head propped within one of her hands, unmoving. Nevertheless he started an attempt to apologize, just in case. "I- I'm sorry."

No reaction.

"Lenya?" Alistair tried again.

"I'mm noooot sleeeping, juuust resting myyy eeeyes a mooment, " the Dalish mumbled drowsily, the words muffled through her hand.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Certainly."

_Sturdy head. _

He waited for another little while to see if she would respond, but she didn't anymore. Seemingly fast asleep now, the steady rise and fall of her shoulders was the only motion.

Nithius raised an eyebrow. "So... you are letting her sleep like _that_ now? How gallant."

"What do you expect me to do? Carry her over to the bedroll?"

"For example. It's right over there, after all."

"But... I value my life, you know? What if she wakes up?"

"Want me to put an extra sleep spell on her? Or..." the elf smirked, "...shall I carry her over myself?"

Impulsively, Alistair jolted up. "N-no, not necessary."

Another grin. "I thought so."

With a few steps he stood aside beside his now sunken down fellow Warden, a bit at a loss about how to start. Okay, he had carried her before...in Ostagar, which didn't make it any easier now. Alistair hesitated a moment longer, feeling all too insecure and nervous for his own taste and checked once more if she was really asleep.

Satisfied to see that she wasn't moving one bit, he eventually heaved her up. He marveled that she was just the same feather light weight like back then, while carrying her over to her bedroll. Gingerly, he laid her small frame down, always afraid to wake her up, to disturb this fragile peace of sleep. He knew too well how frail that bit of restful sleep was and hoped it wouldn't be disturbed through dreams, but down _here_ this was all too certain. He sighed, a part of him a bit reluctant to let the comfortable warmth she was in his hands go.

Nithius almost startled him up. "See, not so hard, huh?"

He sounded a bit _too_ amused.

_I hate you_.

"Y-yes, well, it's better for her this way...I suppose," Alistair managed to say and slowly returned to his guard post by the fire. "So why do you want to become a Grey Warden, Nithius? I heard about from Lenya."

The elf hastily swallowed the piece of bread he was chewing on. "Never able to keep quiet for a minute, huh? Just like Anders, that mage. Now I _really_ wonder what has become of him."

"Well you have talked most of the time, not me," Alistair protested meekly. "Also it helps to keep me awake." He ponderously rolled his shoulders within the heavy armor and yawned. "It would be unwise if both of us Grey Wardens would sleep at once, since we are the only ones who can sense darkspawn ahead. I'm tired, yes, but I'll only lay down when she had slept a while. You know, the one good thing the Chantry taught me is to be a gentleman."

"You are a good guy, Alistair." The smile in Nithius' face is sincere. " I'm glad you didn't become a Templar."

"Well that makes two of us," he replied with a crooked grin and decided to like this apostate. Yes, it went against all the Chantry had taught him, but that mage was a decent guy and he saw no reason why he shouldn't. "So will you answer my question and keep me awake?"

"Fine," Nithius sighed in defeat. " More stories, I see. Basically I want to be free. Orzammar is nice and all but not my the place where I want to spend the rest of my life. I miss the sun and everything else that makes the surface so beautiful."

They continued talking for a long while, and Alistair was amazed how good it felt to actually have someone for a longer conversation. It was way much more difficult to speak this way with Lenya, mainly because she tended to sigh exasperatedly, roll her eyes and call him an idiot at every possibility given to her. Shaking his head slightly, his eyes wandered to the small figure laying almost rigidly on her bedroll. She seemed to be in deep slumber, unperturbed by nightmares.

Alistair only hoped it would stay this way.

~V~

She dreamed.

Lenya thought she already had experienced all kinds of darkspawn dreams within her short period as a Grey Warden. The voices, shadows, incoherent whispers ;most of it had been one of these sorts when she dreamt of _them_.

This one, however was _different_.

It was vivid with a brutal clarity, heat and fire soaring through her veins, mixing up with that her tainted blood of hers. Subsequently suffocating and alluring, she was tempted to give in to this raw anger that claimed and addled her mind. She gazed right into their atrocious, twisted faces, unobscured and not hidden by shadows like it had been before.

_Darkspawn._

She witnessed how they raided the land and killed every life they could claw on in blind, raw blood-lust. Then they looked back and _saw_ her. They wanted _her_. The Warden. Their _enemy_. Lenya wanted to scream, but she had no voice, no air; heat and fire the only excruciating feelings left. Then another creature appeared, behemoth, violet dragon that roared with power. And the fire and heat in her veins turned into multifaceted _pain_. The beast tortured her mind and being...and then it called her.

"_Wooooooordooooon..."_

With a convulsive gasp, Lenya jolted up, her whole body heavily cramping and shaking. It took her various several moments to regain the control over her body, to actually _breathe. _She didn't register how Nithius agitatedly called her name or Alistair's bestowed her with an apprehensive look. The female Warden was too distracted by the feeling still lingering deep inside of her, tugging at the consciousness of her being. She still could still feel them as a part of her, almost as if they had _crawled_ under her skin.

"Lenya?"

Now she _heard _his voice but of answering she sank her face into her hands, fingers digging deep within the strands of her dirtied hair, clawing at them. She was temporarily tempted to pull them out just to make it _stop_. To stop that feeling that didn't want to disperse and still lingered even as she was awake now.

"Here."

Lenya blinked, distinguished a water flask shoved within her sight and hesitated to take it. She looked up, seeing Alistair standing there, just _standing _...without saying anything. It was not necessary, however, for his eyes said enough. He _comprehended_ her agony where others could _not_. After a long while, the Dalish tore her eyes away from him and took the flask, though instead of drinking she poured a never-ending stream of water over her head, until she was drenched.

It did little against the flaring heat still raging in her, but at least her mind was clearer now.

"Thanks." Lenya tried to calm her frantic breath and heartbeat down, mumbling an inaudible prayer to Mythal, to protect her.

But it did not work, and her agitation remained the same.

She darted up, uncaring for the water running down her skin or the companions still watching her, and she returned to her old place by the fire and settled down.

"Go to sleep, Alistair. I'm done with it!" The Dalish pressed through gritted teeth, her tone so bitter and angry that he found no enjoyment in hearing his _actual_ name from her lips.

Alistair hesitated a moment, a part of him struggling with the wish to go over to her, showing that he understood..._cared_. Frozen in place, the clenching and unclenching of his fist was the only visible movement, his eyes transfixed at her as he waged the option.

"Alistair?" The nonplussed voice of Nithius shook him back to attention. "What in Thedas has just happened?"

The Warden drew a breath in to explain but ultimately decided against it. "Are you staying awake a bit longer awake, Nithius? As much my urge to sleep has dwindled now, I really need to, I fear."

"Possible. Why do you ask?"

"I don't think she wants to see me now and 'smart-assing' about it. You, however, are a more... neutral party, so to speak. So keep her a bit company a bit, while I get my decent share of darkspawn dreams too, okay?" With a light pat on the mage's back, Alistair turned and went to his sleeping place. It was for the best, at least for now.

"Wha – " At a loss, the elf stared after him, then turned, sighing, to the woman by the fire. She hadn't moved one inch, since the last time he'd looked, her posture equally dejected. Drops of water still seeped down her hair and back, but she didn't seem to care. Tentatively he approached to her, his tone calm and soothing.

"_Emma ir abalas, Lenya. Dirth in ar na or'era, ma isala."_ *

Lenya first didn't react at first, then after a long silence she suddenly scoffed. "Stop speaking elvish with me. I'm not even sure if I'm Dalish at all anymore."

Nithius blinked, utterly confused by her words. "Why would you think such nonsense?"

"Nonsense? It isn't." The tone in her voice retained the same bitterness. "They are in my blood, in my _being_. I can feel them, even now. This _is_ unnatural, against my elven nature."

"D-darkspawn?" He looked left and right, a bit anxious. "Are some approaching our camp?"

She shook her head. "No, there are not...and yet I can feel _them. Their_ raw anger, the heat, it still lingers within me, mocking me with its presence."

"I- I fear, I don't understand."

"Don't worry. I don't expect you to." She turned her attention back to the flames, biting her lip.

Nithius sat down beside her.

"Still what has that to with you being not Dalish anymore? You are Dalish and a Grey Warden, as everyone with eyes can see." He smiled weakly, but it faded quickly when she didn't react.

"This was no cure," Lenya murmured absentmindedly, not looking at him. " I always _knew_ it. I thought I could accept that and live with that fact, because it saved my life. But what life is that with my blood poisoned, bastardized in a way that I'm forever bounded to the creatures I loathe more than anything else? Even in my sleep I can't escape them, I can't – " her voice broke, and she shuddered vigorously, balling her hands into fists.

"Never..." There was a sickening, bone cracking sound as her fist hit the stony ground with force.

The mage flinched at that and stared shocked at her and her bruised hand, eyes widened. "Are you mad?"

Lenya laughed, sardonically. "I guess I am, yes."

He shook his head and sighed extensively. "And? Feeling any better now?"

"Don't know, it hurts," she grimaced, " but I'm feeling more focused again."

"Stupid woman, that was so irresponsible." Nithius muttered, prompting her to show him her fractured hand. "Let me see."

Reluctantly, she lifted her hand, frowning. "Now you sound like Ta –" she stopped and swallowed. "I don't know if I can do that..." The Dalish said instead.

"Well it is easy, just show me... –Oh... " The elf trailed off, focused temporarily on summoning a healing spell for her damaged hand. "...we are not speaking about your hand anymore, right?"

Lenya didn't answer, only observed how the pale blue light enveloped her wrist and delved within her knuckles to mend the fractured bones again.

"You are not alone, Lenya. Never forget that." With that Nithius stood up, feeling all lightheaded.

"Whew, I feel drained now. Time to sleep. I'll go and wake up Morrigan, though. Apostate swapped for an apostate, a fair trade, don't you think?" He grinned at her. "Good night, _DALISH_ Warden."

"Hmmhmm." She nodded in apprehension, even a small smile grazed her features. " And Nithius?"

"Yes?"

"Your articulation of elvish is _horrible_."

The elf laughed out loud at that, while he walked over to Morrigan at the other side of camp. As he passed Alistair's roost, it became obvious to him that the Warden wasn't quite asleep yet.

He feigned not to notice.

.

.

* * *

***Free translation( since there are only THAT much words to seize for elvish):** I'm very sorry, Lenya. Speak with me about your dream, if you want.


	34. Darkness

_**A/N:** Okay once more I'm late with an update...so sorry. I wonder if anyone is reading that FF at all anymore, aside of my regular trio, of course. Lol. Special thanks goes out to Delto Juno, Sarah1282, almostinsane and beta-licious Malymin. I heart you all and continues appreciate your awesome feedback/betawork. THANKS! _And now on to the newest DR- psychological chapter. Heh.

* * *

.

**Chapter 33: Darkness**

"_Ashalle, the moon, it is gone!"_

"_Lenya, you don't have to be afraid of the darkness. It is a natural cycle that comes with the night and goes with the light of the day. Now let us pray to Mythal and the moon will be back soon. You know the legend, __don't_ _you, my little Da'len ?"_

"_Yes. She will drive the darkness back with the light of the moon and stars, and protect the Elvhen."_

Lenya shook her head at the childhood memory, her eyes fixed sturdily ahead in the darkness.

_Darkness._

That was all the Deep Roads were. There were no stars, no moon and even the Goddess Mythal couldn't drive back the everlasting, oppressive blackness lingering here. It crept into every fiber of her being, devouring her as she moved forward. Always forward, but without the feeling of arriving _anywhere _at all.

Lenya had already given up praying to Mythal. With each additional day she spent in the gods-forsaken, dark place she forgot what light even _was_ and doubted its very existence.

"Lenya? Hey, did you hear me?"

She blinked and tried to wipe the black ichor from her brow that already stuck to her like a second skin. It tempted her to rip her skin off, just to make it go away, to feel less filthy and hopeless. Another darkspawn attack they had survived and endured, another horde they mechanically had sliced through just to move further forward again. To what purpose? The Dalish couldn't remember anymore.

"Lenya?"

Finally, she looked at him. His normally tanned face was paler and grimed with the same black poison and dirt, the expression within weary. She wondered if he could still remember the light.

"Oghren just said that we'll arrive in Ortan Thaig soon. He just found one of the rune blazes that Branka left behind, so we are on the right track to Ortan Thaig."

He sounded too cheerful for her taste, and frustration welled up within her.

"And then..._what_, puppy? We've been walking within the Deep Roads for weeks now and still no sodding Branka. What if we don't find her there? What then? Huh?"

Alistair had no answer to that. No answer that could tone down the anxiety that he noticed more and more within her. A restlessness and aggression that became worse with each day and week spent down here. He didn't blame her, she wasn't used to be underground. As a freedom-loving Dalish this feeling of confinement with nothing but rocks overhead must been even worse than it was for himself. And even he hated the Deep Roads with every additional passing moment, but there was no other choice than to move forward, to keep going...if they wanted to survive.

"Heh, relax Missy. I'm sure Branka left another marker behind in case she advanced further for the anvil. True, most of the time she counted two and two and made it fifty, but deep inside I know she misses ol' Oghren."

"Stop calling me MISSY, you idiot!"

As Oghren only snorted amused in return, the elf was about to launch forward, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her all too impulsive reaction.

It was Nithius' hand. "Don't..."

Within the weeks spent here, he had become more and more the voice of reason. The mage helped Lenya to calm down when Alistair was too occupied within his own thoughts, tangled within the pictures of darkspawn dreams that kept haunting him. He didn't remember when he last had slept more than a few hours and his nerves were slowly but surely running thin. He suspected it must be even worse for her, because Lenya couldn't resort to years of templar training and meditation to soothe her nerves, like he was at least able to. So the Warden was thankful for Nithius' calming presence, even when a part of him regretted that he wasn't the one having that effect on her.

The Dalish grumbled under her breath, yet relented to Nithius' prompt. The elf looked at her, forcing a smile. "We are all a bit tired – to put it mildly – especially you. Say Lenya, when did you last sleep more than an hour or two?"

"In the Deep Roads? Are you sodding kidding me?" She snapped at first, then her tone became more composed. "I- I don't know. You know I can't..."

"Hmm," he nodded apprehensively, "maybe we should rest soon? We all could need it after all."

Lenya pressed her lips together, too occupied with willing her feet to keep moving to answer his suggestion.

Morrigan answered instead, her tone disdainful. "Oh, aren't you a rolling ball of sympathy again today? Speak for yourself when you need rest and not for _all_ here."

"Why still so hostile, Morrigan? It doesn't suit a beautiful lady like you."

Alistair coughed. "For the unknown reason you still haven't noticed, Nithius; that _is_ her normal behavior."

She ignored the Warden. "Oh come on, you can perhaps lull the others in with your 'I'm - so-nice - and- charming- act, but not me, Circle Twit."

"I've been away from the circle for many years now, as you might know by now. Also I bear no love for how magic is treated by the Chantry."

"Good for you, elf."

Nithius sighed. "So I don't understand your hostility, since we both share the same view with what concerns the Circle."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "As I don't understand your ridiculous goal to be everyone's best friend here. This smarmy behavior is unnerving."

The elf looked at her, nonplussed. "Well, I'm sorry, you feel so, I –

" – and now he is even apologizing for _that,_" she interrupted him." Astonishing. What is next? Rescue little kittens from trees?"

Lenya shivered. "Bleargh, cats."

"Well, not everyone can be a _bitch_ like you, Morrigan," Alistair casually threw in and couldn't help to grin at Lenya's comment. "You _really_ have an issue with _cats_, Lenya, huh? Just like Shale with birds. Endearing, somehow." The Dalish simply silently glared at him, then focused on walking again.

"I have _no_ issue," echoed dully from behind them. "Birds are the worst vermin of all. That _is_ a fact. Or is the clown knight unable to recognize that?"

"No, not at all, Shale," the Warden shrugged, looking over his shoulder, "...it just seems to be an unhealthy obsession, somehow."

"It is not an obsession! I have an extremely justified rage of the flying vermin that plague this world."

It was good to talk and it distracted him from the more depressing thoughts. Even if it was about something odd like...birds with a golem.

"Some birds are useful, you know? They're really quite tasty to eat, if you rip off the feathers, first. I like the skin, myself."

Shale shuddered. "It is not that I don't approve of the ritual slaying of the foul beasts, but-it likes to eat them? Disgusting. This is equal with eating darkspawn, in fact. Does it enjoy eating darkspawn as well? I think I must question Its already low intelligence."

"No, of course not!" Alistair sighed. "Forget I have said anything."

"Believe me, clown knight, it already has happened..." With that the golem turned to Oghren. "So, the drunken midget has us not led to doom yet? I'm honestly surprised."

"Heh, funny stone aren't ya?" Oghren snorted and belched loudly. "Yep, only one more day to walk till Ortan Thaig. If I have read this sodding rune thing correctly, that is."

"...though the day is still young, I suppose..." the golem added as an afterthought and continued to walk silently, like its companions.

.

.

* * *

.

If Lenya had to choose one word to describe Ortan Thaig appropriately, she wouldn't hesitate a second to choose _'spiders.' _

Sure, the dwarven ruins were grand and impressive – even with all the debris and decay it had endured over the centuries – but the sea of spider webs obscured all the greatness easily. Worst of all was that there seemed no end to the giant spiders, creatures deformed by the taint which swooped upon them from their cobwebs above.

After finally having slain the last one, the Dalish glared up to the vaulted ceiling high overhead, expecting more to come, but there was only silence. She let out a breath she didn't remember holding and put her weapons back in place. Lenya tensed and rolled her muscles, trying to shake off the overbearing feeling of weariness with it. Alas, it didn't work in the slightest and made her only even more aware how tired she was.

"That was the last, it seems," she gasped, snapping for air. Her companions did the same, seizing the moment of peace to rest and restore what little reserves they still had under the layers of exhaustion and frustration. Morrigan looked even more pale than usual, the exertion of spell-casting visible in her face. Only Sten and Shale stood in the middle of what have been a bustling city once and glowered down at the others, seemingly unperturbed of everything.

"So Ortan Thaig, it is?" Alistair asserted, blinking. "It certainly is grand...and _spidery_." After looking around, he whipped around to the dwarf." So you know where to go from here, right?" His tone had an anxious nuance.

Oghren took a swig out of his flask, grinning. "Stop browning your trousers, fancy boy. Branka dug up some maps of the ancient thaigs, before she left. Got them in my backpack. Heh, I always knew they would in handy one day."

Lenya stepped up to him as well, her posture hostile. "Oh sure now that _is _great. For all we know she could be long dead!"

The dwarf suddenly became serious. "Branka took her entire house with her to protect her, they won't die all that easily."

"Two years..." the Dalish paused and pointed at the shattered, gutted buildings and corruption around them, "...in _that_ kind of environment? No one survives that long here." She sighed, long and exasperated, glaring at him. "I always knew it was wrong to follow an ale-addled durgen'len." Lenya was nearly screaming now, her voice etched with desperation. "You have only led us further into the nowhere of this darkspawn-infested shithole!"

"I have led you here, as I said I would, Warden," he answered, equally serious and calm. "So don't piss in my brew now for that."

"Now, now, that is uncalled for, Lenya." Nithius tried to placate the Dalish. "Ortan Thaig has been our destination for weeks and Oghren has found it after all."

"Uh, wow congratulation indeed," she snarled back, tilted her head and fixed Oghren with a stare. "So what is the big plan now, huh?"

"Heh, don't have one of your own, Missy? Thought you were the boss here."

Alistair nearly jumped in between them and hindered the elf from reaching Oghren with his own huge frame. "We should first calm down, all of us. Getting at each other's throats won't solve anything, Lenya."

"Ugh, shut up, puppy." With that, she dismissed her fellow Warden at first, but as he held her icy stare with his own, it was surprisingly her who gave in. She averted her eyes from him, tired of this useless arguing, tired of just _everything._ Lenya wearily rubbed her face with both of her hands and her angry expression turned into a frown. "Whatever. Let us just move on...to whatever purpose, however."

A bit at distance from the others, Shale observed its companions demeanor with a scoff. "Fleshy creatures, all the same, bah." Then glancing over to the Qunari, it added. "_It_ however seems _different_. Why is that?"

"I see no sense in getting involved in useless discussions, golem. I'm here to fight, not to argue."

Shale nodded in agreement. "That is a sensible notion, Qunari."

Sten's gaze only lasted for a second on the creature. "I know."

.

.

~V~

.

After the argument had abated, the prior silence returned. It lay itself over the place like the thick, dark dust that coated the stone ruins and ground. The stillness within this place seemed unnatural and had the semblance of a graveyard, letting the Dalish run an ice-cold shiver over her back. No matter their destination, she surely didn't want to linger here any longer. It reminded her all too much on the elven ruins she had discovered with Taml –

Her thoughts were interrupted by a long, masculine scream not afar from the group.

Immediately, Morrigan murmured a few words and her staff flared up, its light illuminated even the farthest corner of the ancient dwarven city. Her amber eyes just caught sight of a retreating figure that ran toward a near cavern.

"'twas no darkspawn, " she announced, knitting her brows, "It rather looked like...a dwarf?"

"Bah, probably one of the bloody scavengers down here," Oghren explained. "We should leave him alone, he is as good as sodding gone." But the Dalish was already moving toward the cavern, leaving him and the rest of her companions no choice but to follow. "Fine Missy, have it your way. Let's visit Mr. Mushy-brain and have a good time," the dwarf muttered, a bit annoyed.

Alistair looked at him, slightly confused. "What do you mean by that, Oghren?"

"Heard that a scavenger like that can only survive down here by eating darkspawn flesh. It hides them from the darkspawn hordes, but turns their brain into sewage, due to the taint."

"Now _that_ is a happy thought," the Warden murmured and wondered why Lenya would want to enter this place at all. On a closer scrutinizing, the cavern was enveloped in a yellow-red warm shine, as if someone had lit a large bonfire. Was it the scavenger's camp? His hand wandered to the sheath of his sword. He didn't like the thought of simply walking into the cave of a madman, who knew if there weren't more of them?

"Lenya!" He called after her, but she ceased to listen and walked further ahead, as if hypnotically drawn by the soothing light of fire. Like a moth to the flame. Momentarily her other companions eyed the behavior of their leader critically, yet followed suit nonetheless.

She entered what resembled a living room, just underground and more... chaotic. Half-broken, empty book-shelves were arranged beside debris and dirt, several vases and other junk were all piled across the filthy ground without a visible pattern or order. Lenya advanced closer to those things, but a low voice hissing at her stopped the Dalish in her tracks.

"It is mine. I found it. These are all my shinies. Don't take it from me! MINE!" It was the same voice they heard screaming before. Lenya looked up to the person..._creature..._it belonged to and was appalled at the sight. Before her stood a male dwarf, yet he was _different _from the dwarves she had seen so far; twisted and...unsettling to look at. Its..._his..._ posture was buckled and his eyes stared at the Dalish in a way that made her blood run cold. Her mouth opened to speak, to answer, but instead of words only a strangled gasp came out.

Oghren grinned while pointing at the dwarf. "Heh, told ya, Warden. He is nuts like a nug in winter."

Alistair ignored him. He was more concerned about his fellow Warden standing there, seemingly frozen in place, which simultaneously confused and frightened him. "Lenya?"

Finally, the elf got a hold of herself. She blinked, still unable to grasp what she _saw_ there. "Ruck?"

It was a wild guess, but the only one that remotely made sense to her in that moment. At the same time she found herself wishing that this husk of a dwarf was _not _the son the nice elder woman in Orzammar was missing.

The twisted dwarf shuffled closer to her, eying her suspiciously. "How does the pretty lady knows Ruck's name? Has the shiny worm whispered it to her? The pretty lady won't steal Ruck's pretty and shiny things? She is friendly, yes?" The last bit of his sentence had a hopeful undertone.

_No..._

Lenya briefly closed her eyes at this certainty, taking a deep breath of the foul and dirty air that made her cough. The dwarf named Ruck remained in his place, flustered by the huge group around the elf glaring at him, and he dared not to move.

"_Still I'm his mother, I can't stop hoping that Ruck is still alive."_

She cleared her throat, willed that memory out of her head. "No, I'm just here to talk, Ruck."

It wasn't even a lie.

He seemed pleased with that answer. "Pretty lady, pretty eyes, pretty hair… smells like the steam of burning water, blue as the deepest rock. So nice. Not as ugly and twisted as Ruck is." He smiled at her and reflexively, Lenya took a few steps back, her expression irked.

"Oh now _that_ is disturbing..." Morrigan muttered from behind, thoroughly grossed out.

"It seems to have found a new friend," Shale stated, looking down on the Dalish. "Will it take that mad dwarf with it as well? I thought it already had a mad dwarf with the drunken midget following around..."

"Now funny again, aren't ya? Sodding pile of stone."

"I'll do my best," the golem dryly answered, dismissing Oghren.

Alistair bit his lip, feeling uneasy. "Lenya...he is... –"

"– I know." He didn't need to finish his sentence, she already knew what her fellow Warden was about to say, because she _felt_ it too. _...tainted._

"Ruck..." her voice was calm and soothing, as if talking with an animal. "I think I met your mother in Orzammar, she miss –

"N-n-no no, **NO**!" The mad dwarf suddenly yelled, causing the whole group flinch at its force. "_No_ Filda, _no_ mother, _no_ warm blanket, _no_ stew. Ruck doesn't deserve happy memories! No-no-no-no, _NO_!" Then slowly, he calmed down again. "She doesn't know what Ruck has done, promise not to tell her, pretty lady. Tell her, tell her...that Ruck is dead, yes. She should remember boy with bright, shiny eyes and not how Ruck now is."

Lenya blinked, baffled of this request. "I-I think I could do that."

Why did she care so much anyway?

Ruck was pleased. "Pretty lady is nice. She understands, right? Once you eat, once you take in the darkness… you not miss the light so much." He inched closer to the elf, his gaze boring into her, making Lenya feel sick in so many ways. "You know, do you not? Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside of you."

Instantly, the Dalish backed away, shaking her head rapidly. Her voice wasn't more than a whisper and trembling. "I'm nothing like you! Nothing...I'm a Grey Warden!" Then in a louder and more defiant tone, she added. "We are NOTHING alike!"

Lenya glared at him, breathing heavily. Only a big gloved hand lain upon her shoulder stopped her from backing away further. Surprised, she turned around, only to notice that the hand belonged to Alistair, his expression etched with confusion and something akin to apprehension.

The Dalish couldn't fathom why Ruck's inane words had touched her so deeply, that she felt obliged to make the difference _clear_ to him. What she knew was she was thankful for Alistair's little gesture, as it had a soothing effect on her agitated emotions. Oddly enough.

"Ruck means nothing by it!" The dwarf cried out, shaking her back to attention and away from Alistair's concerned gaze. "I see, pretty lady is grey like the stone. Guardian against the darkness. Beautiful like waterfalls under the lichen."

"Ugh." Oghren let out a disgusted noise and looked around. "So duster, tell me when you found this camp, was it here before like this?"

"Yes, yes. It was here. Ruck found bits of things, but the crawlers took everything. They take things of steel and paper, the shinies and the words. Everything that Ruck found here is his." He stared at the dwarf, anger etched in his expression. "You can't have it!"

"Bah, keep that sodding pile of garbage, duster." He turned to Lenya. "So someone has camped here before, even took notes. Branka, perhaps?"

Lenya scowled. "How should I know, durgen'len?"

"Heh, just checking. So there you have your evidence that Branka was here, Warden. We just have to find those spiders now."

"Ruck is good, yes?" He approached closer to Lenya again. "Pretty lady, the dark master went south, far, far south. His beautiful voice has called all the dark ones and Ruck too. Such a joy when he awoke! But Ruck is a coward, so he stayed here with his shinies." His twisted face suddenly saddened. "And now he stopped calling."

Alistair blinked slowly, as the words sunk in, his voice only a whisper. "He is talking about...the archdemon!"

"What?" the Dalish pressed her lips together to a thin line, bewildered. "Does that mean it is _here_ in the Deep Roads somewhere?" Her head whipped around to Alistair. "Is that why I keep dreaming –"

"Wonderful. Let's go Warden, and kill it!" Sten interjected, before Alistair had a chance to say anything.

"What about him?" Morrigan pointed at Ruck. "'Tis a pitiful creature," she made a face, " ...not to mention disgusting. Driven mad from the taint."

"It is not so bad. The burning keeps Ruck warm. Warm like the stew and blanket of mother." He smiled at Lenya, who observed him with a frown.

Oghren grimaced, disgusted. "Bah, you moss-licking freak. You should have got sent to the mines and instead you chose _this_." He raised his weapon. "It's better to put you out of your misery."

In one single movement, the Dalish stood in between the two dwarves, glowering menacingly down at Oghren. "And I say you better put that weapon down! NOW!" Her tone was growling, full of anger and left no room for objection. Alistair was surprised about her adamant reaction.

"You surely don't want him to leave like _that?_" The witch cocked an eyebrow, bemused. " It would be –

"I said NO! So shut up, Morrigan! We. Are. Leaving." With that, Lenya whirled around and stormed out of the cave, not caring if they would follow or not.

"Weeeell," Alistair drawled, grinning gleefully at the witch, "you heard our fearless leader."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed, as she glared at the Warden passing her by. Muttering under her breath about the foolishness of both Wardens, she reluctantly followed.

"Enjoy your sodding taint, duster," Oghren spat at Ruck, before turning around to go. "Looks like that bone-picker is living in Branka's old camp. Did you see the marks on the floor? There were a lot of people and fires there once. Those must be Branka's papers he said were taken by the spiders. Nothing that fragile would be left from the thaig itself."

Alistair looked at the dwarf, an eyebrow raised. "So we have to find _reading_ spiders now? Great, really. As if we haven't encountered enough of the normal ones here already."

"They are better than birds." Shale stated matter-of -factly, as it sped up its pace to reach Lenya.

"Heh, _reading _spiders, funny Warden," Oghren snorted. "Let's hope to find those sodding crawlers, so we know where to head next."

For a moment, Alistair just stared baffled at him, before remembering to actually move. So the dwarf had no idea where to go after Ortan Thaig without the papers, huh? His glare bore into Oghren's stoutly back and an annoyed sigh escaped his lips.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Could this day get any worse?

When Lenya noticed that the dwarf was indeed bluffing, it _certainly_ would. So Alistair surmised it would be for the best to keep that sort of epiphany to himself.

At least for now.

.

.

* * *

.

He _had _to ask before.

What a stupid thing to do that was. _Of course _it had become worse, it always did.

Alistair was sure that walking into the spider queen's lair could qualify as _A Thing That Was Making a Day More Gruesome_. Fighting against a _dozen_ of these swooping, icky creatures included, naturally.

However, on the positive side they had found the much needed papers within the lair and Oghren would live another day. He wasn't particularly fond of the dwarf, nor his poor, ale-addled fart jokes, but getting shredded into tiny little pieces by his fellow Warden would have been too harsh a fate for him. Nevertheless it was kind of impressive how Lenya had done the very same to the spider queen.

His head turned to her, finding amusement in the picture of her standing amidst three giant spider cadavers which were accurately dissected into many, _many_ slimy pieces. Her blades lowered to the sides, she was breathing heavily, visibly exhausted, yet she was continuing to glower spitefully down at the remnants of the creatures. He had no doubts that _if_ one of the spiders _would_ magically resurrected somehow, her furious glare alone would kill it again...and then _again_.

Maker, he never had seen her _that _angry before.

Well, except for one time when she had been mindlessly hacking a darkspawn corpse and screaming at it after leaving Lothering. Or when Vartok Gavorn tried to use her for Bhelen's dirty work, or the morning after the Proving –

Okay, _correction_, he had _seen_ her that angry before...yet still something was... _different. _Even as he left his shield clattering to the ground, the elf remained in her defiant stance, not looking up to the source of the noise. Almost instantly shifting his prior amusement into solicitude and without even noticing, he was moving toward her, but Nithius was quicker.

"_Lenya_, _ma sali'then!" _

Alistair sighed, somewhat frustrated of the fact that the elven mage was capable of speaking a language so perfectly that he didn't even rudimentarily understand.

_Her_ language.

The Dalish woman finally looked up. "_Ar sa'isala hamin salin. Emma ir souveri'an uth durgen." _She forced a smile. _"Din abalas, Nithius." _

The elf hesitated a moment before he nodded. "_Ma nuvenin_." Then he turned and helped the others to search and collect the scattered pages from the ground within the spider's lair.

Alistair suddenly noticed that this was the _first_ time he heard her speaking elvish loud and clear. It sounded so different from her use of the Ferelden tongue, rolling fluently and gracefully from her mouth, similar to the moves with her blades. In contrast to Nithius, her elvish words were heavily tinged with a foreign accent that was oddly hidden when she was using the common language.

Somewhat mesmerized of this new discovery, Alistair's eyes traced her way as she walked over to a cracked ruin to sit down on the ground, away from the dead spiders. Lenya buried her head within her hands, not caring for the dirt and gore within the leather gloves, and sighed. She noticed someone advancing to her, the clattering of the armor and the rather ponderous way of walking already giving the identity away.

"Alistair."

He sighed, leaning on a pillar across from her. "This place sucks, huh?"

"You needed _this_ long to figure it out?" She scoffed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Ouch, that hurts. And here I thought that the spiders were the only ones spitting venom." He shot her a loop-sided grin. "Guess I was wrong."

Lenya rolled her eyes at that and heaved another sigh. "Will we _ever _arrive and find Branka?"

Alistair temporarily watched how his companions were searching the ground, while Morrigan simply stood there with her arms crossed and disdainfully glared at the others. Sten and Shale, however, indulged in an in-depth conversation about the similarities of humans and monkeys and were absorbed in their discussion. So basically only Nithius and Oghren were the ones who enthusiastically tried to find the rest of the missing documents.

He turned to her again. "I certainly hope so. If they ever find the rest of those pages that reveals the whereabouts of Branka, that is."

"So without them that drunkard has no idea where to go? Oh great. I'm surrounded by idiots, it seems."

"Huh, is that so?" He cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "And what makes that _you_ then, Lenya?"

"Probably the biggest idiot of all, because I'm _still_ here, happily following the path of doom." She groaned. "_Ar su him sa enansal, sulevin." _

"So..." his grin broadened "...the rest of us idiots are in good company then? Good to know."

Alistair lowered his head, searching for her eyes. "But honestly Lenya, I'm curious. How did you know that dwarf in the cave was called Ruck?"

Her eyes darted downwards, away from him and fixed on the debris next to her. "I didn't..."

"Oh..." He blinked "...but you were –"

" – guessing." Lenya's laugh was short and full of bitterness, and leaning her head back against the ruin she closed her eyes. "I met that elder durgen'len in Orzammar, she asked me to search for him here, still hoping he would be alive." She fell silent for a while, lost in rather unwanted thoughts.

"How...how long can someone survive when being tainted?" She suddenly asked out of the blue.

The Dalish didn't open her eyes to meet his gaze, afraid of the questions lying within, afraid of her own vulnerability right now.

"_Lenya is already tainted. She doesn't have much time left… if the Joining ritual can't be hold tomorrow night for whatever reasons, I fear I will have to kill her." _

Unbidden, Duncan's words came back to his consciousness, its memory piercing his mind and heart alike. "I fear I don't know that...exactly. But not long, you should know that."

"Hmm," she hummed and opened her eyes, staring up to the cobwebs obscured, stone ceiling. "Of course, I would know, huh?" Lenya shook her head, urgently needing to get rid of _those memories_.

It wasn't working.

"And still Ruck is alive after all these years..."

Alistair frowned. "I wouldn't call that a life exactly and even he knows it. Ruck has asked you to tell his mother that he is _dead_ after all." He looked at her, his hazel eyes tinged with confusion. "So why did you still spare him?"

"I–" Lenya faltered, stunned by his question and the rush of complicated emotions it caused her within, leaving her unable to answer. Instead she only held his questioning gaze and looked at him for a long moment, somewhat lost in that warmth of his eyes.

"Heh, got the last one. Branka was thinking about me! I knew she still cared! Old softy."

At Oghren's voice, Lenya started up and her head snapped in the direction she had perceived it, seeing the dwarf holding up several pieces of paper. Blinking away the remembrance of Alistair's intense look, she darted up to move over to the rest of her companions, ignoring her fellow Warden completely. She heard him moving close behind her, even _felt_ him through the taint, but dared not to turn around right now. So she focused on Oghren.

"Oh, you have found the papers and know where to go? Let me guess, it goes further into the Deep Roads, right? Well at least we won't die a gruesome death here, but elsewhere instead. Nice."

Behind her Alistair cleared his throat and she actually could _hear_ him smirking. "You are a shining example of optimism, Lenya, you know that?"

With her emotions and memories finally somewhat under control again, it was easy for her to remark. "It's called realism, actually."

She was still avoiding looking at the human, her eyes affixed on the documents in Oghren's hand. "So spit it out, durgen'len, what is the next corrupted shit-hole on our journey?"

The dwarf grinned. "Heh. You'll love it. Being a Grey Warden and all that. Branka has left for the Dead Trenches to search for the Anvil of the Void. They say the darkspawn nest there, whole herds of 'em."

"I'm positively thrilled," Alistair dead-panned, and now it was Lenya who was smirking, if only for a brief fraction. The rest of her mind was simply too occupied to imagine how she'd hack the dwarf in hundreds of little pieces for that kind of discovery.

It was a relieving picture to her, somehow.

"See, knew you would like it," the dwarf answered. "The journey won't be easy and will be long, but if that's where Branka went, then that's where I'm going." With that, he looked around and then started moving straight in one direction.

Lenya glared after him, her eyes boring hatefully into his back as she slowly followed. The Dalish was half-tempted to wave him goodbye and wish him luck with the rest of that inane task, but even more so she was tempted to actually fulfill her hacking fantasy. Alas, she was aware of the fact that they wouldn't ever find a way out of the Deep Roads without that dwarf, nor get the needed troops for the Blight without Branka.

"Creators, how I _hate_ this place!"

While the elf reluctantly gave herself up to that mirthless fate, she considered to pray to Mythal again.

They might need it.

* * *

_**Elvish notes:**_

"_Lenya_, _ma sali'then!" _-Lenya, wake up.

"_Ar sa'isala hamin salin. Emma ir souveri'an uth durgen. Din abalas, Nithius. – _ I only need a pause now, I'm just so weary of this place and the endless stone. Don't worry, Nithius.

"_Ar su him sa enansal, sulevin.- _I happen to have a talent for that, it seems.

**Review please :)**


	35. Archie and his friends

**A/N:** _Quick update galore. Sponsored by Miss awesomeness aka **Malymin** who killed all the big bad grammar mistakes in sight and made it therefore publishable. Huzza. ^_^_

_ Umm yeah, funny title this time, I know, but that sums it up in a nutshell, methinks xD Lot's of dialogue again because my characters won't just shut up. **Ever.** And again, I especially heart Shale, she is just so frikkin awesome. Elvish notes at the end of this looong chapter. Have fun._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 34: Archie and his friends **

Desperation.

That was normally a feeling alien to Lenya, as proud and strong-willed as she was. However since she and her companions were pressing even further into the Deep Roads to find the Paragon Branka within the darkspawn-infested Dead Trenches, the feeling had become like second nature to her.

Stones. Darkness. Corruption. Darkspawn. _Stones. _

There existed nothing else here. No color but the depressing black and grey of the stones enclosing her.

In some of the everlasting nights, when the dreams were starting up in her again, they even seemed to come closer, suffocating her. Lenya had lost all sense for time, the change of night and day forsaken in the abiding darkness. The monotonous rhythm of walking, darkspawn slaying and nightmares appeared already like a lifetime to her, with no hope of an end. Sometimes the Dalish closed her eyes and _pretended_ to be somewhere else, trying to remember the color of the grass, the blue of the sky or the warmth of the sun on her skin. It became harder with each week that passed, with each step further within the Deep Roads, the memories already tinged and blurred with the overbearing blackness.

It made her sick to the core.

Lenya tried to focus but on some days it was just too hard, too unbearable just to _be_ here, confined by all the corruption and _stone _that her mind closed off. She hated herself for being so weak, for wanting to run when there was no place she could go. No safe shelter. No escape.

_No escape. _

These two words echoed in her head again and again, leaving her breathless and shaking. She fought against the urge to stop walking and give in to the feeling of nausea and the unrelenting trembling. Reluctantly, the Dalish continued to put one foot in front of the other, while trying not to think, to feel.

_Stone, Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. _

It was a chant in her head that mocked her, making her _aware _of nothingness around her and such awareness only made the shaking _worse_.

Unexpectedly, a warm light enveloped her all the sudden, stopping the constricting of her chest and arousing her from her stupor. Lenya looked up and recognized Nithius, who exchanged a concerned glance with Alistair.

Lenya forced a smile for him that didn't reach her tired eyes. Nithius was good, a bright light in all this bleakness reeking of death and decay. He was warm like his magic that mended torn flesh and restored energy when all the exhausting fighting and walking became too much. He was a piece of green grass within the blackness, a piece of _home.._.

"_Ma serranas, lethallin,_" she mumbled, her voice still a bit quivering. Involuntary, she reverted more and more to elvish when speaking with him, with the one that understood her ways, the one that was a bit like... _Tamlen._ She should have hated him for that, for being a constant reminder of all the things lost, but she couldn't. Instead the Dalish found herself grateful to him for being so friendly and warm in such a forsaken place, for being...a friend. It helped her to move on, to continue.

"How long until we get to the Dead Trenches?" Alistair sped up his pace to reach the leading dwarf.

"Oh, stop wetting yourself, Warden. It is just another day's distance by now. The closer we get to the Dead Trenches, however, the more we have to watch out for darkspawn."

"You don't say..." he encountered dryly. His eyes wandered back to Lenya, who walked almost at the rear, her steps unusually ponderous. "So it would be better to make camp now and catch some sleep before we enter the home of the darkspawn, right? So that we are somewhat recovered for the coming fights."

"Astonishing, so many words out of your mouth actually make sense. This must be the first time."

"Well thanks, Sten," Alistair raised an eyebrow as he looked at the Qunari, "I suppose."

"You are welcome, Warden," he replied flatly and moved on without further regard.

Then silence returned within the stony caverns and they walked on for another while, the prior idea to camp almost forgotten again.

Lenya felt _his_ gaze on her, the _concerned_ look he gave her, when he thought she would _not_ notice it. And she hated it. "What?" the Dalish groused reluctantly as the feeling of being _watched_ did _not_ cease.

"Oh nothing," Alistair said casually, "It's just ...do you feel any darkspawn nearby...or far away for that matter?"

Lenya halted for a fraction to listen in, then sighed a bit relieved. "No."

"Good I was just double-checking, you know?" He demonstratively lowered his pace. "That means we can set up camp now."

"No!" she exclaimed. "Why should we? It's just a day until the Dead Trenches." Lenya didn't even know why she was protesting, or insisted so adamantly on reaching their destination. It was not like there would be anything to find other than darkspawn, rocks and corruption.

"Because we are all beyond exhausted, _fool._" Morrigan glowered at the elf, shaking her head. "The next darkspawn horde could be our undoing at this rate."

"I never actually thought I would ever _agree_ with Morrigan, but, well ...I _do_." Alistair blinked, his dirtied face contorted in mock- disgust. "Must be the air down here or something."

The witch wrinkled her nose. "No, I can assure you, Alistair, that atrocious smell is just you."

"Heeeey, I'm not smell – "he sniffed around on himself "...okay _I am_, but with all those layers of darkspawn blood covering every part of me, well, _almost_ every part, that is not really surprising, right? One reason more for camp. The darkspawn won't detect us, because they will think we are one of them."

Nithius chuckled. "Might be a good plan for the Dead Trenches as well." Then to Morrigan beside him. "Alas there is no spell for magical clean up, and the possibilities within the Deep Roads are limited, my little odorous, apostate flower."

"Shut up, elf, or I will freeze you right next to that wall."

His grin only broadened. "Suit yourself."

Within the past weeks, Nithius had found some amusement in teasing Morrigan, because she always reacted so deliciously ...grumpy and _predictable. _She was surely an intelligent woman and a powerful mage, but it was all too easy – and amusing – for him to pull those certain strings before letting it pass altogether.

The mage turned to Lenya. _"Ma darhamin. _We all do, Lenya._" _

She didn't react at first, then all the sudden she stopped and thrashed her backpack with a loud thud to the ground, the contents clattering within. "Fine then we stop and camp. I don't care either way."

Shale slanted its stony head, its white eyes gleaming eerily at the elf in the darkness. "Oh, is it acting like a petulant child again? It seems to like that kind of behavior since it has been down here..."

"I think we are just tired and need sleep, Shale," Alistair spoke up, ignoring Lenya's glare boring into him. "So a little rest will do us good, Despite the... " he looked around, frowning, "...grim surroundings."

The golem made a confused gesture somewhat akin to blinking. "Sleep? Is this when it paws its nose and mumbles incoherently? Is that sleep?"

The Warden sighed. Of course the golem wouldn't know about such things like sleep because it didn't need – He startled as the creature's words sunk in. "Wait_, _you _watch_ me _while_ I sleep?"

"Sure," it heaved its shoulders matter-of-factly. "I watch all how they sleep and count their breaths, I have little to do otherwise. It helps me to suppress the overwhelming urge to crush their fleshy heads like little melons."

"And here I thought sleeping in the Deep Roads alone was creepy enough. Silly me. I won't do much of that anymore, that's for sure." His following laugh was bitter. _Not that I sleep much in the first place... _Again his eyes wandered toward his fellow Warden and he bit his lip at the sight.

Lenya sat on the bare grimed ground beside her backpack, uncaring for the things around her. She just stared at the rock before her feet, her green eyes glossy and devoid of emotion. He sensed that it was even harder for her, the dreams, being here, just..._everything._ Normally she found some satisfaction in killing darkspawn at least, the dance with her blades a lighthearted one, but after all the weeks of incessant fighting, even that ceased to be joy to her and all that was left was... _nothing._

"Nithius," Alistair strode over to the mage who was setting up a little fireplace together with Morrigan in this middle of nowhere. Morrigan rolled her eyes at his arrival and groaned, turning deliberately away.

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Err, well," the Warden breathed, a tad nervous for this request. "You know, Lenya...well, could you put a sleep spell on her for a while? Like a couple of hours? As you might have noticed she isn't in the best condition right now. She needs sleep, but she will try to refuse it."

"Because of the dreams you Grey Wardens have? Understandable... but that means that you haven't slept better, right?"

"Yes, err, well no." Alistair heaved a sigh. "Look, I _am_ tired...beyond that even," he pointed a gloved finger at her, "...but Lenya _needs_ a good portion of sleep even more than me and you should know that she'll be too sturdy to give in to _that_, if I actually _ask_ her to rest."

"Hmm, you admittedly have a point." the elf scratched his sooted chin, pondering this thought for a moment. A grin flashed within his expression. "Oh my, it's heartwarming how much you care for her, truly."

"Oh wipe that smirk out of your face, would you? " Alistair hesitated briefly, the tone in his voice a bit wistful. "She is my... sister, my fellow Warden. The only one that is left, so _of course_ I care."

"I wondered about that some time for now, yet never dared to ask." Nithius looked up to the taller man. "What happened to the other Wardens?"

There was a palpable pause and an audible intake of breath that Alistair took and the elf already regretted asking the question. Some things were better left unsaid, he knew that. For he had his own ones.

"Look, I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have asked..."

The Warden breathed in again, unsure how to answer, unsure if he would be able to answer _at all._ "What? You haven't heard? According to the _new regent_, we both have killed them _all_... and not to mention the king at ...Ostagar," he said in an all too cheery voice.

_Humor is good. A deflection for all things unwanted. _

"I – " Nithius faltered, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, down there in Orzammar we didn't get much news about the events on the surface."

"It's...okay."

_It's not. It never __will be._

"You are somewhat a Grey Warden recruit now and should know this. Anyway, please help Lenya get a few hours of sleep, at best _dreamless_ ones. I will hold out for that long, if needed."

With that, he turned, covering his face in shadows again and his thoughts as well. He didn't allow himself to think on Ostagar, not when he needed to stay vigilant throughout the next hours in which Lenya would hopefully find some peace in sleep.

His only fellow Warden, his _sister_.

.

.

~V~

.

The provisory camp had been set up very quickly.

Considering that most of the companions were ready to collapse on the very spot, they didn't bother with laying out bedrolls or even tents. They were lying on the bare ground, stealing a bit of sleep while it was possible, uncaring for the filth which had already crept into every pore of their skin anyway.

Lenya lay motionless in the same corner she had sat before, and doped by the sleep spell she slumbered a dreamless sleep. Alistair had no doubt that the Dalish would be angry for that when she woke, yet from what he had heard of the Dead Trenches there would be enough darkspawn for her to vent said anger on. Fighting against his own, more natural need to rest, the Warden began to dislodge his armor.

Given, it wasn't the most _logical_ thing to do while being on _watch,_ but the weight of his plate was slowly wearing him down and he needed to get rid of it, if only for a little while. The prospect of ice- cold water to wash away at least a bit of the sticky ichor wasn't alluring either, though one that would keep him awake and _occupied._ It was enough that he was constantly killing darkspawn here, he really didn't need to smell like one.

Near the fireplace, Alistair undid the straps on his breastplate and removed the top half of his armor, then the grimed, sweaty padding and tunic. The cave was cramped and didn't provide much privacy, so he decided to leave it at that and bowed down to catch his enchanted water-skin. On his way up he peered into the widened eyes of the dwarf, who suddenly stood before him.

"Ehh, sorry boy, but you are not my type. At all."

"Label me relieved Oghren, because this is something we actually have in common."

He poured a bit of water over himself, always aware to not extinguish the fire with it, and simultaneously amazed how good _cold water_ could actually _feel_. Dust and dried ichor had already accumulated on him and Alistair tried to wipe it off the best he could with what little he had. He ran the water through his hair a last time and then returned to the fire, the liquid still dripping down his skin. Sighing contentedly, he alighted himself near Oghren, grateful for feeling at least somewhat human again.

"So I get it that we search for Branka, but why aren't you with her in the first place? You are her husband after all."

"Heh, tell you what; ever been married, Warden?" Oghren snorted and took another swig of his brew.

"No, of course not! I was raised in the Chantry," Alistair hurried to answer, then a bit quieter. "And now as a Grey Warden, marriage is very unlikely and frowned upon by the Order. It only distract from the duty as a Warden...or so I have heard."

"Good on you, boy. Thank the hardest stone you can find. Marriage is for suckers."

"Hmm..." he hummed quietly, staring into the flames.

"All I ever got out of that moss-licker was a headache, a deaf ear, a scratched-up back and that rash it took three different ointments to get rid of." Oghren said, his tone edged with bitterness. "And that was before she ran away into the Deep Roads for the Anvil of the Void. Some would call that _dedication_, but I just call it sodding crazy nug-shit."

Alistair hissed as he rubbed the magical ointment from Nithius on several little cuts the mage didn't heal. The Warden made a mental note to let him rectify that. "So, she left you behind for a thing that might not even exist? Wow, that must suck," he blurted.

"Heh, at least _I had_ some action, you know?" The dwarf grinned. "I forged the moaning statue with Branka many, many times. Girl was crazy, that's true, but an animal in – "

"Whoa, disturbing images here," Alistair hurried to interrupt, his voice peaking a tone higher. "_Please_ stop telling me _that_."

"Heh, serve yourself, ya stiff bronto. You know what would do you some good? Find a girl, no matter who, as long there are no pants involved. Ya sorely need to get rid of some tension, I can tell."

Alistair chose to revert to sarcasm, to hide the embarrassment this conversation caused him. "Oh, now _you_ are giving me advice at life? Gee, thanks!"

"You are welcome, Warden. You know, I can smell purity a mile away. It's a talent."

"That proves to be useful, I'm sure," he commented rather dryly and took a swig of his water-skin.

"Not that often, it turns out," Ohgren answered. "Doesn't change the facts, however. Maybe you could shag that little scrawny elf you seem to be so fond of."

At that, Alistair spluttered the water out in a high fountain and coughed.

"Heh, sorry, Warden. No need to suffocate on your sissy water. I meant _shag the boss_, if you like that term better." Oghren shrugged and continued drinking.

"It's... not... the...water...actually." Alistair coughed the words out and finally managed to somewhat calm down again. "You know, Oghren, that weird conversation we just had?"

"Yeah?"

Alistair stood up from his place and quickly turned to go. "Totally over now."

Snatching his armor parts from the ground, Alistair left for the other side of camp. Even if Shale would continue talking about its ravaging hatred of birds all night, he just had decided that the golem was the far better company until Lenya woke up.

.

.

* * *

.

They were marching along a narrowed passage and had almost reached the Dead Trenches. The closer that they got, however, the more agitated both of the Wardens seemed to become.

"You...feel _that?_" His head snapped to his fellow Warden, staring at her wide-eyed.

Lenya squinted her eyes and tried to make sense of what her tainted blood was telling her. "I – " her voice broke and she returned his beseeching look..."How? The feeling is similar to my dreams...but I'm awake...right?"

Alistair gritted his teeth, willed his feet to keep moving forward, even if _everything_ within him was telling him to _stop_. "I fear so, yes."

"What is that loud and repeating dull sound that nearly shakes the ground?" Nithius asked, growing a bit anxious at the Warden's appalled reactions.

"That is _not_ me, healing mage." Shale felt compelled to throw in.

"Darkspawn," Lenya breathed all of a sudden into the tensed atmosphere, "there are so many of them."

Sten readied his mighty two-handed sword. "_How_ many, exactly, elf ?"

With each step out of the passage the pounding of the ground grew louder. "I don't know. _So many, _the taint is so ...thick," she murmured abstractedly, her eyes widened. Alistair cautiously walked beside her, his breath coming out in laborious intervals.

"Are ya sure you both are Grey Wardens? If ya can't sense them, what is the sense then? "After a small pause, Oghren added with a snort, "Heh, I'm a sodding poet."

Lenya didn't react anymore, the feeling of her humming blood too strong. It had started to sing a gruesome yet wonderful song the closer they got to the myriads of flickering lights that danced upon the high stone walls. The excruciating feeling grew more intense the closer the Dalish got to that huge chasm and yet was there another, mightier presence palpable underneath all that, which almost muted everything else with its frantic drumming in her blood.

Standing now at the edge of it, she dared to look down and froze at the sight.

The flickering lights were actually an enormous amount of darkspawn, a whole _army_ marching toward the surface, growling and snarling as they walked. Hundreds, more likely thousands, of fires moved forward in one pounding, relentless beat. Although they most likely felt the Wardens conversely, the creatures appeared to ignore their presence, maybe even thought of them as one of them due to the sheer amount of tainted blood present.

"Maker, help us..." Alistair uttered and broke the grave, shocked silence that had fallen over the group at the sight. He scarcely managed to lay a hand upon the shoulder of his shaking fellow Warden, too terrified to move, even unable to.

Lenya wanted to do something.

Look away, close her eyes, run away, just _something_; but she found herself paralyzed on the spot, except for the fierce trembling that shook her whole being, as she _kept_ watching them moving.

_This cannot be true. This must be a dream. A dream. I'm dreaming._

But it wasn't.

Just like in her dreams, she saw the darkspawn marching mercilessly on their way to destroy everything they could get their tainted claws on. The only difference now was that the Dalish was _wideawake_ and actually _witnessing_ it. Unbidden, the paralyzed feeling made way for a new thought, filling the female Warden with dread and despair.

_How will_ _we ever be able to win? Impossible..._

A horrifying roar filled the vast hall suddenly, petrifying the group with its reverberating terror. Unforeseen a bestial, violet dragon descended near them, its enormous wings flapping loudly as it soared high above. The creature's almighty presence was in her head, in her blood, in her whole _being_.

It sang to her.

She was not only aware of what it was, she _knew_ it.

**ARCHDEMON.**

It landed with an earth-shattering quake not far from them, so close that she could almost stare directly into its abhorrent grimace. Lenya couldn't move anymore and had completely forgotten how to breathe, her body only a whole quivering mess. Alistair wasn't faring any better, with any attempts to move extinguished by fear and the overbearing presence that was in his very being.

"Fools!"

Morrigan spat that word out and glared at the frozen Warden duo in front of them, then whirled around to the others, screaming. "No time to hesitate! Get the Wardens out of here _now_ or we are _all_ dead!" The witch had already started to run back into the passage nearby, uncaring for the others following.

Just as Lenya remembered how to use her voice and was about to scream, a huge hand covered her mouth and muffled her terrified cry. Quickly, Sten snatched the little elf and retreated back into the stony passage, with Shale doing the same with Alistair...although a lot more reluctantly.

Breathlessly, they arrived at what they surmised to be a safe shelter for the moment. At least until the both Wardens regained her countenance. With a dissatisfied scoff, the Qunari let the still shaking elven woman down, uncaring of the stone nearby. Lenya sank down to the ground, her frantic, hitching breath the only visible movement. Otherwise she was frozen shell-shocked, her gaze one single, blank stare into nothingness.

Heedless, Shale let its living luggage slump down, earning itself a pained groan from Alistair who hit the ground rather roughly. The golem was displeased. "Hmpf, there was a huge bird. Why did we run away from it? We should go back and kill it."

Morrigan glowered up at the golem, her tone all sardonic. "Go on, foolish creature and kill the archdemon. Might be a picture to behold."

Now Shale was even more confused. "It was the _archdemon_, the swamp witch says? Mustn't the Warden kill it to end the Blight? Then running away made even less sense. Is it trying to protect the archdemon? Maybe the swamp witch is a darkspawn accomplice, it would fit to its never-ending yearning for power, however."

Morrigan only groaned annoyed at that.

"Well, here I thought that facing the archdemon with two mentally incapable Wardens – one _permanently__, _I'd like to add – while being surrounded by a huge darkspawn army might have been a _bad_ idea. Possibly. But oh, golem you indeed have laid me bare. Finally I can stop pretending. I confess: I'm a servant of the dark master, and now my evil plan is complete."

"Come to think of it, I'm almost certain now that it is _not_ a darkspawn accomplice. But, to be fair, I wasn't listening." The golem shrugged and turned to Lenya, observing her rigid figure which was still staring blankly at the wall. "Is it dead? _I_ haven't killed it _this_ time."

"_Maker_, that was the archdemon." All of the sudden were there words coming from the ground, originating from Alistair who was still lying flat in the dirt. "That _was _the archdemon. That was the ARCHDEMON. As in I-could-eat-you- all-in-one-bite- _archdemon_. As in _dragony_, dragon-seized archdemon. As in I'm talking to you in my head-Warden- archdemon." The words bubbled outright out of him as he tried to grasp what had happened.

"Idiot." Morrigan strode over to him, snarling. "Get a hold of yourself, would you?"

Slowly he managed to sit up within his heavy armor, still visibly shaken. "Calm may work for Sten or Shale here, but I'm freaked out, and I intend to stay that way."

The witch bowed down to him and smiled sweetly, then unceremoniously slapped him across the face.

Surprised, he glared up to her, rubbing his aching cheek. "Ouch what was _that_ for?"

"For getting us nearly swallowed whole, you tool. And since I don't want to slap Lenya for it, twas only you who was left. Also more fun that way."

His eyes grew wide. "Lenya..." Completely forgetting Morrigan up in front, he scrambled over to her and saw that she was still not reacting to anything.

"Maybe the swamp witch should slap it as well? I would, but I might squish it," Shale commented while looking at the Dalish.

"Parshaara elf, here. I'm contented to part with it, if it saves us from wasting more time. There is an archdemon to kill after all." Without further words the Qunari unpacked a brown, rounded thing and literally shoved it into Lenya's mouth. The elf blinked rashly as she bit into the crisp texture of it and tasted the sweet flavor.

"What... did you give her?" Nithius asked, amazed to see her spirit kindled anew from it.

"I don't know the word in your tongue but ...baked, round... things. One thing I can respect this country for at least," Sten replied and quickly stored the rest of them back into his stash.

"You have ...cookies?" Alistair was baffled. "From where? Was there a darkspawn baker I missed somewhere here?"

Sten groaned at the Warden's attempt to be funny. "There was a fat slovenly child we passed in the last village, I relieved him of them. He did not need more."

Alistair arched an eyebrow. "Whoa, so you stole cookies... from a _child?"_

The Qunari simply shrugged. "It was for his own good." He turned to the Dalish again. "You are the leader. Start acting like one."

"_Ar darthen." _Lenya rubbed her face and made a pained expression. "I...sorry. There are just...just..." she trailed off, leaving her sentence unfinished. ._..so many darkspawn_, she added mentally, _how __will we_ _ever win against – _

"Lenya..." This was all Alistair said, but it was sufficed enough. The unsaid part was expressed through his eyes and just with looking into those, she knew that he understood, because he was the only one who actually _could_.

Her fellow Warden, the only one.

Taking a deep breath, she looked away from him and closed her eyes.

_The darkness. Fighting an impossible cause. The corruption. All these rocks above her head._

The Dalish couldn't even say what was the worst of all these things within the Deep Roads or what suffocated her more. Nevertheless, Sten was right. She was their leader, no matter how much she despised that fact. So she _had_ to keep going.

"Let's move on," Lenya pressed through gritted teeth and bolted up from the ground.

Nithius observed her, concerned. "Are you _really_ alright?"

Another intake of that foul air followed and her expression shifted into an all grim one.

"More than that. I'm _furious_."

.

.

* * *

.

The companions had passed half of a giant stone bridge to get on the other side of the chasm when a group of heavily armed dwarves approached them from the opposite direction. One of them, a battle-hardened, bald dwarf with fierce brands was eying Lenya suspiciously.

"So they even let little elven girls into the Grey Warden order now, huh?"

"Fart me a lullaby, that _is_ the Legion of the Dead," Oghren exclaimed, seemingly happy to meet the black-armored group of about fifteen men.

"Ah, don't glare at me like that, Warden," the dwarven man added after Lenya tensed at his first sentence, somewhat ready to draw her weapons. "I have just seen none of your kind in the Deep Roads before, that is all. I'm not surprised that you have come, Wardens. I'm just surprised that you came so small in numbers."

"Legion of the Dead, huh?" Alistair returned the scrutiny for a moment, then relaxed a bit. "Well, everyone killing darkspawn down here is automatically my friend."

The dwarf nodded to Alistair. "Name is Kardol. The Blight is obvious to us, Warden."

"Astonishing," Shale interjected dryly. "Did the huge bird give that fact away to the midgets? Or was it the large amount of marching darkspawn not far from here?"

"A _sarcastic_ golem? Well and I have thought to have seen everything..."

"Oh...am I not what the midget expects me to be? Shall I speak in a more monotone and booming voice?" The golem's voice changed into a deliberate dull tone. "Yes Master. I serve only the Master."

"Enough, Shal –" The Dalish words were suddenly cut off by a rain of arrows, coming straight from the one end of the bridge. The attack immediately took two legionnaires down and another one was severely wounded. It would have hit the female Warden as well, though thankfully she stood beside the golem whose stony skin easily deflected the threatening arrows.

Her head snapped into the direction of it, seeing a large horde of darkspawn swarming toward them, growling fiercely. Even a giant ogre was among their forces, its ponderous steps shaking the ground. Lenya's eyes opened wide at the sight.

An ambush.

How was that possible that she didn't sense them earlier? She had no time to fathom the reasons as the first quick genlocks tried to breach through the group's front-line, using the element of surprise to their advantage. Without looking at his fallen men, Kardol pressed on and slaughtered the first darkspawn with the rest of his men in an ably manner.

"Let them come, it saves us from searching for their lair!" he roared, thoroughly sinking his axe into the nearest creature.

It gave Lenya and her companions the needed fraction of time to get ready for this sudden, unexpected battle. Although it was a most unfortunate place to fight, they already had survived worse down here. So the group spun on their heels and formed a more defensive line in the middle of the bridge and readied their weapons in one single motion.

The frantic humming of the darkspawn filled this vast place now, drowning out every other sound. It resembled a deathly chant that screamed for blood, a reverberating hissing with the need to kill _everything_ in their way. Nithius raised his staff and managed to cast a quick spell of protection before chaos erupted and the air was filled with yet another sound: The clashing of metal and steel, the snarling of the darkspawn, the pained groans of the falling dwarven men around them if one of the tainted creatures managed to breech their line.

Heedlessly the darkspawn pressed on, the seemingly never-ending waves of them even ignored fallen comrades, stomped on them, inebriated with the need to get their goal, their purpose. _Killkillkill. _It was palpable to the Dalish because the same chant was running through her own veins. Group-mind, Alistair had once called it and the elf hated every passing heartbeat, every drop of her tainted blood for it. It made her angry, so incredibly furious. So she found only little satisfaction as she leaped up into the air and landed on top of one creature, plunging both of her blades deep within its flesh. It struggled briefly, unwilling to give in, but then went still.

Lenya jolted up toward the next hurlock and she used her momentum to slash across its throat with her silverite dagger, its black ichor gushing out as it clutched its throat and fell back. With fluent movements, she danced aside another attack and the sword of the hurlock only hit the empty ground. It hissed in anger and charged anew, this time the blow got parried by her sword which she got up just in time. Yet the force behind it had been too strong, so the blade fell, clattering to the filthy ground and eventually through a cleft down into the endless darkness of the chasm.

Lenya's eyes traced its way with horror for a fraction, but the snarling of the still present hurlock snapped her quickly back to attention. The noise it made was something akin to glee, seeing the female Warden in front of itself almost unarmed. It hauled back to attack...and got swept off its feet by a mind blast wave that Nithius had cast right in time. Lenya took the opportunity to slash its throat with her remaining dagger. She cursed and swore so colorfully in elvish that the elf mage aside her even blushed a bit while attempting to keep his companions and the dwarves alive.

Out of her peripheral vision the Dalish noticed how one of the darkspawn archers afar was aiming at the mage and all she could do to prevent him from getting hit was to shove him roughly aside. Alas she couldn't avoid getting hit herself anymore, so the arrow struck her right shoulder. The searing pain whizzed all air out of her lungs and stars swam before her eyes as she stumbled and had the feeling of falling.

A stout hand gripping her by her other arm eventually stopped the odd sensation. "Hey, Warden. Bad idea to fall down there. " Oghren roughly put her back to her shaking feet and then noticed the arrow stuck in her shoulder, blood spilling from it.

"Where is Sparklefingers, when you need him?" Frantically, Oghren looked for Nithius but didn't find him.

The dwarf interrupted his search to swing his axe hard at a genlock that attempted to get past him, cutting it down. "Sodding nuglicker, thought could surprise me. Pah!" he grunted and quickly turned his head to the elf. "Won't let ya go dying, Warden. You'll see." To emphasize his words he cut the next darkspawn down that attempted to reach the elf.

Sweat was pouring down her face and the pain in her shoulder was _that _intense that she had the feeling of being torn apart. But she wasn't. She was _here_ and _alive_, shaking on her feet and wounded but _alive_ ...and that was thanks to that _dwarf_, oddly enough. Lenya changed the remaining weapon to her left, main sword hand, gritted her teeth and continued fighting, ignoring her own condition as much as she was able to.

"Idiot!" Morrigan exclaimed and from one second to the other shifted herself into a giant spider, leaping simultaneously on three darkspawn that were about to flank the Dalish and tore their throats out.

Oghren blinked at the sudden attack and raised his axe. "Ugh, now spiders _too_?"

Lenya stepped in between and the dwarf was just able to stop the blow he had readied for that creature. "Have you a sodding death wish, Warden? What by the stone is wrong with you?"

"That is _Morrigan_, you drunken idiot," she snarled in return and hissed at the pain in her shoulder. The spider-Morrigan made a sound that sounded like a disapproving noise and went on with killing the next genlocks in reach.

"Sodding mages," Oghren muttered and sank his axe into the hurlock hurrying toward them, its black ichor spluttering across his face as it fell.

.

.

* * *

.

The battle went on what felt like an eternity, leaving all more or less severely wounded when it was finally over.

A bloodied bandage was wrapped tightly around Alistair's head, a remnant of the fight he had with the giant ogre, but the Warden didn't care that much because he was still alive and only _that_ counted.

Others weren't that lucky however; among the Legion of Dead there had been heavy losses. No matter how hard Nithius had tried to keep them all alive, it had simply not been possible to heal so many persons at once. Five legionnaires lost their lives and it was gnawing at his conscience as he saw them lying there in the dust in between the darkspawn corpses. As their healer, he had been responsible for preventing their death... and yet he had failed.

A hand was suddenly lain upon his shoulder. It was the one of Kardol. "We don't fear death, elf. We embrace it. They have died an honorable death, as we are supposed to. I'm surprised to see you mourning for them, but you don't have to. Go and help your companions."

Morrigan, in human form again, sipped down a magical potion to heal the various cuts she had suffered while fighting in spider form. Sten was bandaging his left arm and simply ignored the other minor injuries that needed no treatment in his opinion.

The golem watched curiously his activity. "So are all of your kind similarly powerful, Qunari?"

Sten didn't even look up. "I'm not here to sate your curiosity, golem."

"I apologize. I wanted to say that it is a powerful fighter and if all of your people are like you, it is a wonder you haven't crushed the humans under your heel."

Sten grunted, now looking straight to the golem. "I have wondered the same thing."

"You Qunari's could easily manage this. One just needs to look at them. They're so...small, squishy...and dumb."

The Qunari nodded in apprehension. "Indeed. You and I, we are of the same mind, kadan."

Shale chuckled. "That is most kind of the Qunari to say. Now let us squish some more darkspawn, yes?"

.

~V~

.

Alistair winced as he sat down, leaning himself against the wall for support. He felt overly bruised and battered, feeling every cut burning on his skin underneath this heavy armor, especially that one at his leg where the ogre was able to reach him with its claws. Every fiber of his body yearned for a bit more treatment with the alleviating healing magic, but he held the wish off, knowing that others needed it more direly. His eyes automatically darted toward Lenya not too far away, and watched with concern at how she stood in front of Nithius, the arrow still in her shoulder.

"This will hurt now. A lot," the elf said with an apologetic expression in his face, and he clasped the arrow at its head and cautiously broke it in a half to shorten it.

Lenya gritted her teeth. "Just get that thing out of me, so we can finally advance to the healing part."

"Ma nuvenin," he nodded weakly and with one, quick movement pulled the other half out of her shoulder. Lenya screamed in pain and reflexively clutched her wounded shoulder, the sound of it making Nithius and Alistair flinch simultaneously. A faint blue light enveloped her wound then, only relieving a bit of the pain and halting the worst of the bleeding, before it fully stopped and the mage stumbled backward, pale and weakened.

The Dalish knitted her brows. "Are you okay?"

Nithius bent over, snapping for air. "I – ...j-just...give...me...a...moment." On his way up he saw how the Dalish had started to unstrap her upper leather armor. "What are you...doing?"

"Just bandage my shoulder, Nithius. The worst of the pain and blood have stopped, so a poultice should be enough for now. You can heal me once you have rested a bit. And don't worry, I'm not fully naked under that, however. "

He blinked and then nodded. "Good to know. Ma serannas, Lenya."

"Well, we are all need a bit rest now..." She observed the pile of darkspawn corpses and made a face. " ...just _so_ not here." Quickly she had loosened the last of the straps, leaving her standing in front of him in only her dirtied breastband that was wrapped tightly around her bosom.

"This is not what I meant and you know that!" Nithius exclaimed and turned away to reach for the needed poultice. "Why have you done this, Lenya?"

She shrugged with her healthy shoulder. "With whom should I speak elvish then? Although you got a shitty accent and pronunciation indeed."

The elf grinned. "I...see. Still that was reckless, Lenya. You are lucky that it is just your shoulder that got hit. It could have been far worse than that."

"Yes, just imagine, I could have fallen from that cliff there. Which I haven't. Yeah, I'm such a lucky woman, huh?" The last part had a bitter undertone.

"I shouldn't be here. ...At all," she added quietly after a moment. "I shouldn't be fighting against those creatures, nor searching for a long lost paragon for a Warden treaty. I should be with – " Lenya faltered, averting her eyes from him.

Nithius was startled by the brief flash of sadness in her eyes that was quickly veiled again. "You, you...miss your clan?"

"Do you still remember how the trees swayed back and forth in the wind? How the forest smelled after the rain? The noises of the animals in the night around the camp?"

Nithius nodded. Now the Dalish looked up, wistfulness and frustration visible in her eyes. "Because _I_ can't anymore. _Durgen'an dar souveri ar!_"

_This stone place is killing me... _He didn't know what to say to that, so he simply stepped forward and embraced her lightly to comfort her. She let it happen and didn't struggle against it, much to his own surprise.

Lenya was an attractive woman without a doubt, but _this _felt different to the many times he had been with women, more like embracing his _sister._ So he awkwardly patted her bare back and released her again. Not to mention that he could _feel_ Alistair's stare upon him and he surmised it was _not_ a friendly one in that moment.

"Why did you leave your people then?" the elf asked to end the awkwardness in between.

"Why did you leave the Dalish clan, Nithius?" Lenya countered.

He averted his eyes and concentrated on finishing the bandage on her shoulder and fastened it with a last tight knot. "I did ask first. Not fair."

"Okay." The Dalish sighed, its tone long and melancholic. "I hadn't a choice, really. It was either leaving and live or stay and die. I'd have preferred the staying, though. Consequences be damned."

Nithius' laugh was mirthless. "I guess we have more in common than I thought."

"Yeah, because you also got tainted through an old Tevinter mirror, lost your best friend _and_ clan in one heartbeat and was forced to become a Grey Warden in order to not become a drooling lunatic like Ruck. No, we are _not_ different at all!" Lenya burst out, her tone angry.

Nithius stared at her in shock for a moment, unable to say anything. Blinking, the Warden looked away from him, then blinked again, forcing away whatever tears had been about to break out.

"I really don't want to talk about it. It's too –

– painful?" he added and frowned." Yeah, I know _that_ feeling. I never wanted to leave as well...but I had to." He turned away from her and continued talking. "I got snatched away from Highever's dirtied alienage streets by the templars at age ten, yet I never felt home in the Circle of Magi. It has been always a prison to me. That feeling of home and...family was something I experienced for the first time in my life with the Dalish. For many years I lived with them in peace, found my own one with myself and even...love." There was an audible hitching in his voice, a tremble before he stopped.

Lenya swallowed hard, unsure how to react. "What happened?"

"One day, the Templars found me. I don't know how because normally the old and quite powerful magic of Zathrian prevented them from sensing me through my phylactery.

But they did.

Unforeseen they stood amidst our camp, slaughtering hunters, women and children alike in the name of the Maker." Nithius voice broke and he whimpered audible. "We fought them with all that we had and eventually won in the end," he continued, " ...but the losses...had been great, too severe. And It all happened only because of me. So I left. I never wanted to go ...but I _had to_." He turned to her again, tears glittering in his eyes. "So don't tell me we are so different in that, _emma falon_. You are not the only one who knows the feeling of hurt and loss."

Lenya didn't say anything for a long while and gnawed on her lower lip. She simply didn't know how to react or what to reply on that. She was aware that he was right with his words and that part was _hard_ to admit. _"Emma ir...abalas, Nithius,"_ she only said instead, her tone all calm and compassionate as she lay a hand on his shoulder.

"No, I am sorry. For all what happened... because of me. _Melana nesta na haru. Din'bel in numin uth. _I- I really should go and rest a bit. I want to heal your shoulder soon after all." Nithius forced a smile and hastily turned to leave.

Lenya closed her eyes at his words, pulled in by a vortex of emotions. "You are right, we aren't _that_ different after all," she whispered at his retreating back.

* * *

**Elvish notes: **

_Emma falon - my friend _

_Ar darthen- I'm awake._

_Melana nesta na haru. Din'bel in __numin uth." - The time heals your wounds. But some pain stays forever. _( I cheated here and I threw sindarin with in the mix, the DA:O elvish is too limited at times)

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Not the end I intended for the chapter but I needed to part it here due to the length. I seem to be unable to create a character who is not hit by tragedy...oh well, it's more fun/interesting this way. As I started to write Nithius, I had never imagined that he'd come that important...but now he is. Funny when characters take over and have a life of their own ;) Next chapter is finally the big bad Hespith/Broodmother encounter and some more... Review please._


	36. Of old and new wounds

**_A/N:_** _This time, I was impatient because I'm dying to know the reactions to it and didn't want the gap of the updating schedule to become too long, ...so this is why I publish this chapter unbeta-d for now. Feel free to ignore any butchering of the english language in form of grammar mistakes ...or if you are a grammar nazi and can't live without, drop me a PM with its mistakes. Though this might be a waste of your time, because the wonderful **Malymin** will do her magic thing on it later anyway. But for now 'twas important to me to get it out for some progress and the story events therein, so this is why I updated it just the way it is now. _

_ This being said, veeery long chapter abound (11k words) and the most important in the looong Deep Roads plotline. There is a reason why I write the DR part sooo extensively, and you'll see why when I'm done with it...or better said in later chapters. All happens for a reason. Others treaties will be much shorter, promised. But those events here are too important to let them happening in one chapter or two, especially for a certain Dalish elf ;) Chapter continues exactly where the other left off. Enjoy_.

* * *

_**Let the blade pass through the flesh,**_

_**Let my blood touch the ground,**_

_**Let my cries touch their hearts.**_

_**Let mine be the last sacrifice.**_

– _Canticle of Andraste 7:12_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 35: Of old and new wounds**

.**  
**

"I find it very odd."

Shale stepped in front of the sitting Alistair and glowered down at the Warden.

He was however, only half interested in engaging a talk with the golem, especially since it covered the sight on Lenya and Nithius with its massive stone body.

"For one who professes to be a warrior, I find it remarkably weak-willed and indecisive. It also likes to hide its many weaknesses behind a veil of jocularity," Shale continued.

"For one statue, you surely know a lot of big words," he encountered, tone all bored. "Is there a reason you are telling me all this? You know that we just have survived a massive darkspawn attack, right? So I'm not really in the mood for commenting your observations, Shale."

Shale glanced over to Lenya and chuckled. "It would rather talk to the painted elf, right? Too bad that it is_ more_ interested in talking with the healing mage, hmm?"

Alistair simply glared at the golem, which only fueled Shale's amusement more, knowing that it was right with this assumption.

"Why does the Clown knight enjoy to follow others so much anyway? Especially if it is in the position to lead?"

Alistair continued to stare at it, his tone grew more and more annoyed. "Have you ever been responsible for someone else's life? Or a lot of other lives? Or an entire nation?"

Shale shook its stony head. "Of course not."

"Then... shut...up!"

"Oh, I made it angry? Funny, that," Shale laughed shortly, then asked in a more serious tone. "So it leaves all this to the other Warden?"

Alistair blinked at that, momentarily stunned. "I...noo. I'm here, am I not?"

He sighed. Maker, why had he to justify himself to a Golem of all things? "It's just ...bad things happen when I lead, we get lost, people die, and the next thing you know I'm stranded somewhere without any pants."

"And we don't want that..._ever_. "

His head snapped up at the voice of his fellow Warden, but her frame was still covered by the massive body of the golem.

"How is your head, puppy?"

He closed his eyes at the mad rhythm of pain that thrummed within his head. "Terrible," he answered, half-smiling, half grimacing. With his eyes closed Alistair only_ heard_ how Shale moved away, muttering something about birds under its breath.

"How is your... " he opened his eyes and forgot what he wanted to say at her sight. The Dalish stood there in only half of her armor and the tight-wrapped breast-band covered just the ..._bare necessities._ His tongue clicked, reminding him _not to stare_ and to finally finish his sentence. "...shoulder?"

She shrugged with her healthy shoulder, half-smiling. "Terrible."

Alistair averted his eyes from her, feeling embarrassed. "Could...you...well, get dressed?"

"In that filthy, bloody _and_ sweaty thing?" Lenya pointed at the black leather armor, she held within her hand. "No, I ought to clean it a bit before. I'm feeling filthy enough already."

He shifted in his place, feeling even more embarrassed for actually having _not noticed_ the armored vest in her hands. "I ...see."

"Also, there is nothing you haven't seen before, anyway."

He blinked, profoundly confused of her choice of words and tone in her voice, that was so _unlike_ the Lenya in the past weeks down here. It was mocking, maybe even a bit _teasing_, but most of all _amused_.

_Wait, did I hit my head a way too much?_

The Dalish sat herself aside him and he did not dare to turn to her. He heard some scraping sound coming from her side and assumed that she was somewhat cleaning the leather.

"I'm sorry about the sword..." she suddenly said, the cleaning sound ceasing for a fraction.

Alistair took a deep breath and regretted it immediately, the foul reek of darkspawn filled the whole air. "Well, better the sword than you, really."

"Hmm," she hummed in agreement, "...true. Still I liked it. And I doubt that the darkspawn move aside or start dying, if I just _ask_ them to do so."

_She liked...it? _He couldn't help to smile at that. "Well, maybe they will, if you only ask _politely _enough...?"

Lenya sighed in mock-exasperation. "Yeah, right, puppy, such a clever plan. Label me baffled. However, now I really regret to have left the other sword from Harrowmont in Orzammar."

She gestured toward the pile of darkspawn corpses afar and made a disgusted noise. " I'm certainly not touching one of _their_ rotten weapons...it's already enough to share mind and body with those bastards, not to forget the archdemon that penetrated my brain. So me? Not touching _that_."

"Hmm," he nodded, feeling strangely at ease with her. "Well, about that... " he let out a long sigh, " _that _was scary. And disturbing."

"Disturbing?" Lenya huffed, her tone all sardonic."Oh, we just have to fight a huge, sodding dragon and an army of thousands of darkspawn. Sure, no problem at all."

Despite the rather grim topic, Alistair couldn't help to laugh. " Yep, no problem at all. You take the five-hundred on the left side, and I the five-hundred on the right side. Deal?"

There was an annoyed groan of her to hear at that, which only broadened his grin. "I get it. You truly don't like being a Grey Warden, huh?"

"Oh, I hate every passing second of it," she answered, her cheery tone not really fitting to the said words.

"Your honesty is..._refreshing_..." Alistair muttered and suddenly got reminded on the one night in camp, where she talked about being a Warden with Nithius. He should have slept at that time, but couldn't. Not after what he'd heard from Lenya at that time, her words resounding loud and clear in his mind.

"_What life is that with my blood poisoned? Bastardized in a way that I'm forever bounded to the creatures I loathe more than anything else? Even in my sleep I can't escape them!"_

Unbidden, Alistair felt a pang of remorse that she had been ripped away from her beloved life to become what he found to be an honor. It wasn't one for her, so much was obvious. Though then he reminded himself that she would have been dead otherwise. And _that_ thought bothered him more than he wanted to admit, even to himself.

_Dead..._the Warden looked over her and bit his lip. He hadn't told her about the side-effect of the taint that shortened a lifespan...yet. Alistair was _aware_ that he _had to_, but right now would be the most _unfitting_ time. So he held it off...for now. If he was honest, he feared her reaction to it, knowing that his own had been not a _nice_ one, to put it mildly.

"...but what other choice do I have, anyway?" Her sigh was uncharacteristically resigning, a hunch of sadness lay in her voice. She fell silent again, her words traded in for the scraping noise.

"There is always a choice, you know?" Alistair said after a long while of stillness.

Lenya halted her doing and stared at him in disbelief. "Yeah, right. That's why I'm here, huh?"

"Exactly."

She shook her head. "I could have, _should_ have simply left, instead to throw myself willingly at the Archdemon now. I'm such an idiot, really."

Alistair shot her a lopsided grin. "Make it two."

"Nah, puppy, you are one even _without trying_."

"Heeeey!" he objected plaintive and she laughed at that, its sound so detached from sorrow, that he couldn't do anything than to watch her in awe.

Only a few months ago, she had been nothing than a grumpy, crazy Dalish to him, and now she was sitting here in the Deep Roads with him, surrounded by stinking darkspawn corpses and laughed_ lightheartedly_, even if only for a few precious moments.

It was surprising. _She_ was surprising and that in _more_ way than just _one._ Though what surprised him most was how much he liked that.

"What is a phylactery?"the elf suddenly asked, urging him to snap out of his reverie in an instant.

"What?"

"You are one of those...uhm, how do you shemlen call it..._Templar's_. So you should know..."

"I was trained as one – "

"Yeah, but you never became one." Lenya cut him off and rolled her eyes. "I'm the one with the injured shoulder, not the cracked head, remember? So stop to repeat that every single time."

"Point. Taken." Alistair hesitated for a moment. "Why do you want to know this anyway?"

"You don't want to tell me? Fine," she snapped, a low growl audible in her voice.

"N-no-no, no, Lenya, that's not ...it. At all. I'm just wondering about your sudden question. Is it because of Nithius? You...like him, right?"

"I..." Lenya faltered, unsure whether to continue or not. She cast her eyes down at the leather in her hands. "He reminds me of someone... I once knew."

"Someone –

"I don't want to talk about it," she harshly interrupted him. Why had she told him that anyway? Such a stupid thing to do.

" It's ...okay." Alistair noticed it was the best to leave it at that. Still it bothered him somehow. There was so much he didn't know about her, when he actually _wanted_ to know. He sighed and decided to focus on her initial question.

"How to explain it best? Well, basically a phylactery contains the essence of a magical being; blood taken from the apprentice mage in the Circle. Those vials are stored in a hidden place and seized by the templars to track down the mages, if they ever should turn apostate."

"So they are controlled by your shemlen Chantry all their life?" She scowled. "Disgusting. No wonder Nithius had chosen to flee from this place." Lenya turned to him, her expression something akin to disdain. "So have you hunted many mages?"

"Maker, no!" Alistair hurried to say. "As an initiate I was just once present at a Harrowing of a young girl, no older than sixteen, perhaps. That harrowing process is not unlike our Joining...and just as deathly. They put a demon inside of her to see if she could resist..." he halted briefly, shaken by the unpleasant memory, "She couldn't...we had to end it...quickly." Alistair swallowed, looking down. "I can't say I had much desire to become a templar after that day."

Lenya observed him quietly for a moment, baffled by his genuine discomfort. "I...see. So being a Grey Warden is better?"

He nodded slightly."Much better, indeed." I'm glad that Duncan, well, recruited me when he did. I never wanted to be a Templar anyway."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that so?"

Alistair grinned. "Yes, believe me, it is better that way. I wouldn't have been the most dutiful Templar anyway. Back in the days, I was banished to the kitchens to scour the pots more times than I can count. And that's a lot; I can count pretty high."

"Astonishing." Lenya muttered and rolled her eyes, yet somewhat amused.

His grin shifted to a wry one. "Yeah, as I said before, I'm a man with many talents. Or one, to be exact."

"Let me guess. Pointless rambling?"

He looked at her and couldn't help to chuckle. "Oh you see right through me, really."

The elf only groaned annoyed at the sarcastic tone in his voice. Deciding that the conversation was now over, Lenya stood slowly up, cautious not to strain her shoulder in this movement.

Unthinking, Alistair's eyes darted up to her from his seated position and observed her bare tattooed back. From this closed- up angle he noticed that those intricate lines were woven to a picture, he hadn't discerned the first time. From the end of her neck, all down her spine were threading black lines of a sword, enveloped by tribal contours which were formed to splendid wings. They looked similar to the ones of a huge bird and were spreading across of both sides of almost her whole back. There were more little details he didn't understand, but his eyes got caught above her tattoo, where shadows of long scars were still visible on her left shoulder-blade.

"That was a bear...it caught me with its claw once, when I was younger and only had begun to hunt. Never healed properly despite magic."

Lenya's sudden voice let Alistair nearly jump in his place and he frantically averted his eyes from his fellow Warden. Not only that he had stared at her back, she had noticed it as well. Once again. Those awareness left him all flushed and embarrassed, much to his dismay.

"I...I...sorry! I didn't mean to – "

_It's funny how the earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to._

The elf didn't react on that, as she was busy with her rather unsuccessfully attempts to buckle her armor with one hand again. Then Lenya rolled her eyes. "Idiot, what is so fascinating on that back of mine anyway?"

"It's tattooed? I mean that is ...nice." Alistair offered and felt the urge to hit himself for that explanation.

"...and scarred. So what? Shemlen..." she muttered under her breath and gave up on getting properly clothed before Nithius would have healed her. Lenya pointed at her flank, matter of factly. "Also that is a scar, I still have from a biting mark of a wolf. And close to it pierced me an arrow once, but that wound got fully healed, so it isn't visible anymore. Is your curiosity sated now, human?"

Alistair blinked anew. "Why, yes...err...I mean, I didn't mean to pry...or stare. I...wow you have quite the lively past, huh?"

"Oh, you have _no_ idea..." Lenya answered in a slightly mischievous tone, and flashed a crooked smile for a fraction in his direction, before it quickly veiled again. "Though this all doesn't matter anymore."

Unwilling to deal any longer with the memories that were associated with her words, the Dalish turned to go, leaving a more than slightly confused Alistair behind.

.

.

~V~

.

"Can't sleep either, I see?"

Lenya's voice startled Nithius in the half-darkness, as he searched for a vial of Lyrium in his package. He saw her simply sitting on the ground and seemingly uncaring for the dirt around her.

"I'm sorry, I really should..."

The Dalish leaned her head on the bare wall of rocks and sighed."Well, I can understand that. Not the... nicest surroundings here."

Nithius gaze fell on her bandaged shoulder. "Does your shoulder hurt much?"

She laughed, the tone all mirthless. "I survived worse, really."

"I have no doubt of that, Lenya," he said and continued to rummage in the package. Finally he found the sought item."But at least let me help you to make it easier."

"Oh, so you can cast me out of here in an instant? That would be helpful, indeed." Lenya looked up to him. _"Emma ir souveri, Nithius."_

The mage observed the faintly glowing blue vial a bit absentminded for a moment. "I know, we are all tired. This seems to be a constant mood here in the Deep Roads. Believe me, I miss the sun and fresh air even more than you."

"Hardly possible. I feel as if I'm here for years already."

One corner of his mouth tilted up at that. "And I'm _already_ here for years. Well better said in Orzammar to be exact. You had the luxury to walk on the surface before coming to Orzammar, at least."

"Exact. _Before_ coming to Orzammar. Now there is only darkness, stone and darkspawn."

He chuckled. "Now you are splitting hairs. We will return and then leave Orzammar with the needed treaty to see the sun and sky again. Just you watch."

Lenya groaned, caught between being annoyed and glad about his attempt to cheer her up."We will? Well aren't you a rolling ball of optimism?"

"What can I say? I'm here to serve." Nithius swallowed the lyrium and instantly felt a surge of mana running through his system. "And now let me heal your shoulder, so we can speed up our progress of reaching that goal a bit."

"But," The Dalish looked around, slightly confused, "...mustn't you sleep first?"

"There are other ways to restore mana." He pointed at the vial. "This is not the healthiest, but the lot quicker way to do this. Better than to wait for endless hours here, right?"

"Still you should rest," Lenya muttered sheepishly.

"Aye, aye will do, boss," Nithius said half-mockingly and turned to her. "After I have treat your shoulder."

With that he bowed down to her, closed his eyes and started to murmur a healing spell.

Blue light were flaring around the female Warden and eased her pain completely, but she was more interested in the amulet around his neck."That is... _Dalish_..." Lenya uttered surprised and pointed at the delicate trinket. "This is ironbark, I would recognize it everywhere."

Nithius let out a long sigh and reopened his eyes. "Of course you would." He clasped his amulet and observed it with a sad smile. "I should have get rid of it long ago, but I simply couldn't. _She_ had given it to me after all." Noticing that he had said too much with it, he fell silent.

Lenya knitted her brows. "_She_? You mean one of Zathrian's clan?" Shifting uncomfortably in her place, she added after a small pause. "Your... bondmate? Such a valuable gift isn't given to everyone, after all."

Now he actually smiled, although it didn't reach his eyes. "You are too clever for your own good,Lenya, you know that?" His gaze shifted back to the amulet, the expression in his face became somewhat distant and thoughtful. "I'm not sure if you could call it like that...but I loved her, yes."

Lenya didn't answer at that and for a brief moment the ponderous stillness returned to the place again. It only got disrupted by the heavy sigh of Nithius who alighted himself aside her. "Her name was Panowen and she was a fiery Dalish hunter from Zathrien's clan. She really had quite the temper and yet could be...gentle." He looked over to her. "You actually remind me a lot on her, Lenya." He laughed at her puzzled and somewhat irked expression she made at his admission.

"Don't worry, I see you more like a sister I never had. Nothing beyond that."

The Dalish let out a relieved sigh. "Good, I'm not keen on that love thing. At all."

"I see," Nithius said, then added with a grin."I was thinking the same, actually, but then it just happened. Love is sneaky like that, you know?"

She made a face. "Ugh. Anyway...I don't understand why she wasn't your...well...bondmate then."

"Love isn't always easy. The match wasn't exactly approved by the elder how you can imagine. Even as an elf myself, I was mostly seen as an outsider by them. Also she was already promised to another man of the clan. Panowen did not love him, but such was as things were within Zathrian's clan and I had to accept it. _Officially_."

A smirk grazed his features for a fraction." _Unofficially_ however, we never stopped seeing, nor loving each other. I _know_ I should have, but I couldn't. She was the first woman I have ever loved..." he trailed off and the elf's voice trembled as he added. "...and the only one."

He observed his amulet with a sad smile. "That tiny piece of jewelry is all I have left of my life with the Dalish...and with Panowen. Stupid to hold on it, isn't it?"

Lenya looked at him and frowned, before slightly shaking her head. "No," she uttered quietly, almost despondent "...not at all." The Dalish fell silent after that, tangled in thoughts of the necklace Tamlen had gifted her long ago– and which got lost after the battle against the Ogre in the Tower of Ishal. Even that little piece of home the darkspawn had taken from her.

Like everything else.

Her breath hitched, unwanted feelings seethed up and threatened to break through. To distract herself from that, Lenya said the next best thing coming to her mind.

"Panowen? I heard this name before, I think."

Nithius perked up. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, from the last Arlathvhen almost nine years ago...but I was too young to remember much of it." The corner of her mouth went up to a wry smile. "Or rather said I didn't care much for those "boring" meetings. But I think I'll meet her at the next Arlath-..." Becoming aware of what she had just said, she stopped and bit her lip, the eyes downcast.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Lenya. I should have known at best that reopening old wounds isn't a great idea overall. It just makes things..._harder._" He hesitated a moment. "It's just...I have... never talked with someone about it. Never. And although it hurts still very much even after all the time, I'm grateful that you have listened."

Lenya tried to shrug it off. "No big deal, really. We have not much to entertain ourselves here, right?"

"Yeah...I guess," he replied, mildly puzzled."Though _entertain_ is not the word I would use for it."

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean..." she sighed, frustrated. "I'm truly not good in... _that_, _emma l__ethallin_."

"Oh don't worry," the elf laughed briefly and tried to reassure her. "You are quite younger than me...and still are carrying such a burden with being a Grey Warden. You have lost so much as well, after all. I probably shouldn't have reopened old wounds with my words. That is all I'm saying."

The Dalish gaped at him in surprise, baffled at his words. Before she spoke, her gaze wandered away from him, fixed in the distant darkness.

"The wounds aren't _that_ old, you know..." she paused to draw a shaking breath in. "I'm no longer a Warden than two, maybe three months. Before that I was just a normal Dalish woman with friends and Clan...and now?" Lenya looked around at the dirt and dust, scoffing. "Now is _that_ all what is left for me!"

She shook her head repeatedly, trying to force back the emotions associated with it. "And the worst part of it is that I had no choice or a say in that matter. My...my Keeper has just sent me away with that _shemlen_ to become..." she gestured agitated at herself with her hands," …_that_. This was no cure..."

"I'm not sure I do understand everything, Lenya, but of what I'm sure is that your Keeper had done this to protect you."

"Really?" the Warden huffed."That is hard to believe, actually. I can feel the darkspawn in every fiber of my being, down to my core; Their hatred and raw blood-lust to crush everything under their heels. And I will be bound with them until I die. Is this really better than death? Is this what you would call a _cure_, Nithius?" Lenya fixed him with a stare, her breath shook with the effort not to cry. She hated herself for that, for her own vulnerability.

Before Nithius could react in some kind of form at her emotional outburst, the Dalish continued. "I shouldn't be one of the last Grey Wardens, I never wanted that kind of responsibility, nor that life. I should have left after Ostagar to find my Clan, just as I had planned it."

"I know. And still you are here..." he interjected, calmly stating it as a fact. He waited a moment for her reaction, was somewhat fearing it... but she stayed quiet, the ragged heaving of her chest the only visible movement.

Lenya took her time to get her emotions under control again and he left her, for which she was oddly grateful. She was aware that these were her feelings speaking, not her mind...and this was rarely a good thing. Especially not in the Deep Roads where death loomed at every corner. She needed a clear mind if she wanted to survive down here.

_Surviving_...this was still her goal, though now she started to ask herself what for a _purpose_ that would have. Could she ever return to her old life? Lenya sunk down in herself, her sigh long and resigning. Suddenly, she felt incredibly tired and frail, all too aware of her own mortality.

"You know, puppy had said about the same. Funny, that, huh?" the Warden said after a long pause and looked at him, her arms embracing her knees. "And now that annoying human is my only other Grey Warden. Talk about irony."

"You don't like humans much, do you?" At her irritated gaze he added quickly. "Understandable, for the most part. We elves have not the best history with them, after all. I was born and grew up in Highever's rathole of Alienage that reeked of misery and feces. So I know all too well that most humans are looking down at elves and seeing them as inferior beings. Though not all humans are like that," Nithius caught her eyes in the semi-dark with his own and watched them intently as he added. "...or has _he_ ever treated you wrong?"

Lenya blinked slowly, completely caught off-guard from this question."N-No," she uttered, confused."I can't say that...exactly. He might be an idiot...but he is an _harmless_ one."

"I see." He smiled."I think Alistair is a good guy, actually. And I'm glad to have met you, both of you. Funny that I needed to venture into the pit of the earth first to recognize that I'm not that alone as thought, huh? Well," Nithius stood up, stretched his limps and yawned, " now it is really time for me to sleep a bit. We want to move on soon enough, so that we can leave this dreaded place and Orzammar behind. I'm so looking forward to see the sun again."

Lenya even laughed a bit at that. "So do I, Nithius. You can't imagine _how much_." She watched him descending into the darkness and hesitated a moment, before calling him once more. "And Nithius?"

He stopped in his tracks. "Hmm?"

"Ma serrannas. For everything."

"_Na'nehn,_ _lethallan._"

.

.

* * *

.

"Warden!"

Kardol appeared in front of the Dalish and her companions, just right as they turned to leave the Legion's makeshift camp to move on.

The stalwart, dwarven warrior grinned. "Stone met. For a girl so little you surely did cut well through the spawn's lines." Lenya only glared at him in silence.

"Heard you lost your sword in the fight. Can't slice them without one, right?" Kardol said and without further preamble handed her a weapon.

Lenya blinked confused at the sword that literally got shoved within her hands. It was an ugly weapon, the blade was ridden with notches and it simply looked worn out. The dwarf noticed her hesitation."Not as fancy as your own was, but it is still sharp. It belonged to one of my men who fell in the battle on the bridge. It did him a good service and had cut through many darkspawns, so the same it shall now do for ya, Warden."

She tested the weight of the sword in her hand. Despite its worn look it was a well-balanced sword. It fitted not as perfectly in her hands as the sword did Alistair had gifted her, but it would be still enough.

"_Ma Se_r...-Thank you."

"So you are off to chase after Branka now, Warden?" Kardol snorted and shook his head as the Dalish reluctantly nodded. "Still no sense in your head, I see. Beyond these lines the darkspawn kill _everything_. Well let us hope for you that you are again faster, eh? Tell me when you have found a paragon, you might as well find a dozen. And endless lyrium." The dwarf turned to go with the rest of his men, then stopped once more. "And Warden?"

Lenya turned around to him."Yes?"

"Watch yourself. " He directly stared at Oghren. "Drunks make poor allies. Just saying."

She looked at Kardol and then at Oghren, before noticing what he meant with that. Her eyes narrowed slightly, the tone grew a bit sardonic. "Well normally I would agree...but the last time I checked that drunk saved my life. _Just saying_."

Kardol only shrugged at that, turned and left the group behind to return to his actual post. While Lenya and her companions already started to move forward into the everlasting darkness, remained Oghren in his place and silently watched the Legion of the Dead leaving, in his face an unreadable expression.

"Come now, you stinky durgen'len or I will throw you down this bridge to feed you to the darkspawn," rung suddenly through the eerily stillness.

At that, Oghren stirred up from his thoughts and laughed. "Hah, love ya too, Missy."

.

.

~V~

.

They walked on for hours, the Dead Trenches were seemingly stretching endlessly ahead.

The light of Morrigan's and Nithius' staff bathed everything within the long, stony hallway in a flaring light, yet it left too many shadows. Everywhere Lenya looked was still darkness beyond the edge of the staff white glow left, waiting to swallow her in a whole. Even if she _could_ sense the darkspawn, it seemed to her as if they were lurking in the blackness of the doorways where the light couldn't reach them. As if those tainted monster were watching their progress with their cold, hollow eyes and waited until they had proceed too far in to retreat. It was an excruciating feeling that crawled under her skin and held her within its grasp.

It was maddening.

Lenya's hand clasped harder around the hilt of the sword that was constantly drawn now. It was more convenient this way...and _safer_ with darkspawn attacking at almost every corner, leaving the group almost no opportunity to catch their breath.

"Ugh, no wonder no person has entered this sodding place for five-hundred years," Oghren murmured as he looked around, then added, a bit proud. "Except for Branka. I think we are close to finding her and I will not give up." Those determined words got accompanied by a loud belch which dampened a lot of its original seriousness. "Bah, also it stinks more here than any of my socks...or... heh, farts."

"I'm not sure about _that_," Morrigan throw in with an disgusted expression in her face. "But 'tis a strange atmosphere here, this is true." Her head turned to Lenya, her tone all sarcastic. "Are there _more_ darkspawn hordes in reach we need to get rid off on this senseless task to find one single person, Lenya? T'would be such a surprise, really."

Lenya halted to listen in. "No, there are no darkspawn...but there is still a presence of a taint, I can feel." She looked over to Alistair. "What is this? It's not me getting insane and you are feeling it too, or?" Her eyes narrowed a bit, glaring at him. "And puppy _watch_ your words _now_!"

"No, no, no," Alistair hurried to say, "you are right. There _is_ something...and it is no darkspawn. But I can't discern it either."

He let out a breath he wasn't aware to be holding. Maker, that woman had not ceased to be scary if she wanted it to.

"Lovely." Shaking her head in frustration, the witch pressed the hands around her wooden staff and cursed quietly under her breath, as she followed the leading Oghren.

They moved down the hallway and at the end of it, the walls suddenly..._changed. _Where they previously were covered by spidery tendrils of black rot, it was now a mixture of rotten deep red and corruption that threaded along the wall, its excruciating, foul stench burning in their nostrils. Where the light of the staff met the wall, Lenya glanced at it and it looked like..._flesh?_ She averted her eyes, gagged at that thought and preferred to not fathom it further.

_First day, they come and catch everyone._

Out of nothing, an eery whisper reverberated through the stillness of the hallway they had entered.

"Okay you heard _that_ too, right?" Searching for confirmation, the Dalish turned around to Nithius, who nodded.

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

There it was again.

"Was is this voice?" Nithius asked, slightly panicked. His gaze fell onto the floor and he instantly wished he wasn't the one with a source of light. So that he couldn't actually _see_ all the blood on the floor and that reeking..._thing_ next to it. His eyes widened. "Creators!... I-is that _what _I think it _is_?" He pointed at the object close to him.

Shale didn't understand the commotion and only shrugged. "Looks like a bag of flesh. Not unlike you, healing mage. Or how you would look if I'd squeeze you."

"Well isn't _that_ a reassuring fact? Like... NOT?" Alistair threw in, his voice pitching higher and louder than intended in his anxiety. Not only this discovery, but also the crazy, whispered chant and the sudden change of atmosphere were creeping him thoroughly out.

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

"So?" The golem still failed to see the point." I would say the Clown knight should move on to kill the annoying poet at the end of this hall. Then again I do not care if it stays or follows."

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._

"I say there is truth in Shale's words. Let's find that...person and make it shut up." It was Lenya who spoke up. "Not to mention that I _don't_ want to stay here to find out if there is anything_ in_ these fleshy sacks. _Uuugh_." She hurried to move on, but not without to glare at Oghren with all animosity she could muster between the overbearing urge to throw up.

"By all Creators, words cannot express _how much_ I hate you right now, durgen'len!"

"Pah, it's not that this insane chant is any poem of mine..." the dwarf halted, as the voice returned and listened in.

_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._

"...although it_ has_ potential, I give it that." Shrugging, Oghren took another swig of his brew.

"Potential for driving one insane? Yes, that's for sure." Alistair decided it was best not to dwell and followed his fellow Warden.

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._

They passed a darkspawn camp but it was empty, so the initial awareness they showed upon discovering it wasn't needed.

"What is this chant about anyway?" Nithius questioned to no one in particular, as the voice did not cease.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

Morrigan listened to it more intently to catch its words._ "They_...tis darkspawn which is meant by it, I think?"

"Well, darkspawn _are_ eating people as far as I know...but spewing in their mouths?" That makes no sense," Alistair said and shook his head." Just... let us move forward now...and get away from it."

"I don't want to destroy your brilliant argument, Alistair but the longer we walk down this hallway, the _louder_ this voice appears to become. To get away from it, you have to walk into the _opposite_ direction. _Not_ that I would mind, really." Morrigan smiled self-complacent at the annoyance in the Warden's face.

His eyes narrowed as he glowered at the witch. "You lash me with your words, Morrigan. I'm impressed. But there are more...disturbing things right now, you know?"

_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._

"Okay, this is one of it. For sure," Alistair added and suppressed the urge to shudder.

What was that all about? Even if he had been a Warden for six months and therefore had a much longer time to learn about darkspawn than Lenya, he never had heard of them doing those..._things._ And in all honesty he wasn't too keen to find out either.

Finally, the endless hallway proofed to have an end and so did the group reach a rusty, old door from which the voice and its disturbing chant seemed to come. Before Shale made quick work with the door with one single blow, another chant was loudly audible, leaving no doubt that the demented poet of it would linger behind these walls.

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

They readied their weapons and moved quickly forward to charge …but there was nothing lurking in the shadows that tried to attack them. Only a large, empty room lay behind the door, that was enlightened by a single torch in a corner, not far from the entrance.

Lenya squinted her eyes and recognized that... _someone_ was cowering within this weak shine of light. The strange feeling from before returned again and her blood was almost _screaming_ to her now that this someone in the room was..._tainted_. It wasn't like the threatening feeling she had when sensing darkspawn, but different to the calm one she felt in Alistair's presence. It rather made her sick in the stomach, this kind of taint was new...and completely_ disturbing._

_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._

After that the voice fell suddenly silent. Lenya swallowed down a knot of fear and the feeling of nausea and moved forward this..._creature_, weapons still drawn.

_First day they come and catch everyone._

The voice started to chant anew, its inane murmuring sounded distinguishably female, now where they were so close to the source. Instantly the Dalish halted, startled by the unexpected repeat of it. Behind her, Nithius came closer and the light of his staff drove the shadows surrounding her away, spending Lenya some kind of support that gave her the courage to move on.

_A Dalish hunter fears nothing, a Dalish hunter fears nothing_... she repeated constantly in her mind and walked hesitatingly ahead until she stood aside the person that still cowered on the ground, staring at it.

For a few heartbeats nothing happened, the agitated breathing of the group was the only sound within this creeping silence. Then without warning,_ it._..-or was it a she?- stood up, the movements all ponderous and... unnatural slow. The person turned and looked at Lenya, who gasped in shock at the sight.

It was a female dwarf, but her pale face was covered in dark blotches, puffy and swollen, her eyes hollow and milky. And the atrocious smell that radiated from that dwarf was similar to... a rotten corpse, as if she had already been _dead_ for a long time. And yet she stood in front of the Dalish and mustered her in disbelieve.

"What is this? An elf? Exotic and impossible." Her voice was louder now but the inane murmur within was still audible. "Feeding time brings only kin and clan. I'm cruel to myself. You are a dream of strangers' faces and open doors."

Oghren stepped hesitantly forward, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he asked. "Hespith?"

Alistair's head snapped toward the dwarf, terrified. "Wait...you KNOW her?"

He shrugged, almost apologetic. "This voice sounded somehow familiar to me, but I wasn't sure until we were closer. It's been two yea – " the dwarf stopped half-way with his words, as he fully glanced into her face now. "By the ancestors, _what_ has happened to you? What is that chant?"

Hespith only stared at him with her hollow eyes, a sad smile around her blistered lips. " It's what I've seen. What I will become. I force it into verse so it is fantasy, unreal. That's the only place I can hide, because they make me... they make me _eat_. And _then_..." she stopped speaking, her fingers dug deep into the dusted, filthy strands of hair and she shook her head repeatedly. "No, no, no, not to think of it."

Alistair observed her closer...and was horrified. "This _is_ darkspawn corruption...but it looks so... _different_. What by the Maker is happening here? What were these things she was speaking of?" Seeking for answers his head turned to his fellow Warden, but she only stood frozen in place and stared blankly into Hespith's face.

Lenya tried so hard not to grasp what her eyes was telling her and instead to repress the thought this sight was accompanied with.

It wasn't working.

Like a wave the thought brutally crashed over her, as she stared into the dwarf's swollen, blotched visage, the taint oozing out of every pore.

_This could have been me..._

Shaking at this realization, Lenya pressed her eyes shut and tried to will this thought out of her mind with force, yet she only had only little success. It was already too anchored within her consciousness that the Dalish could simply forget this horrifying awareness. Stumbling backward, the female Warden nearly fell over her own feet, powerless and thoroughly shocked. Vaguely aware she noticed how someone grope her by the shoulders and put her back on her feet, that were still vigorously shaking. It was Alistair who looked back at her in confusion ….and something akin to the horror she felt inside was visible in his eyes too.

_Does he understand?_

"I...well, I..." Blinking and stammering, Nithius tried to comprehend the situation, snapping Lenya back to attention through his voice." Is there something we can do...to help you?"

Hespith shook her head furiously. "No, no, no you cannot. There's nothing left. There's body and there's hope, and both are turning... They come. They... they vomit, they _violate_, and they chant. They scream, oh, _how_ they scream... Then the change comes."

Her breath hitched and the tainted dwarf swallowed audible. " All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared. But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that?"

Morrigan let out an frustrated noise. "This makes no sense. Let's not waste more time by lingering and listening to an inane dwarf, driven mad by the taint."

Oghren ignored her. "What for changes, Hespith? Where is Branka?"

"D-do not talk of Branka, of what she did. Ancestors preserve us, forgive me. I was her captain and I didn't stop her. Her_ lover_, and I could not turn her. Forgive her... but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become."

Cocking an eyebrow the witch looked back at Oghren." Shall I act surprised now that your wife has turned to her own gender, despite having such a _great_ man such as _yourself?_" She paused, feigned thinking. "No, I guess it isn't worth the effort."

For a brief moment, Oghren staggered as if he had been hit by a weapon... before he regained his sturdy stance. "Well, _that_...explains... much. I could have made some arrangements...if I had knew her...taste, though." He took a long swig out of his flask. "Sodding woman!"

Hespith turned to Lenya, the expression in her blotched face etched with sadness."There is too much darkness here, dream-friend. The Anvil, it is in the darkness, surrounded by it, pulling Branka in."

Lenya didn't answer at first and was still leaning on Alistair's dirtied breast-plate for support that he offered. She felt too weak to stand on her own shaky feet right now and hated herself for it. Averting her eyes once more from Hespith's visage, the Dalish tried to calm herself down to be able to speak, pressing the words out through gritted teeth.

"What did she do? Tell me or stay here!"

Her milky eyes grew wide in horror, the tone in her voice desperate and crazy. "No! Don't leave me here! Don't let them take me! Don't let them _turn_ me!"

Now Lenya took all the anxiety and despair gnawing inside of her and turned it into anger that burst out of her in a screaming volume. "Then TELL ME where Branka is!"

Hespith stared on the ground, her hands were clawing on her ears, while rocking back and forth in an insane comforting motion."But I swore Branka _not_ to speak of it, _not_ to think of it. La-la-la-la-la."

All the sudden, the tainted dwarf darted upward and run away before anyone could react. She descended into the darkness, only her voice was audible from afar.

"No. I refuse to become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!"

Then everything went still. For a few shaky breath, no one said a word, the atmosphere tense and anxious. It was Alistair who raised his voice first, the tone overly cheery as he gazed into the direction Hespith had disappeared into.

"Well...that was...err.._.interesting_. Anyone else feeling the urge to throw up?"

Nithius questioningly looked at him. "Alistair, what are those things she talked about? The darkspawn...they don't do that, or?"

The Warden sighed, frustrated. "I seriously don't know. I was a Warden for only six months before...Ostagar. I never heard about..._that_. And I'm not keen to find out, either."

"This is insignificant," Sten stated suddenly. "We should follow this creature to find the person we seek. " His huge head turned to Lenya. "Parshaara, what now, elf?"

She took a deep breath of the rotten air that made her gag, her jaw clenched and unclenched several times before she found herself capable of speech again.

"I-I...don't want to stay here any minute longer. I...need to..." In an impulse, the Dalish started to run forward into the everlasting darkness.

"Fool!" Shaking her head, Morrigan quickly loosened a flickering bolt of light after the female Warden that paralyzed her on the very spot. _Literally_.

"Are you _insane_?" Alistair screamed at the witch and ran toward his fellow Warden, who was frozen onto the ground.

"You are asking the wrong person, idiot," she hissed back. "Running alone into the darkness is what _I_ call insane. 'Twas only a very weak paralyzing spell to stop her anyway." Shrugging, she waved with her hand and released the Dalish from the unmoving state.

"Morrigan, Morrigan, " Nithius shook his head, his tone a mixture between chiding and mocking, "...as much I appreciate the notion, you should know best that those things shouldn't cast lightly, especially not on a fellow companion."

She only glared at him. "I know what I'm doing. So shut up, elf."

The mage sighed in defeat and turned to Lenya. "Are you –

"I'm ….better now," she cut him off. "I shouldn't have...sorry. Thank you for stopping me, Morrigan."

"You are _most _welcome, Warden," the witch replied and smirked winningly at Nithius.

"Just don't do _that_ ever again," Lenya added and glowered angry at Morrigan.

Now it was Nithius who smirked.

.

.

* * *

.

They marched down the hall in tensed silence, each of them lost in thoughts no one wanted to pursue. No one wanted to speak out what Hespith's disturbing words _could_ mean, because this would make them _real _and not just the rambling of an inane, tainted woman.

And this would have been a truth too horrifying to grasp.

The companions took one last turn and justly as they were about to leave this rotten, terrifying place behind, Hespith's voice reverberated from far away again, its tone haunting and.._.tortured._

_She became obsessed. That is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed stone there was nothing left in her but the Anvil._

"...Hespith...was from Branka's house, a cousin from her family," Oghren muttered to no one in particular," Branka would never hurt her. Something else...must have done that to her and remade her into this_ thing_. Branka will be able to explain this if we find her, just you wait."

_Such a fool's hope. _

Alistair glanced at the dwarf and bit on his lip to hinder these thought words from spilling out of his mouth. Everyone here knew that Branka was responsible for...those unspeakable, dark things that seemed to happen, but no one said it out loud as they walked on.

Suddenly his head darted toward his fellow Warden, who nodded, her expression grim and determined.

"Darkspawn," they almost uttered in unison and Lenya had never been positively more glad to see a small horde of them than now.

To fight, to kill and not having to_ think_ was right now a most welcoming change...for all of them. And so ran the Dalish her blades through their rotten flesh, delighted to be momentarily relieved from the oppressive image of Hespith in her mind and the meaning of _those_ words...

Hespith's voice resounded again in the vast, dusty hall, as the companions tried to catch their breath after the fight.

_The men, they kill, they are merciful. But the women they want. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them. _

_They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husbands face and drank his blood. _

" 'Tis_ most_ disturbing." Even Morrigan seemed shocked, her face even paler than normally.

"Oh I can't wait how your lovely wife is explaining _that!_" Lenya snapped, glaring down at Oghren, who snatched his axe from the ground." She was from Branka's own clan. You have seen her, idiot! Hespith is tainted..._deformed, _even. There is no excuse for _this_. If Branka is responsible for that, I'll kill her. Troops or not."

Oghren had no answer for that. Looking down on the bloodied floor, the dwarf remained uncharacteristically silent, his expression covered in shadows. For two years he had waited to find Branka, two long years he had endured scorn and derision in Orzammar...only to find _this_?

_No_, he shook his head, _there has to be another explanation._

"Lenya..." Alistair called her out, his mouth pressed to a thin line. "Do you feel _that_?"

Looking at him in surprise, she stepped out of a puddle of black blood and wiped as much ichor from her brows as possible. She had expected an objection to her impulsive words from him, but instead... –

Her thoughts halted as _that_ feeling hit her like a punch into the guts. A distinctive presence of taint far away. It was no darkspawn...but still _enormous_ for its distance.

Morrigan groaned at the well-known, stilled posture of both Wardens. "Great, _more_ darkspawn?"

"Or Hespith?" Nithius offered, frowning.

"No," Alistair shook his head and sheathed his weapon for the moment."It is...different. _Stronger_." He turned to the entrance up in front. "And coming from this direction. Whatever it is we will meet it sooner or later."

"I really vote for _later_. Ugh," Lenya muttered and had to coerce herself to move through this entrance and closer to the disgusting feeling of taint.

Nithius noticed her reluctance and laid a hand upon her shoulder." You are not alone, _lethallan. Bel dar'an. __Vir Adahlen!_" *

The Dalish only nodded slightly in acknowledgment. She knew that this weren't empty words of him. The elven mage had always been the one that was able to calm her down, if things became too much for her in the Deep Roads.

This time however, it wasn't working.

The feeling of the taint was simply too overbearing for anything else. Her glance wandered over to Alistair aside her and as their eyes met, Lenya knew that he _understood _the things that tortured her innards right now. Because he was the only one who actually _could_...and the only one who even_ felt_ the same.

"We are getting closer," Alistair said needlessly and grimaced while drawing his weapon.

Every aching muscle within her body was tensed now and Lenya was barely able to suppress a shudder. Whatever it was...it was_ huge._

_And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned grey and she smelled like them. They remade her into their image. Then she made more of them._

Morrigan groaned. "Great. Can she NEVER shut up?" She felt the sudden change of atmosphere within the foul air and her hands reflexively pressed tighter around her staff. The passage was eerily still now and only got disrupted by one single word that echoed menacing and fearsome through the vast cavern, as they pressed further ahead.

_Broodmother..._

And then they saw.._.it._

"Maker's breath...what is..."Alistair was thoroughly shocked, like the rest of his companions who stared in disbelief and utter disgust at the abomination before their eyes.

The..._thing_...was _giant_.

It seemed to grow from the very ground itself, a mass of fat resting atop the purple flesh that was the ground. It was surrounded by those fleshy sacks they had prior seen, even more ...it was _melted_ within. It had..._rows_ of swollen teats like a twisted, disgusting animal and the stench emanating off from the monstrous thing was nearly unbearable.

"I...think this_ is_...Laryn." Even Oghren was speechless for a moment, but then he shook it off and readied his axe. "She had looked _much _better the last time, though."

Lenya's eyes widened at his words, the meaning too much to bear for her mind. Suddenly Hespith's words did fit all too perfectly together like a gruesome, dark, disturbing puzzle and the Dalish felt punched in the guts at this realization.

_This thing...had been a woman once._

Long, thick tentacles waved around the broodmother in an irate motion and it screamed, shaking the group to the core with its bloodcurdling sound. Waves of darkspawn erupted all the sudden from about everywhere into the bloodied cavern and made them aware that if they wouldn't fight now, then the excruciating sight of a broodmother would be the last thing they'd ever seen.

And so together, they charged.

.

.

* * *

.

Pain.

It was vigorously searing through her and the first thing Lenya felt, as she slowly came back to her senses.

Every bruise on her skin was palpable to the Dalish, the vision still blurred as she tried to open her eyes. She felt terrible and sore...but she was _alive_. Gritting her teeth, Lenya rolled onto her stomach to get up again and justly witnessed how Alistair was atop on this ...thing and slammed his sword into its throat to tear the broodmother's giant head off.

It was a surreal picture to behold.

Only moments ago, Lenya had been captured in one of those massive tentacles and had been nearly squeezed to a pulp by it.

_Alive...I'm **alive!**_

Even lying in a bloodied pile of gore and flesh of gutted tentacles, she couldn't help to laugh, each heaving painful. But momentarily she didn't care.

"Good timing puppy," the elven woman uttered into his direction, as the broodmother screeched in anguish one last time and then finally went still.

Alistair landed ruggedly on the ground again, from head to toe covered in disgusting..._ things_, he didn't want to name because this would mean to _acknowledge_ them.

He grimaced. "Ugh. I need to burn this armor and bury the remains afterward, but I'm not sure if this would be _enough_ to get rid of the _stench."_ Then a bit quieter, he added. "Can anyone help me up, here?...Please?"

Hearing sound of combat, Lenya's head snapped to the other side, seeing how Sten, Oghren and Shale got rid of the last remaining darkspawn which corpses where piled up everywhere within this disturbing cave. It seemed as if the three of them had done a great job of taking the horde from reaching them, while they were fighting the broodmother. With the last of them killed, the eerily silence returned within the cavern... but now it was one the Dalish welcomed greatly.

Eventually, she shook off the feeling of numbness within her head and ponderously got up, each fiber of her body hurting like hell. More tumbling then walking forward, she was about to bow down to snatch her weapons from the ground, as the voice of Hespith made her stop in her motions. Looking up, she saw that the tainted dwarf stood overhead on a high cliff.

"That's where they come from.

That's why they hate us. That's why they need us. That's why they take us. That's why they feed us."

It sounded like a twisted, insane poetry, but Lenya knew now that _this_ was brutal reality.

"But the true abomination… is not that it occurred, but that it was _allowed_. Branka…. my love…." Hespith continued and looked up, lost briefly in thought.

"The stone has punished me, dream-friend. I am dying of something worse than death. _...Betrayal."_ After that the dwarf disappeared into the shadows, out of sight. Then there was a dull thud audible as her tainted body hit the ground, instantly dead.

Blinking, she stared shocked at the place where Hespith had been and then onto the now dead beast not afar from her. Clutching her stomach, she suddenly heaved and threw up the little food she had, feeling sick to the core at the realization of the prior events.

_Broodmother._

_The darkspawn did that to the dwarven woman...turned her...into this. _

_What if..._

"Heh, exactly my sentiment!" Oghren's loud voice interrupted her thoughts, but not the vehement clenching of her stomach. Lenya coughed as she tried to stop the dry heaving, to get a hold of herself again. She managed it after a couple of moments and looked up to the ichor-soaked group of three standing across of her.

"Sten, go help Alistair."

It sounded rather weak and strangled as a command out of her mouth, but the Qunari only nodded and strode toward the other Warden that was still lying on the ground as a captive of his heavy armor.

Standing upright again, Lenya's let her eyes roaming over the area, searching for the other companions of her group. She struggled to recognize anything in the weak shine of some natural glowing stones afar. Abiding darkness surrounded her again, almost swallowed her whole and there was no magical light from a staff which could drive it back. It was as if it had been extinguished like a dying fire that burned too long.

_Where are they? _

Her seeking gaze became more frantic, anxious within mere heartbeats and the Dalish rushed impulsively forward toward a faint glowing she had discovered, heedless of the nearly complete blackness before her.

With her vision so narrowed, Lenya stumbled over a rock and the impact of the fall wheezed the air out of her lungs as she roughly hit the ground. Coughing, the Dalish turned and discerned even in this faint light that this had been no stone.

And suddenly everything around her went still..._.numb._

_No..._

Scrambling toward the figure in the darkness, she reached out to touch his cheek.

He did not move.

Startled, Lenya withdrew her hand and recognized that her fingers were oddly wet. It was blood that wasn't her own. It was... _his._

Her voice wasn't more than a whisper, a strangled whimper as she uttered his name. "N-Nithius...?"

No reaction.

"_M__a sali'then! Ma sali'then!" * _Panicking, Lenya shook him, again and again, wanted him to _wake_ up but the elven mage remained motionless on the filthy ground.

_Is he...No!_

Behind the Dalish, the glowing of a staff suddenly intensified until the light extinguished the shadows surrounding her, but she hardly noticed. Accompanied by a pained groaning of a female voice, something rose from the ground and shoved the covering darkspawn corpse aside.

Rolling on her stomach to get up again, Morrigan discerned the Warden up in front of her. "Lenya?"

She didn't answer.

Hissing at the pain the witch got up, and slowly walked over to her, seeing the Dalish staring blankly at her gloved hands that were thoroughly covered in red blood. Looking down to the blood-soaked figure aside the Warden, Morrigan recognized to _whom_ this blood _belonged_.

Nithius.

And for a brief fraction, the witch closed her eyes.

_Fool..._

"When I was attacked, he...he...shoved me aside, Lenya," she eventually said, frowning. And then made her thought audible. "That fool."

Lenya blinked at the voice, but did not turn to her. "Morrigan?"

" Yes." Sighing, the witch looked at his lifeless body. 'Tseemed that he saved me. Fool. I wouldn't have done the same for him...why –

"He...liked you, Morr – " Lenya managed before her voice broke into a whimper. She looked into his face, seeing the glossy, blue eyes that had been so vivid not long ago. Now they were only staring lifelessly back at her.

Eventually the rest of the group arrived. Seeing the elven mage lying rigid on the ground, Alistair was about to dart forward. "Nithius!" But Morrigan held him back.

" 'Tis too late, Alistair. He is dead."

No...This couldn't be." The Warden shook his head, dismissing this thought. "NO!"

Oghren pointed at the pool of blood that originated from the mage and frowned. "Sorry, boy but no one survives such loss of blood. Poor sparklefinger, he was actually a good guy."

Closing his eyes in anguish, Alistair reluctantly nodded. "I know."

Hesitatingly, he went over to the Dalish, who still watched Nithius, unmoving. He laid a hand upon her shoulder as a comforting gesture. "Lenya...I don't know what to ….sorry."

She shrugged his hand off and swallowed the lump in her throat down. "It's ...okay..."_ It's not..._

Alistair was bewildered by her cold words. "W-what?"

"We will end all like this, won't we? Death is only a natural cycle that comes to all of us."

"Well...not me." Shale felt obliged to throw in. "I'm not as easy to crush as the healing mage."

He ignored the golem and grew even more confused. "B-but I thought you liked him, Lenya...?"

After a few shaky breath, the Dalish stood up, her eyes not leaving Nithius. Blinking away whatever tears were about to break out, she shrugged."I nearly knew him... Now let us move on or the approaching darkspawn horde will be upon us soon. Or don't you sense them too, puppy?"

Her oddly cheery tone made him frown. "I do. But are you really okay, Lenya?"

_No..._ "Yes. So stop pestering me!"

"Before we go, we should burn him, so that the darkspawn won't..." Morrigan halted," I could...do that."

"Yes," Alistair nodded "... this is...the least thing we should do for him..." Chewing on her lips, Lenya didn't say anything and stared only blankly at the floor. As Morrigan was about to conjure a bigger flame in her hand, the Dalish stopped her in the last moment.

"Wait...there is... something I need to do." Bowing down to his corpse, she unclasped the amulet still hanging around his neck and took it. With a quivering breath and one last look at Nithius, Lenya drew back again and signaled the witch to cast her spell.

Not even a half minute later was the body ablaze and enveloped in fire.

"Maker keep you safe, my friend," Alistair whispered toward the flames, his breath hanging soft and fragile in the air. Tears blurred his vision as he added. " Or your gods."

"_I'm so looking forward to see the sun again."_

Unbidden, those words of Nithius resounded in Lenya's mind as she watched the fire slowly devouring him...and her chest constricted at the realization.

Now he never would.

* * *

_**A/N**:Well...that was... cheery, huh? Excuse me while I omit the authors note this time to curl in a ball and whimper incoherently instead. That long chapter was needed to include everything in the way I have imagined it. Easy as. Hope it was depressing, dark and creepy enough. And yes, Sarah...you were right with your assumption of Nithius dying :P *grumbles* I for myself need a hug now. ...or a comforting review. Probably both. *whimpers*_

_* Na'nehn, lethallan - You are welcome, my friend._

_* Bel da'ran. Vir assan. - We are with you. We are many. _

* "_M__a sali'then! Ma sali'then! - Wake up! Wake up!  
_


	37. Suledin

**Chapter 36: Suledin**

.**  
**

A shocked, heavy stillness lay over the camp they had set up after they managed to escape from the pursuing darkspawn horde.

No one knew what to say to break the grieved atmosphere, so they ate their sparse meals in complete silence. All except Lenya, who sat secluded from them and stared numbly into the flames of their tiny fireplace.

Shale tilted its stony head, observing the unmoving figure. "Is it not hungry?"

Lenya only shook her head.

"Is it upset about the healing mage?"

This time she did not answer.

"I do not understand. Life and death has little meaning to me. I'm an immortal golem, a superior being in fact," it sighed, "...yet it must know that I found the healing mage not even half as annoying as many others of its...other companions."

"...Thank you, Shale."

"Hmpf... but now it has to be more cautious without the healing mage, squishy as it is. Not that it would change the fact that it ends as a bloodied stain under darkspawn heels one day. " Shale shrugged. "But I'm still curious: What will it do when it has found Branka?"

Her hands balled to fists at the name, the tone in her voice snarling. "Easy. I'll kill her."

The golem chuckled. "I like the sound of that. What will it do with – " it started anew, but the Dalish didn't give Shale the chance to end its question.

Exasperated, Lenya shot up and left for the other side of camp which was enveloped in shadows.

She had no patience to deal with the golem's annoying questions, not when all she wanted was to sit in silence and trying to forget...to _repress_ the things that had happened.

.

~V~

Alistair didn't find any rest as he tried to sleep.

Not that it was any news in the Deep Roads for the Warden, but this time was.._.different._

Pictures and events were haunting him every time he closed his eyes, even without the abiding darkspawn dreams present.

The Deep Roads had become a _living_ nightmare on its own at this point.

No matter what Alistair did, he continuously saw the blotched, tainted face of Hespith and the horror that the broodmother had been before his eyes. And if that wasn't already enough to steal his sleep, he could also still hear the anguished scream of pain of his fellow Warden loud and clear, from when she was trapped within its tentacles that pressed tighter and _tighter_ around her body.

Maker only knows _how_ he managed to get her out of there before she got squeezed into a bloodied pulp, but he was glad that he did. To lose her, no matter her behavior most the time, would have been an unbearable blow for him. The Deep Roads, as oppressive and horrifying as this experience had been until now, was _nothing_ in comparison to his greatest fear.

To be _alone_...to be _left behind_ again, like so many times already in his life.

His mind wandered unbidden to Duncan, thinking on the last words he had said to him.

"_Maker, watch over you, Duncan."_

At Ostagar, the Maker had forsaken him. Where he had spared Lenya and him to accomplish this enormous task, he had forsaken Duncan. Alistair loathed the Maker for that, but even more... _himself._ Why hadn't he been at his side when it mattered, just as he was for Lenya back in the broodmother's lair just hours ago?

He was able to save her and yet they had lost another companion that he had dared to call _"friend."_...because that was what Nithius was to him, even after such a short amount of time.

Would there be never an end to this? Would he always continue to lose all the people dear to him – his whole, _shortened_ life long?

Rubbing his face, Alistair sighed. He was feeling so _very_ exhausted right now, tired from all the anguish and despair that this place and_..._ Ostagar conjured within him.

Slowly he got up, dismissing the thought of sleep where pictures of horror and unwanted memories would only linger and waiting for him anyway.

Out of his peripheral vision, the Warden saw a figure moving in the darkness...and groaned as the shadowy figure came into his sight. "Morrigan."

" 'Tis you, I see." She merely stated it coldly as a fact and wasn't truly acknowledging him.

"Disappointed? ...no wait don't answer that," Alistair hurried to add. "What? Have the Fade demons forgotten to invite their most vicious sister tonight, Morrigan? A pity, that, indeed."

The witch rolled her eyes and groaned her annoyance. "If you are asking if I can't sleep with your incoherent blabbering, then yes. 'Tis true."

"Why? ...no scratch that, I really don't want to know. I heard that Nithius took the blow for you. You know...the one, " he paused and swallowed "...that _killed_ him?"

Glancing sturdily straight ahead, she answered. "Yes. ...Such a fool, he was."

"So it is true. What a _waste._ So I reckon you wouldn't have done the same for him?"

"No."

"Well, no surprise here. And still Nithius did sacrifice his life to save you, for which you aren't in the slightest bit grateful. Sad." Alistair sighed, shaking his head. "He really was too good a person. I will never understand what he saw in you."

Morrigan was silent for a long moment. "I hope you are aware of the fact that Lenya is gone?" She pointedly looked at him, forcing a change of topic.

The Warden blinked. "What?"

" I was looking for her in fact...but only found..." the witch made a face," ..._you_."

"Well, maybe she just needed some time to be alone?" he offered." You know a friend of ours...and especially to her just …_died_. Not everyone is such a heartless bi – " The sound of a quiet voice nearby stopped his words.

"_Melava inan enansal ir su araval tu elvaral…" _

Perking up, Alistair rose in an instant and his head turned to the direction the distinguishably familiar and yet... foreign sound originated from.

"…_u na emma abelas in elgar sa vir mana…"_

It was Lenya..._singing?_ Completely forgetting Morrigan in front of him, he wandered toward a shadowed corner that was quite distant from the camp.

"…_in tu setheneran din emma na…"_

Was that...elvish? It sounded somewhat off-tune and nothing like when Leliana sang...but the sadness lingering within the words, and the sound of mourning drew him in.

It touched his heart.

"…_lath sulevin lath araval ena…"_

He found her sitting on a big stone back turned to him and her face enshrouded in shadows as she sang, not noticing his arrival. The elvish words sounded strangled..._pained_ from her lips, the melody was off-key and Alistair had no idea what Lenya was singing about... yet was it..._beautiful_ to him.

"…_arla ven tu vir mahvir melana 'nehn…"_

Unmoving, the Warden listened to those alien words and dared not to breathe, always afraid she would notice him. Watching her small, shadowed figure and the sunken down posture, Lenya appeared so frail, so vulnerable and..._lost_ to him. A part of him wanted to do something about it, making it _better..._ but he had no idea _how_, his own insecurity and fears paralyzing him. So he only remained still in his place, waiting and listening.

"…_enasal ir sa lethalin."_

Tranquility ensued for a long moment, laying itself like a thick cloud over the cavern after the song ended. He let out a shaky breath, unsure whether to stay or leave, and actually not wanting to disturb this private moment of..._grievance._

"...Alistair..."

The sound of his own name startled him and shook him to his core because it was uttered by her so suddenly and so ..._dejected_.

"I...I didn't want to...sorry," the Warden stammered, feeling the heat creeping up his cheeks.

Lenya did not turn to him, her eyes staring into the darkness before her. "It's...okay."

"What was the song about? It sure sounded...nice."

There was an audible pause, a stillness in which he was asking himself if he had somehow insulted her culture again. It was hard to tell with his fellow Warden. But then she answered.

"It's is an old song called '_Suledin_' which means 'Endure' in the Shemlen tongue. It is about my people losing their homeland and their sadness over the loss and the hope for a better tomorrow."

Her sincerity surprised him. "Homeland? You mean the Dales?" Her blackened shape moved hesitantly and he interpreted it as a nod. "But...wasn't that...well..._many_ years ago?"

Right after it came out of his mouth he felt the urge to hit himself for it. Now he _had _insulted her culture.

Lenya's reaction was immediate and furious. Whirling around, she nearly screamed at him. "That doesn't make it any less wrong! If your parents were killed many years ago, would you forget? Would you shrug and live on as if nothing had happened? Would – " she faltered and turned around again, breath shaking with agitation.

Alistair stared at her, eyes blinking in confusion. As she spoke, he had perceived the quivering in her angered voice and the subsequent, solitary sniff after her voice broke.

Was she _crying?_

His hand clutched to a fist, shaking with the effort not to move toward her and against the need to offer some comfort.

" I shouldn't have..." he sighed, frustrated. "...I'm not good at this, you know. I'm sorry."

"No," the Dalish shook her head, this time visible, "...I am. It's just...just..."

"...I know."

A long pause followed, but this time Alistair endured it patiently.

"I don't want to die _here_," she eventually said, her voice still unstable, quiet. "Buried under all the stone, filth...together with..._them._"

"You won't." Alistair was surprised himself how assertive that came out. "We won't," he added, more quietly.

She scoffed. " Oh yeah? You don't know that, Puppy. ...You have seen those... things too, haven't you? The _things _they _do _to women, how they got turned into..._.that_. I nearly was killed and...and..." Again her voice failed her and Alistair knew why, intuiting her following words and completing them quietly in his mind.

._..and Nithius was killed._

Such awareness was accompanied with a wave of anguish which he now felt with full force. Before he knew what he was doing, Alistair stepped forward and laid his hand upon her shoulder, giving in to the prior impulse.

The leather of her armor was cold and rigid, but he could feel the heat of her skin seeping through its layers. It was palpable to his bared hand and the sensation wasn't... _unpleasant._ Lenya did not struggle against his sudden touch, remaining still and silent as she observed the never-ending darkness in front of them. Neither of them spoke for an amount of time, the dimly flickering shadows afar and their hitched breathing the only signs of movement.

Then all of a sudden her hand balled to a fist, the prior sadness traded in for newfound resolve. "I don't want them to _win_. I...want to end this. The Blight, I mean." She drew a breath in that was more exasperated that shaky. Pointing around the area, she continued. "If _this_ is what the land will look like if the corruption spreads, then I _have_ to stop them. ….I just...just... don't know _how_."

For one single moment, he was taken aback by her words and her sudden resolve. Then he lightly squeezed her shoulder to let her know that he was _there._ "Let me help you, Lenya."

There was an odd sound coming from her, akin to a laughter. "Sure, no problem. Five-hundred of you, five-hundred of me, right?"

Whatever it was, it was contagious. "So you remembered, huh?" Alistair chuckled briefly, then became serious again. "We will get out of here. Alive. This I promise you as your fellow Warden. I won't let you die here!" Impulsively, he extended the hand that had lain on her shoulder to her before helping her up...and as some form of agreement. "Now shall we return to camp and our delicious meal of hard-tack and flasked water?"

Lenya fixed his hand with a stare, hesitating and waiting, as if waging whether to trust this offer...or not. He was about to draw back, feeling awkward and stupid for even _thinking_ that she would consider his support when her hand took his suddenly. Alistair's heart jumped a little at the heat of her palm, her calloused fingers lightly enclosed around his own as they walked back together.

It felt good, comforting. He was not alone here...and neither was she.

.

.

* * *

.

Back at camp, Lenya forced some of the dry travel food down and fixed Oghren with a glare.

The dwarf, sitting across from the female Warden, had chosen to ignore her glowering, but when her gaze did not cease after another long while he gave in with a groan. "What? Is there a nug in my face, Missy?"

"I will kill Branka!" she stated coldly. "And if you are getting in my way, I'll kill you too."

"You are such a glowing stone, full of life and spirited, I give you that." Shrugging, he took a swig out of his flask. "I only hope you are not forgetting that you'll need Branka to get your troops against the Blight, Warden..."

"I hope you are not forgetting what she has done, durgen'len."

Oghren frowned. "That fat thing was hard to overlook, really. Still we don't know for sure that –"

"She did that to her own clan, Oghren! " Lenya cut him off, angered. "To her own people...Hespith... – "

"...is dead now. Probably the best for her." He sighed, annoyed. "Look I'm not saying we should sodding kiss her feet when we meet her, but at least give her the sodding chance to explain, Warden."

"It is a bit naive, isn't It?" came the disapproving statement from Shale's corner, overriding whatever Lenya was about to say.

"Heh, this says the golem which can't remember a thing. Funny, that."

"Hmpf, well...the drunken midget has said that the mad wife searches for an anvil where golems were made? Is that correct or just a fantasy of its ale-addled mind?"

Oghren nodded, grinning. "Yup. Branka was a master smith. If anyone knows about golems, it is her."

"Then I agree for once with the drunken midget. We should ask the mad wife first...then squish it. That fat darkspawn was almost as disgusting as birds, after all. _Almost_." With that, Shale fell silent again as it decided to stop caring for their conversation.

Silence returned as the unlikely pair continued to keep watch at the sparse firelight, and with it her abiding stare at the dwarf.

"I was thinking." Lenya said all the sudden, "You are rude, stinking and constantly drunk...but you are a durgen'len."

Somehow Oghren was amused at that. "Heh, stating the obvious now, Missy?"

"I know nothing of your politics, and what I got to know of it I found...annoying."

"Same to me, Warden. Those stone-farting nobles don't really care if Orzammar crumbles into dust... as long their asses are kissed by people and warmed up by a lava pit nearby. "

The Dalish raised one delicate eyebrow, looking at him."I got that impression as well. But still I don't understand why you durgen'len have such a stupid caste-system. You all are durgen'len after all."

The dwarf snorted. "You haven't been much out of your forest before, huh? We aren't holding hands and frolicking around..._whatchacallit_...trees... like you sodding wood-elves do. Orzammar is a snake-pit, Warden. Survival of the fittest and all that bleeding nug-shit. The nobles are first in the long row...and dusters are dusters. If the new king will change that, well I wouldn't bet a sodding coin on it. He will probably only warm his ass on the throne like all the others."

Her brows furrowed to a scowl. " I don't like Harrowmont. How he looked down at the durgen'len in Dust Town made me want to stab him in the guts."

"Then choose Bhelen as king," Oghren shrugged. "Heard he snatched a female duster from their streets and fell in love with her. He even plans to marry her. Thunderhumper."

"Oh," Lenya exclaimed, baffled. "I can do that?"

"Well, you are the boss here, right? I don't really care whose ass is on the throne...and neither should you, Missy. As long you get your troops, all is sodding good, right?" Oghren turned to grope his other flask behind him. "I need a drink now, all this tedious talking made my throat dry. Can't have that, eh?"

But the Dalish ignored his antic as she was already too occupied with waging the new option in her mind .

.

.

* * *

.

Startled, Alistair whirled around at the noise. "What was that?"

But it was already too late. The metallic door shut closed with a deafening thump, as if moved by magic and trapped the group within vast, unfamiliar halls. Looking around they noticed that the entire room was bordered with solid walls of stone and steel which literally screamed "_No escape"_ with its massive architecture at them.

Morrigan groaned, annoyed at this newest development, yet did not lose her sarcastic way of dealing with it. "Oh...no need to worry, Alistair. We are only _trapped_ now. Nothing more." Glaring at the dwarf, she added. "Thanks for the fantastic leading, you drunken idiot."

Lenya was quick to agree. "I couldn't have put it any better, Morrigan."

"Now isn't that a nice group, and so many on top of that. Excellent." All of a sudden an armored female dwarf appeared at a safe distance on the cliff before them. She was armed with a crossbow that she subsequently pointed at the Dalish and the other companions.

"Excuse my rather rude entrance. My tolerances for social graces had sunken low here in the Deep Roads. Not that I mind, really."

Oghren's face lit up, the tone of his voice all excited. "Shave my back and call me an elf! Branka? By the Stone, I barely recognized you!"

"That _is_...Branka?"

While Alistair still was trying to figure the situation out, Lenya already busy shooting daggers with her eyes in the direction of the brown-haired, elder dwarf. The change in the elf's posture was immediate, every fiber of her body tensed and the angered murmuring rolling from her lips was like a menacing promise.

"_Ar tu na'din, durgen'len. Ar tu na'din!"_

"Oghren." Branka pointedly ignored the Dalish. "It figures you'd eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily."

"Don't be silly, woman. We all have searched for you for weeks. Now put that weapon down and let us talk."

"Yes, about what you have done to the people of your clan and...Hespith for example," Lenya burst out hateful. Only Alistair hindered his fellow Warden from storming toward the dwarf, watching every step and the weapon of the so-called Paragon with wary eyes.

"And who is that little spitfire?" Branka raised an eyebrow at her glowering, amused.

"Be respectful, woman! You're talking to a Grey Warden!" Oghren exhorted her.

" A Grey Warden, huh? How _fitting _for the Deep Roads," she laughed, her tone sardonic. "But to answer your initial question, _Warden_. I have only done what was my right. They were all mine, anyway, pledged to be my house, to serve me...for a greater cause. And still they didn't want to help, they tried to leave me, even my Hespith." She shook her head, disbelieving.

"But even she could not understand that when you reach for greatness there has to be sacrifices. As many sacrifices as are needed."

"You see all the corpses littered on the ground?" Morrigan whispered, looking at Lenya. "Tis no normal hall here."

Nodding, the Dalish agreed, while Branka's rambled on. "Yes, rather like..." she shuddered as she looked around, " … a _grave_."

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. "Give me one signal, Lenya and I'll take her down. Dwarves are not very vulnerable to magic... but it should suffice."

"No!" Lenya instantly refused. "She is mine. Mine to kill. So much I owe...Nithius at least."

The witch sighed. " 'Tis foolish, yet... _understandably_ foolish. Well, have it your way then."

"The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets." Branka continued in the meanwhile, her voice quivering with passion.

"_This_ is what's important. _This_ has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit. Kings, politics... all that is transitory. I've given up everything and would sacrifice _anything _to get the Anvil of the Void."

"What has this place done to you?" Oghren exclaimed, visibly hurt by her words. "I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance."

"She is possessed. Mad." Alistair stated, his eyes not leaving the female dwarf. "So much that she sacrificed _everything_ to her cause, even the ones she loved."

"Mad?" Branka laughed, almost manically. "I would prefer the term _brilliant_, really. There was no other choice. Most of them were dying of the taint already...but some of the women were.._.transforming_. I knew what they would become. There would be an endless supply, fresh darkspawn to test the traps. They could still serve me that way, let me find the Anvil. It was the only way. And now, I'm so close to finally reach it. I can almost feel the Anvil!"

"The broodmother...Y-you PLANNED all this?" Alistair was aghast. "We came here to find a Paragon, a supporting voice to settle the fight for the throne...not...you-...you are _insane!_"

"Wrong. I am _the_ Paragon you seek!"

Shale watched the self-absorbed dwarf, shaking its stony head. "Hmpf...the mad wife is madder than thought. Somehow I'm _not_ surprised. Otherwise It wouldn't have married the stinking, drunken midget in the first place."

"She...wasn't like _this_ before," Oghren uttered, heartstricken.

"Enough dalliance and pesky talk!" Branka groused loudly. "If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil. There is only one way out, Warden. Forward. Through Caridin's maze and out to where the Anvil waits." She smirked, her posture radiating pure arrogance.

"_Ar tu na'lin emma mi! Ar tu na'lin emma mi!"_

Lenya was quavering with the effort not to spring forward and climb up the high walls to strangle her bare-handed. Though before she could fulfill the threat, she felt an alarming tingling of her blood inside, the presence of..._other_ tainted creatures.

"Darkspawn!" Alistair announced and his fellow Warden had justly enough time to draw her weapons, before the fight ensued.

After killing the darkspawn, she returned to where Branka stood, but the mad Paragon was gone, only her voice still audible from somewhere in the cave.

"_Maybe you'll do better than my clansmen, Warden. …There is something about this place...it makes people despair."_

Then everything went silent.

"It seems we have no other choice now." Sten paused, as he looked around. "Parshaara, yet another unnecessary hindrance on our way to kill the Archdemon." With that, the Qunari turned and walked forward, right into the unknown maze Caradin created.

Reluctantly resigning herself to that mirthless fate, Lenya followed with an unspoken promise on her lips.

Branka was going to pay for this.

.

.

* * *

.

_Frustrating. _

That was the word that described Caridin's maze best. The traps had been tedious and it just took _too much time_ to reach the other end of it, _without __dying_ in the process.

It was the burning hatred for Branka, the urge deep inside to make her _pay_ for all the weeks of despair needlessly spent here, which let Lenya keep moving on. Despite finally being so close to their goal after all this time, she didn't feel relieved in the slightest, the aftertaste of the whole experience simply too bitter. She felt drained, emotionally as well physically and just wanted to be over with it to return to a quiet place with no rocks or _walls_.

_Especially_ no rocks.

Not to mention that Lenya hated having to _obey_ someone other than herself. It was against her nature, her pride as a Dalish elf...and having to waltz through traps as a _guinea pig_ easily qualified as yet another reason in the already long list to kill Branka upon next sight.

"A holy dwarven Paragon? My ass. I'd prefer Fen'Harel to that insane _bitch_ at any time of the day." Lenya spat while slowly walking forward, stirring up dust that had lain undisturbed for centuries with her steps.

Behind one last turn, the tunnel suddenly opened up to a chamber of enormous proportions and the shine of light radiating within was..._blinding._

After weeks and weeks of endless darkness, this sudden source of light, the deep red glowing from the surrounding magma far below the ground, was painful to her eyes. Blinking rashly, Lenya staggered briefly, raising a hand to protect her face and sight from being overwhelmed with this new sensation. Pausing, she noticed that her companions were doing the same; covering their eyes, they needed a moment to get use to the light of the lava stream. So they actually didn't see the huge figure approaching them, the sudden voice tinny as it spoke.

"My name is Caridin. Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar."

Dropping her protecting arm and blinking away the remaining pain, Lenya discerned that this grand figure up in front was actually a golem, just like Shale...and yet so _different_. It was nearly double as tall as her companion and, other than Shale, its skin was not made of stone but rather...blackened _steel? _It looked similar to typical dwarven armor, but enormous in size and the head of..._it_ resembled a helmet, framed by broad steel shoulders.

Shale was rushing forward and came to a stop just a few feet away from the bigger golem. "Caridin? The Paragon smith? Alive?" Its normally indifferent voice was etched with utter surprise.

"Ah, I know your voice. Shayle of the House of Cadash, isn't it?"

Shale was baffled. "You... know my name? Is it you that forged me, then? Is it you that gave me my name?"

"Have you forgotten, then?" The bigger golem sighed. "It has been so long. I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before that you were a dwarf... just as I was. The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer."

"The only... woman? A dwarf?" Shale couldn't believe what it..._she _was hearing. And while Lenya silently followed their little, odd conversation, she had the impression that Shale was somehow seeking this knowledge, as shocking as it was to the creature.

This was only understandable to the Dalish, because to know where one came from – or in Shale's case was made – was one of the most important things for one to know in life. Nevertheless she wasn't any less surprised about Shale's heritage than the golem it..._herself. _

_Shale? A woman?_

Despite... or due the strange situation, Lenya couldn't help to smirk at that thought. It would take her some time to think of the golem as a female...and address _her_ as such.

"I laid you here in this room on the Anvil of the Void," Caridin's hollow voice snapped the Dalish back to attention, "... and put you into the form you now possess."

" I...see, " Shale uttered, her white eyes gleaming with something akin to bewilderment. "The Anvil of the Void... that is what we seek."

All of the sudden, the golem paragon turned to Lenya. "If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it."

The elf sighed, annoyed. "Is this the part where you are going to tell me all your regrets and past mistakes in your life? If so, then I don't want to hear it. My patience has rather run thin after marching through various rooms full of your stupid traps." She defiantly put her chin up and glared at the much bigger golem, tapping one foot in exasperation. "I'm simply here for that Anvil, nothing more."

"And I'm here to ensure that the Anvil is never used again. Please hear my story, stranger. Don't repeat my past mistakes."

"Lenya...I think we really should listen to his story. After we came so far, that bit of patience won't hurt, I think," Alistair said and searched for her eyes.

"We need that Anvil for Branka, remember, Missy?" Oghren tried to remind her.

Their leader whirled around, snarling. "Would both of you _just_ shut up?" Then to Caridin again. "But you better be quick. I have already spent too much time in these rotting caves. I finally want to get out of here. Sooo," she pointed at the other end of the spiraling stone cavern, where the Anvil stood in all its glory "...why is everyone so excited about this stupid, huge pile of glowing steel?"

"Thank you, stranger." Caridin lightly bowed to her, which rather looked weird due to its enormous size.

"The Anvil of the Void allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible."

Lenya quirked an eyebrow, only half interested. "Sounds good to me...but now surely comes the catch, am I right?"

It nodded. "The cost for it was..._high_. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere. " Caridin paused, shortly lost in thoughts.

"Originally I only took volunteers, like Shayle, to defend our homeland against the pressing hordes of darkspawn...but King Valtor became..._greedy._ He forced me to put the souls of criminals and his political enemies into the bodies of golems, to lay them onto this Anvil and –

"WAIT!"Alistair interrupted, " Did I hear that right? You seized souls of _living_ dwarves to forge golems?"

"Yes," The tone of its voice was somewhat sad, regretful. "There is much blood on my hands and rivers of it already have flown down the Anvil. I-it took me to feel the blow of the hammer myself to become aware of my crimes."

"That is how you became a golem?" Shale queried.

"Yes, like you have become one, Shayle. You were one of the bravest warriors and faithfully stood at my side, even after all I had done. At the end I sent you away out of mercy. And to answer your question: My apprentices knew enough to remake me into the form I now have. But they didn't know how to forge a control rod, so I retained my mind and free will."

Lenya shrugged. "Well, sounds like you earned that then."

Caridin sighed. "Yes, this is true. And for a thousand of years I have been captured in this chamber and kept watch here that no one will reach the Anvil, nor seize it ever again."

The Dalish raised an eyebrow, her tone all sarcastic. "Wow, and in all _this_ time, the thought to destroy it _yourself_ never ever crossed your golem mind, I take it?"

"You are wrong, Stranger." The Paragon smith objected harshly. "I have thought about this every waking second, but as a golem myself I can't destroy the Anvil."

"So you want me to destroy it now? " She shrugged. "Why shall I let your guilt inconvenience me? An army of golem's against the darkspawn horde and Blight sounds good to me."

"Ain't that right, Missy?" Oghren was pleased. "Now let us get the Anvil and bring it to Branka, so she calms down again."

"You aren't serious, Lenya!" Alistair groused and glared at her. "Have you _even_ been listening to what he was saying? The Anvil needs _living_ souls –

His furious words were interrupted by Branka, who stormed into the cave and screamed like someone possessed.

"Nooo! The Anvil is MINE. No one is TAKING it from ME!"

Shale was rather less impressed with her sudden appearance."So the mad wife has found its way here after all. Good, this makes it easier to squish it."

"Perfect, this spares us the sodding work to carry this thing all the way back," Oghren commented Branka's arrival.

Instantly, Lenya's head snapped into the direction of Branka and drew her weapons within seconds. "Right, I nearly had forgotten that it would be that insane bitch that gets the Anvil. Which means to let her live after all she had done." Every inch of her posture was giving away how much she loathed that thought.

"I guess I'm better off without my golem army then. "

"We had an agreement Warden! I'm the _one_ you have tried to find, after all...not _him_!" Branka screamed. "Don't listen to him. He had been trapped here for a thousand of years, stewing in his own madness. "

"Ironic to hear that from a mad, little person," Sten stated flatly, his cool gaze lingering on the female dwarf in a most disapproving way.

"Help me to claim the Anvil and you'll have an invincible army!" Her eyes glinted with madness, as she looked at the Dalish, waiting for her decision.

"Missy, be sodding reasonable," Oghren interfered. "Without Branka you won't get your troops against the Blight. Also with her help you'll get an _extra_ army. Why is it so sodding hard to choose the obvious, Warden? Give the Anvil to her, already."

Lenya only shrugged at that. "I guess I have to risk that, then. Step back and get killed, or fight alongside me, durgen'len. Your choice." She pointedly looked at Branka, each word a menacing promise. "Either way _that bitch_ won't leave this chamber _alive_. _Ar tu na'din!_"

"So it fights along Caridin?" Shale said, pleased with the outcome. "Good, this seems right."

"You will help me then? " Caridin asked, a bit surprised. "Thank you. Your compassion humbles me."

"This has nothing to do with compassion," Lenya growled darkly and raised her weapons to storm toward Branka. "I have my own reasons."

"Bah, you are not the only master-smith here, Caridin. Golems OBEY me!" Almost instantly, the one row of five golems that had stood there rigid and vigilant started to move toward Lenya's group.

"It has a control rod!" Shale shouted." We need to smash the mad wife quickly."

"Sounds good to me," Lenya pressed out, dodging an attacking golem and running toward Branka with her fellow Warden in tow.

Oghren hesitated for a fraction before gripping his axe to fight the approaching golems. "Sodding nughumper, I always knew that the Anvil would kill Branka someday."

The group concentrated almost all their attacks solely on the mad Paragon, except for Oghren, who preferred to distract the golem's than to battle his own wife. The fight was long and difficult, Branka's years in the Deep Roads had not only driven her to insanity but had also honed her battle-skills to a greater height. The small golem army under her control didn't make this fight easier, either.

Though against the combined fighting skills of so many people, even the battle-hardened Branka didn't last very long. Not after long, Lenya seized a hole in her defense to her advantage and plunged the old blade Kardol gave her into her abdomen. To her, this was probably the most satisfying moment since entering the Deep Roads. All the more, the Dalish enjoyed the utter surprise visible in the dwarf's eyes.

Branka had been so arrogant and full of herself that she had never even considered the possibility to lose to this bunch of misfits that the Warden and her group were in her eyes.

And still it was _her_ now who was spilling blood, _her_ who was staring into an oddly smirking face of that dreaded elf and _her _who was hearing the Warden's derisive foreign elvish words, before the blade in her innards got twisted and life escaped her in one single, searing pain.

Filled with a strange sense of calmness, Lenya coldly observed how Branka's bloodied body sank to the ground. Then she freed her weapon from the dwarf's innards with a sickening, moistening sound, blood pouring from its notched tip. "_Ma halam!_" she snarled at her corpse, eyes narrowed, then added with a scoff. "_Ar ma'dirth ar tu na'lin emma mi!"_

Whirling around, Lenya faced Caridin who rigidly stood amidst several deactivated, steely golems that had been under Branka's control. Finally able to move again after his own paralyzed state, the Paragon looked at Branka's corpse and sighed.

"Another life lost due to my invention. I wish I never had created the Anvil in the first place." Then he turned to Lenya. "But thanks for standing with me, stranger."

"Yeah, thanks for the non-help right now."

"I'm sorry for this, but this control rod was different from any I have seen before. It even was able to deactivate me."

"But not me, " Shale interjected. " Why was that?"

Caridin head turned to her. "Have you been altered, Shayle?"

The golem nodded. "I once had a little pathetic mage as master. He did something to me. Then I killed him and it rendered me paralyzed."

"Hmm, " Caridin paused, thinking. "Perhaps those experiences were the reason. As for the paralysis, this always happens when the master dies. At any rate, you have always been a strong woman, Shayle...and I'm pleased to see you have remained as such." It sounded respectful, nearly admiring.

Shale was caught between being bewildered and relieved to finally know her origin. "I don't know what to say. Thank you for telling me all this, Caridin."

The Paragon shook its head. "Don't thank me Shale, this is all my fault. But at least it ends here." Turning to Lenya, it said, "The Anvil waits there for you to destroy it."

Lenya gritted her teeth, the rush of excitement after the battle within her abated, and her left arm started to hurt like hell. During the fight she barely managed to jump out of the way of an attacking golem which gave her no time to adjust her fall, and she had landed with full force on her left arm.

"Lenya?"

"Well...yes...about that..." the elf looked at him, raising one questioning brow, "With that insane bitch now dead, why can't we now keep the Anvil?"

Alistair groaned, thoroughly annoyed at her newest antic. "You are _impossible_, you know that? I thought we had an agreement with Caridin to destroy it. _Don't_ fall back on your words now."

"Yes, _excellent_ idea, idiot," Morrigan snarled back at him." Let us just destroy this tool of infinite power, after all this. It's not that it could help us to fight the Blight."

"Maybe we should make you into a golem then? How would you like that, Morrigan, huh?" Alistair retorted angrily.

Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't da –

"Enough! There is too much blood on the Anvil, already," Caridin's booming voice echoed loudly through the cavern, forcing their bickering to cease immediately.

With all of their attention now, the Paragon turned to Lenya again. "Please, stranger be sensible, let this not continue. Your own people, the elves, were slaves once, were they not? So would you force the souls of others into slavery for _eternity_?"

Those words shook Lenya to the core, because that ancient creature actually managed to remind her of _who_ she _really_ was. It was all too easy to forget for her under all the layers of dust, dirt and with the perpetual nightmares and despair down here that she wasn't a Warden in the first place, _but_ a proud Dalish woman.

_We are the Dalish, the last of the elvhenan, and never again shall we submit._

This thought, awakened by the Paragon's words, was a painful awareness that was accompanied with the reminiscence of all the things she had loved...and lost. Eyes closed, Lenya drew a breath in and for several heartbeats she remained still. As she opened her eyes again, a long lost glint of confidence was visible in them. She now knew which decision was best.

"You are right...keeping it is too dangerous. Although we still need a Paragon's vote for the stupid throne. I didn't run through this stinking, darkspawn-infested shit-hole for weeks to get _nothing_..." Despite her aching arm, she straitened her posture and put her chin up to face the giant golem defiantly. "You are a Paragon, right? So?"

Anticipating what she expected from him now, Caridin nodded. "I see. For that, I will seize the Anvil one last time, to forge you a crown for the king of your choice. Wait here, stranger, it won't take long." With those words, the huge golem moved toward the Anvil, its steps echoed dully on the ancient, dusted ground.

Alistair watched him leave until the Paragon had reached the other side of this epic-seized spiraling island that was enclosed with lava below. He let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. "This had been the right decision, Lenya. Enslaving others just to reach our goal wouldn't be right."

"I know..." she just replied and avoided his gaze which was far too joyous for her to bear. They had made the impossible, survived the whole journey in the Deep Roads and even found Branka and the Anvil deep within. Although it had another outcome than originally planned in the end, they would get their Paragon voice to settle the fight for the throne and thus ultimately their troops against the Blight.

But that all felt only like a hollow victory. The Deep Roads have been a far too painful, disastrous experience to celebrate its success.

There was an audible pause, a stillness only interrupted by the hammering noise from Caradin afar. Then Alistair felt obliged to clarify."I should say that _you_ have made the right decision just now. I think ..." he swallowed, "Nithius would have been proud about yo – "

"Don't!" Impulsively, Lenya rose her arm to silence him and winced at the pain the movement caused her.

Alistair rushed toward her, suddenly alerted. "You are hurt! Why haven't you said that you are injured?"

"It's nothing," she shrugged him off.

"Nothing, huh?" Alistair got rid of his gauntlet and touched her left arm with his fingers, lightly squeezing it.

"ARE YOU INS–" Lenya snarled in agony, before she got a grip on herself again and sighed. "It's just sprained and bruised...no need for gratuitous concern, Puppy. I just want to get out of here."

He nodded. "Figured. We should still treat your injury. The way back to Orzammar is unfortunately not short...and still dangerous."

"Tell me about it." The Dalish groaned and rolled her eyes. "Hey durgen'len how – " she started, but her words ceased at Oghren's sight. He sat there in the dust with his bottled flask in the hand and drank, deep lost in thought he stared down at Branka's bloodied corpse. His former wife hadn't regarded him even one single time and even now it seemed while she was lying dead in the dust with her head face down that she refused to look at him.

And while it had become the usual picture to the Dalish to see him drinking, she had never seen the dwarf so utterly...dejected before.

"I always have told her that this journey was a sod of an idea, but she never did listen. Sodding, crazy woman!" he mumbled, more to himself than a coherent attempt to talk to anyone near to him. He took another swig out of his flask and raised it in the corpse's direction. "Hope you are happy now, Branka." Then blinking, he eventually discerned the female Warden's form before him and snorted.

"Well you got what you wanted, aye?"

Lenya tilted her head, scrutinizing him. " And you haven't, I see?"

"Bah, don't go all emotionally on me now, Missy. I'm FINE!"

She shrugged with one shoulder. "Good, I never intended to do that anyway. Is there another way out of the Deep Roads? One that is shorter?"

"So you indeed plan to deliver the crown to one of the deep-lords of the assembly?"

"No," she answered with an eye-rolling motion, exasperated at his antic, "...actually I had planned to stay all my life here, because it is so wonderful in the Deep – "

Caridin's hollow steps, the clunking and clattering of his massive armored body stopped her words. She turned to the Paragon only to see that the golem held a golden crown in its hands. Runes were engraved in its angular shaped edges, its look overall quite majestic. She had no time to ask herself from where he had the material or why it only took so little time to forge such a delicate piece, when it spoke.

"I do not wish to know their names, I have lived far past the time I should have." The Paragon intended to hand Lenya the crown but Alistair took the piece instead, surprised at its heavy weight. "Now it is time to fulfill your part of the bargain, stranger."

The Dalish nodded. "Understood. Sten, would you destroy the Anvil?"

"Parshaara. Why should I?"

"Because you look fairly strong and I'm not in the position myself due to my injury." As the Qunari still didn't move, she added. "And because I said so!"

Grumbling, the Qunari wandered toward the glowering device, wondering on his way how he should destroy its massive form. He raised the giant hammer and put all of his strength behind the blow. To everyone's surprise the Anvil shattered in myriads of little pieces with a deafening sound and smoke enshrouded the area, making it difficult to see. As it finally lifted, there was nothing of it left anymore. The Anvil of the Void was no more.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at that. " 'Twas a bit unstable for such a powerful device, was it not?"

With a blank face, the Qunari discarded the hammer to the side and returned to the group. "I've finished this task. Can we leave now, elf?"

"What will you do now, Caridin?" Shale asked before Lenya could answer.

"Ahh, Shayle. My task here is done. I lived on to ensure that the Anvil will never get used again. And now it won't. I hope if you ever have to choose your end, Shayle of the House Cadesh, it will be on your own terms."

Shale appeared for a moment as if she wanted to protest, but eventually stayed quiet. Her white glowing eyes following the bigger golem as it went up the cliff, where before the Anvil had stood.

Walking toward the edge, Caridin briefly stopped a final time, addressing Lenya without turning to her. "You have my eternal thanks for helping me, stranger. _Atrast nal tunsha._...may you always find your way in the dark." Immediately, the Paragon let itself fall into the lava sea far beneath, and his massive steely frame quickly disappeared within the glowering, red heat.

"He is gone. Caridin is gone." Shale was caught between sadness and gratefulness to have met him.

"And we should leave as well." Lenya sighed and turned away from the cliff, striding toward the initial entrance of the cavern with a fast pace. "I'm sick of this place."

With one last glance over to Branka, Oghren hurried at the elf's side. "Yah, you ain't kidding. Follow me, Warden. It is time to return to Orzammar for the sodding news."

Their way back was easier due to the shortcuts Oghren discovered but torturous at the same time. Long as it still was, it gave them enough time to think about the few things gained, but all the more the many things they had lost in those weeks within the Deep Roads.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N:** The song Lenya sings within this chapter is the one that is played during the DLC "Leliana's song" and the translation of it is to find at the DA:O- wikia page "Elven language" where I got all my elvish from. And while we are at it: Thanks to Bellaknoti for pimping it up btw._

**_Review please :)_**

* * *

**_Elvish notes:_**

_"Ar tu na'din, durgen'len. Ar tu na'din!" - _I will kill you, dwarf. I will kill you.

_Ar tu na'lin emma mi! Ar tu na'lin emma mi!" -_ I will see your blood on my blade_. _I will see your blood on my blade._  
_

_Ar ma'dirth ar tu na'lin emma mi! - _I told you that my blade will see your blood._  
_


	38. Miss Impossible

_**A/N:** Now a little insight behind the scenes of this (not so) little ficlet. I, as the author love music and therefore it also inspires my mood/ things when writing. So when I heard this song the first time from the POTF (awesome band btw), I immediately thought LENYA! Hence the title. It captures her (wonderful) oddness quite perfectly, so this has become sort of a theme song for her now. Also additionally has it inspired parts of the following chapter. Lot's of original scenes, character interactions..Yay. Have fun. _

* * *

_[**...]She finds a four leaf clover where you never saw a flower**  
**She's habitually paradoxical, a parallel perpendicular**  
**Barefoot in nightgowns, that's how she dances in the rain**  
**Sundown to sundown, like she was washing 'way her pain**  
**As she is beautiful, she's unpredictable**  
**Damned irresistible, is it plausible to hate her**  
**But what's the difference, it's impossible to bait her **_

_- Poets of the Fall- Miss Impossible_

* * *

**Chapter 37: Miss Impossible**

.**  
**

"Something new, Ferrik?"

The chief of the dwarven guards at the entrance of the Deep Roads didn't even need to heave his head up, as he knew exactly _who_ was asking the question. It was the voice of that odd, red-headed human that came by every single day to ask if he had heard something about the Wardens and their company that had ventured into the Deep Roads so many weeks ago.

Stone to be honest, he didn't believe that they were still alive. Few groups could survive could survive such a long and dangerous trip down there, after all. Yet Ferrik had not the heart to say that out loud to the woman they apparently had left behind. He wondered somewhat about the reasons, as she seemed to care about that blond Warden elf and her merry band well enough to come back day after day to ask him for news. And every time he had only the same, depressing answer for her.

He shifted within his heavy armor. "No, Leliana. Nothing for weeks now. I'm sorry." Eventually looking up, the dwarf was startled to see her not in her usual linen tunic and breeches, but in thick leather armor...travel clothes, no less. The longbow and her backpack were shouldered underneath the long, flowing woolen cloak.

Leliana's prior excited expression darkened visibly. "I see. So I fear, it is time to do wha –"

The sudden barking of Arai halted her words. The hound darted torward the entrance, so quick that any guard couldn't have stopped him even if they had tried. He sniffed the air and his short tail waggled back and forth in an erratic motion, all excited. Dancing around the entrance, the Mabari alternately barked and whined, not letting the door out of his sight.

"Hey Leliana," Ferrik called to her,"...get your surface animal back. It isn't allowed to be so close to the Deep Roads entrance."

The bard sighed. "I know. But he isn't my dog, exactly. So he doesn't obey me, only Leny..."

She stopped and her eyes grew wide as saucers, as the massive door suddenly started to jiggle, if only a mere inch. Someone ...or something was hammering against it and wanted to get out.

"W-w-what?" The dwarven men were startled by the unknown noise, whereas Leliana used their confusion to rush toward the gate.

"Open it," she demanded. Arai growled in their direction, as if to give the command more substance.

"But, but it could be darkspawn...attacking us." One dwarven guard uttered in fear, keeping his distance. "Have they breached through the lines already?"

Through its thick walls there was a faintly audible grumbling. "Sodding door, it won't move. Hey, are one of the duster-guards within reach in there? Would be sodding nice to get out of this dusted shit-hole. The Wardens are with me."

"It should get out of my way now," another, more booming voice said.

"As you wish, my lady," the first voice answered, laughing.

"No, I take it back. It should stay right there where it now is, so I can smash it together with this door."

"_Talking_ darkspawn?" Leliana asked them in disbelief and her face brightened up as she recognized the voice of the golem. Tossing her equipment heedlessly on the ground, she took cover behind a couple of stoneson either side of the gate. "Ferrik. Get away from the door."

"What? Why?"

"Don't ask...just DO it! Now!" she yelled, growing more and more anxious as the dwarf still didn't move.

The chief of the guard had no time to wonder about the human's hysterical antics, as all of the sudden the stone gates were blown away, accompanied by an ear-shattering creaking sound. Thanks to his trained reflexes, the guard managed save himself from a fate of getting smashed by pieces of it.

Thick dust enshrouded the whole place as the silence returned after the loud noise. Some overly curious dwarven onlookers were storming toward the area to see the cause of the huge commotion. Murmured voices were filling the now crowded place, some anxious of darkspawn, some hopeful of the Warden's return. The reinforced guards stood wary at each side of the broken gate, fearing what would come out of its entrance.

As the dusted air slowly cleared up again, the blurry shade of a huge figure became visible. At a first impulse, the guards wanted to charge, but then Ferrik recognized that it was the odd golem he had seen before and ordered his men to wait. Its glowing gemstones and smaller size distinguished it quite easily from others of its kind.

As the golem came closer, he gave in to the urge to blink, not believing his eyes. Was the creature wearing ….a little, golden crown on its massive, stony head?

"I'm the king of the midgets now," it announced, chuckling. "I command you all to kill every bird in the sky!"

"Shale, stop th … – " Stepping out of the Deep Roads' entrance, Alistair's mouth flew open at the sight of the huge throng awaiting them. "So much for a quiet return, huh?"

"By the stone, the Wardens...they...they made it!" Ferrik uttered upon seeing them, all baffled. He then tried to call to Leliana, but his voice was lost in the frantic cheering applause of the audience.

"Yes, yes, we are not dead, gr– " Lenya didn't get any further with her words because Arai stormed toward her and pinned her down on the ground right next to the debris. Whining a yipping song of joy, the Mabari slobbered her face and was overjoyed to see her again after so much time. Unable to move under the hound's weight, Lenya resigned herself to her fate as she ruffled his brown fur and tried to cover at least a bit of her face from getting drenched with dog-spit. It wasn't helping much against Arai's delirious delight but compared to the yucky things she had experienced in the Deep Roads, this was nothing.

"Ummm...awkward?" Alistair felt uncomfortable as the cheering still didn't cease after another moment. A dwarf asked if him if they had found the missing Paragon, and another wanted to know more about the Deep Roads.

I – I... – " Somewhat overwhelmed with the situation, he turned to search for his fellow Warden, seeing that she had wriggled herself free from Arai's grasp in the meanwhile.

"Pah." Oghren snorted at the commotion. "The last time I saw them so sodding glad was as there was a free round of ale in Tapsters."

"And you were one of them, I take it?" Morrigan sneered, not liking the fuss the dwarves made at all.

"Heh, o'course. Good on you, witch."

Sten only grunted and glowered down at the odd group of little people blocking his way.

"Am I allowed to stomp on them?" Shale asked, looking at Lenya for approval.

"All of you...move! Now! The show is over. Clear this area in an instant!" Ferrik ordered loudly and his men made sure that even the most reluctant dwarves were leaving. "By the ancestor – "

"You are alive, you are _all_ alive! Maker...I – " Now that they weren't closed in by a crowd anymore, Leliana ran toward them, overjoyed and embracing each and every single one of them. If they wanted ...or not.

"Hands off, you Chantry twit!" the witch hissed and stepped back as it was her turn to get embraced by the bard. She stopped, mildly confused by Morrigan's temper ...and decided to grab Alistair instead.

"It's been too long, Leliana. How have you been?" After a pause, he added meekly. "Umm, could you please release me?"

She pulled back and wrinkled her nose at his bloodied, dirty form, smiling. "I'm good...now. And better than you apparently. You reek."

"Yeah, you know this dashing look of mine is due to one of those thousand darkspawn hordes we encountered down there." He sighed. "Maker, I'd be really glad to see none of them for a day or two."

"I see. You are surely all tired. Wait, I'll take you to the Warden quarters soon."

Alistair was baffled. "The Grey Wardens have their own quarters here? Why is that the first I hear about it?"

She shrugged. "Well I had enough time to learn about Orzammar, after all. Also it was Lenya's idea to move your stuff there while you all were away. So I simply did that."

After snatching her equipment from the ground, Leliana nodded at the guard across from them. "Thank you, Ferrik."

The dwarf nodded back. "You are welcome, Leliana. But Wardens, you are sodding lucky. I have never seen someone surviving the Deep Roads for so long."

Looking at the hole where the door once was, he frowned. "We need to repair that gate that your golem broke, unless we want to really get attacked in the end."

"Umm...sorry?"

"For getting out? I see no sense in being sorry, clown-knight," Shale huffed and stomped away, heedless of someone following.

"Right, let's just move on, Len –" Bewildered, Alistair stared at the empty space where his fellow Warden had been standing. He hadn't even noticed her leaving. Looking on the floor, he discovered an ongoing trace of equipment clearly belonging to the Dalish which gave away a path that led toward the exit.

Leliana blinked. "She is... _gone_..?"

He shook his head, half-smiling, "Somehow I thought she would do that."

"Why?"

Somewhat unwilling to remain here, he shifted in his place. "It's a long story, Leliana. _Much_... has happened."

Peering around, the bard suddenly noticed another missing face. " Wait...didn't that elven mage go with you...what was his name...Nith – "

Sighing, Alistair's face darkened to a pained scowl. "As said...much has happened. I- I will follow later, Leliana. So go ahead with the rest of them." Impulsively, he darted forward, feeling as drawn by Orzammar's exit as Lenya must have felt.

"I need to get out of here as well now."

.

.

* * *

.

The light was _blinding._

Even with the thick clouds overhead that shrouded everything in a mass of grey, the light of the day was _glaring_ to her eyes.

But all this didn't matter to Lenya right now.

Turning her head toward the sky, she closed her eyes and let the ice-cold rain pour down on her face. For a moment she stood still, unmoving and simply enjoying the pulsing beat of water on her skin. Feeling safe enough with the light overhead, her eyes snapped back open, observing the grey but endless sky.

_The sky. I'm seeing the sky..._

The rush of excitement faded quickly, replaced by a feeling of remorse and pain that was tugging at her consciousness as she remembered.

_I'm sorry, Nithius._

With her expression contorted in anguish, some repressed tears were coming up their way to the surface and flowed down her face like the rain did, unwanted. Standing still, Lenya waited until they got washed away from the rain and with it, her pained memory of yet another thing lost.

The freezing feeling of water and air on her skin was liberating, _riveting_ after all the weeks captured within hot, depressing and dark caverns. This now felt like a space in between where she was finally able to breathe again.

She was cold and the prickling on her skin made her shudder...but it felt _good. _

_._

~V~

_._

Alistair stepped outside and gave in to the urge to blink.

Raising his hand to cover his eyes from the light, the Warden took a deep breath of air that wasn't tinged with corruption and decay. _At last_.

He paused, listening to the pulsing sound of rain while giving his eyes the needed time to adjust to the daylight.

_Daylight..._the thought always made him feel giddy, if it weren't for the freezing cold wind that lashed at him, accompanied by rain that wasn't any warmer. In a way it was good..._different_...after all the time in the Deep Roads. Still he wasn't fond of the idea of spending much time out here, not when overbearing exhaustion was already clawing at him, trying to draw him in.

Finally he dared to open his eyes and shortly relished at the fact of everything being so _bright_, simply visible.

That was when Alistair noticed that _they _were staring at her, his fellow Warden. The gazes of the merchants were lingering wondering, bewildered at the elf and he could see why. Lenya stood unmoving in the middle of the area, heedless of everything around her, and she looked almost like a statue with her hands and head directed toward the sky. She was already thoroughly drenched by the torrential rain and while he could hear the dwarves cursing the weather, she seemed to completely _enjoy_ it.

And in all its oddness, this thought made him smile.

Slowly he moved closer to her, to his fellow Warden that he knew so little about, but actually _wanted_ to know. He couldn't even explain why, yet somehow this elven woman managed to rekindle his curiosity anew every time he was ready to give up on her. Maybe it was her habitually paradoxical manners that were so frustrating but at the same time ..._fascinating_ to him.

Alistair stopped at that thought, dismissing it. _Wait...fascinating?Really, brain? _

Shaking his head, he walked forward and only inches away from her, he stumbled to a stop. He should have known that with all that scattered equipment on the ground of the commons that there _couldn't_ be much left that actually clothed her. Yet actually _seeing_ her in the underlay tunic and breeches of her leather armor was a whole other story.

The blackened fabric was _drenched_ as the rest of her..._body_ was and if this wouldn't have been enough already, the Dalish was also bare-footed. Alistair gulped, caught between the chivalry of _not looking_ and his male drive to admire those wonderful wet, _clinging _clothes, he somehow found his voice.

"Lenya, what are you doing here?"

There wasn't an answer for a long moment, as she remained in her place, unmoving. Then all the sudden she smirked, lips twisting into something of a smile. "Rain. Rain. RAIN!" It sounded excited as if coming from a child discovering the world for the first time, marveling at its wonders. The expression in her face was now thoroughly detached from the sorrow and the heavy burden that had lasted on her tiny shoulders only a few hours ago.

And somehow _this_ made Alistair aware _what_ it was that kept him trying to get to know her, to _understand_ her. It was her positive oddness that was not unlike his own ...and yet so _different_ that drew him to her. Who else would get so excited about things so little in one moment and could kill someone with her glare only in the other? Alistair chuckled, for no other reason than this thought and her company.

"Yeah, that happens quite often in Ferelden, I've heard."

Lenya didn't answer, turning her head still, looking at him with the same strange expression that was so unlike everything he knew of her, still smirking, only now more amused. Not knowing what to say to break the silence, his gaze lasted on her, noticing the little fact that he hadn't seen her often with her hair open, that now clung to her head, all soaking wet.

A questioning eyebrow raised with amusement, the Dalish seemed to wait, though on what he couldn't say for sure. And while he wondered why his eyes and brain didn't connect the way they were supposed to do and _kept looking_ at her, a sound between bubbling and snorting suddenly rose from deep within her throat. Then the sound intensified, shifting into a full laughter that captured him as well.

And so both Wardens laughed together, even if Alistair didn't know the reason for her sudden amusement. A huge part of him didn't even care, because it felt _good_ to just be here and _alive_ and _able_ to laugh, even after all what had happened.

Her chortling and unladylike snorting kindled anew, as Lenya looked at him. Somehow this gave him the hunch that she was laughing _at_ him, instead _with_ him. _Again_.

"What?" Alistair asked, caught in his own curiosity.

"You look like a stupid, drenched, human rat," she pressed out in between of inhaling and fell into another fit of laughter.

"Riiight. That is too kind of you, really."

"Naaah, it was needed," the Dalish shot him a mischievous smile, accompanied by an amused glint in her green eyes that he saw too rarely...and didn't know whether to fear or to admire. "After all the weeks down there, you really reeked."

"More compliments? You are flattering me, my lady." Although said in his typical sarcastic fashion, the grin gave away that this conversation was delighting him. "And by the way, you are to blame if I start to rust and cannot move anymore."

She tilted her head, curious at that. "How so?"

"Heelloo? " Alistair pointed at his breastplate. "Heavy silverite armor here."

"And silverite _does_ rust?"

"Err … that is not the point. I'm only out here because you have laid a trail of your things that ended outside. You can't just cast your equipment so carelessly aside, Lenya. I wouldn't be surprised if someone has stolen it by now."

Lenya only shrugged at that, unimpressed. "I needed to wash, too."

"While freezing to death? Right. Great idea, that."

"And besides, whoever is touching that reeking, darkspawn-infested armor of mine must be _insane_."

"Or very desperate, huh?" he offered, only half-serious.

She smirked anew. "Exactly. So what is your point, Puppy?"

"_You_ freezing to death, _me_ freezing to death... if we keep standing here."

Another shrug. "Better than darkspawn, really."

He shook his head, still somewhat grinning. "You are _impossible_, you know that, Lenya?"

"And you are an odd human," she stated in a dry fashion.

Alistair chuckled. "As said before...you are not the first to say so." Reaching for her hand without thinking, he added. "Since we talked about that, can we go back now?"

The Dalish flinched back as if stung by his hand, eyes growing wide while she shook her head repeatedly. "No, no, _NO_ return to the stone!"

Looking upward to the sky, a sigh escaped him. "You are aware that we still have to give the crown to Harrowmont to get our troops, right? Which requires being in Orzammar, actually."

"Yes, smartass." She rolled her eyes, then frowned. "It's just...just – " Sighing, the Dalish stopped her words halfway.

"I know," he nodded, his tone all sincere now. " I'm sick of the stone too ..._and_ darkspawn. And alas, we will see both of them soon enough again."

All prior amusement seemed to fade away from her at once at this thought. "Ugh."

"Alright, then we stay..."

Lenya furrowed her brows, looking at him confused. "Huh?"

"Here, I mean." To emphasize his words, he squatted down onto the ground as best he could in plate armor.

One eyebrow shot up, as well as one corner of her mouth did, somewhat intrigued. " I thought you would rust then, Puppy?"

Alistair shrugged, grinning up to her. "I guess I have to risk that then."

.

.

* * *

.

After a while the torrential rain had mostly abated, ousted by the interplay of red and grey in the sky, as it slowly started to dusk. With her head bound upward, Lenya marveled at the richness of its colors, the endlessness of this horizon that was visible behind the still thick clouds.

_No ceiling. No stone overhead. _

Her heart leaped at this perception and for the first time in weeks, she felt free. She was completely drenched and the cold was biting on her skin by now, but somehow it was a good, vivid feeling in its entirety. The human, however, hadn't spoken since he decided to stay out here, teeth-chattering and not-so subtle sighing aside. Nevertheless he refused to leave her alone here. It should have annoyed her, but strangely...it didn't, much to her own surprise.

Observing amused for another moment how he bravely tried to appear as if he was _not_ freezing out of his skin, Lenya tilted her head, eyes narrowed.

"You are odd."

Another sigh from him, a sound that she had heard often in the last hour, though this time a bit more.._.exasperated?_ "I thought we have already covered this, Lenya."

The Dalish shrugged. "You don't _have_ to stay here, you know."

"Oh, I know, but remember I'm here because I _want_ to be." Between the chattering of his teeth, he mustered a crooked grin.

It was...confusing. Or better said _that_ human was confusing. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable out here, so long in the cold and still he smil..._.ugh. _Lenya gave in to the urge to roll her eyes. "Right. ..._Idiot._"

Alistair snickered at that. "Join us brothers and sisters. Join us outside where we sit, freezing." he paused, thinking. "Hmm...that is somehow catch –

"Oh for Maker's sake, what are the both of you doing here?"

Surprised by the sudden and familiar voice, Alistair turned around, only to look in the face of a bemused Leliana.

"Camping." Lenya glanced only for a fraction at the woman, before looking away again.

"I ...see." Leliana raised an eyebrow, her expression somewhat between bewilderment and being amused at this odd picture of both Wardens sitting in the middle of the market-place, their equipment throughout soaked by the rain. "But here? While it rained?"

"It has stopped," the elven woman simply noted.

The bard looked at the thick-clouded sky. "True. But still both of you will be freezing to death if you stay out here in front of Orzammar. There is a hot bath and meal waiting for each of you, so how about returning now?"

"Okay." In one single movement, the elf was on her feet.

"O-okay?" Alistair and Leliana asked almost in unison, baffled at her quick agreement. They had expected more resistance somehow.

Lenya heaved her shoulders to another shrug, not really regarding the two humans before her. "Yes, I'm hungry." Then with a smirk toward Alistair, she added. "Also it would be bad when both of us Grey Wardens would be freezing to death, right Puppy? Blight and all that." With that, she turned and walked toward Orzammar's gates without to wait for them.

Alistair stared after her in wonder. These words of her just now, said so casually had an unexpected impact on him. For the first time ever he had heard her speaking about being a Grey Warden without bitterness in her voice and she even had acknowledged him as her fellow Warden. Well maybe she was just stating the obvious facts but that didn't hinder that a strange, somewhat warm feeling spread inside his innards.

Leliana glanced at Alistair, whose eyes still lingered in the direction Lenya had disappeared and murmured, actually amused now. "Much has happened, indeed."

.

.

* * *

.

"Lords of the assembly I call for order! These arguments get us nowhere."

The loudly audible bickering of the assembly was nothing new to Lenya as she stepped into the rounded halls with Alistair, Leliana and Oghren in tow. To her it seemed as if the durgen'len had done nothing else to do in past weeks than to sit on their asses and discuss the succession conflict, while she and her companions were struggling to survive in the Deep Roads to actually _solve_ their problems. And somehow this thought made her incredibly angry.

Oghren looked around and observed the fine-dressed nobles with disdain. "Sodding nug-shit, why do I have to accompany you?"

She only glanced annoyed at Oghren. "You are a durgen'len, are you not?"

"Yeah, Warden, but – "

"Then shut up!"

"Charming like always, I see, Lenya," Alistair noted amused and looked down at the crown in his hands. "Sooo, this thing ends the stalemate and settles the succession?"

"It had better. Otherwise I will follow Shale's advice. I'm sick of this anyway," Lenya growled.

Leliana knitted her brows. "What advice?"

"To throw all durgen'len in the Proving arena and the last one standing will be king."

Her eyes widened at that. "Oh. Ooooh. You wouldn't do that, right, Lenya?"

The elf remained silent, the upward curving of her lips the only indication how entertaining this idea was to her.

"Then why this delaying tactics, I call for a vote right now!" a younger dwarf dressed in finest armory strode in the middle, his bearings confident and demanding as he spoke to the Lords of the Assembly. "My father has one living child to assume the Aeducan throne. Who would deny him that?"

Lenya eyed this unknown dwarf curiously, but as soon Harrowmont stepped into the picture, this curiosity morphed into annoyance and she rolled her eyes.

"Your father made me swear on his death bed that you would not succeed him."

"Oh yeah, this is Prince Bhelen," Alistair pointed at the dwarf and nodded toward Lenya. "Remember, we had a nice, heart-warming encounter with him in the beginning? Or rather..._not_."

The Dalish tried to figure out what her fellow Warden meant, but the oppressing darkness and bitter experiences in the Deep Roads obscured everything else in her mind. Everything was still so overly present, the horror of the broodmother, the disgusting stench and... _his_ blood on her hands. No matter how much she tried to forget, to get rid of it while scrubbing her skin raw, it lasted and loomed over her like an everlasting nightmare, mocking her with its pictures in her mind.

"Excuse the interruption, my lords," the dwarven guard accompanying Lenya stepped forward, putting her out of her grim thoughts, " but the Wardens have returned."

There was an audible pause, a stillness that followed at that, only interrupted by some shocked gasps of the Assembly lords. Seemingly they had not expected them to return from their mission. Harrowmont broke the silence first.

"We should let the Warden speak then. What news do you bring?"

Before Lenya could answer in any form, Oghren walked in the middle and raised his voice.

"We have found the Paragon Caridin deep within the Deep Roads. He was trapped in the body of a golem." He pointed at Lenya, the tone in his voice not without pride. "This Warden granted him the mercy he sought, releasing him and destroying the Anvil of the Void. Before he died, Caridin forged a crown for Orzammar's next king, chosen by the ancestors themselves!"

Lenya gave in to the urge to blink, the confident Oghren before her eyes resembled nothing of the drunken idiot he normally was. It was.._.surprising._

Bhelen scoffed at that. "And we are supposed to believe the words of a drunken sot and a Warden known to be in Harrowmont's pocket?"

Ignoring once more words of derision he was so used to hearing, Oghren strode toward the Steward and handed him the crown, who observed the delicate piece in awe.

"This crown _is_ of Paragon make and bears House Ortan's ancient seal. Tell us, Warden: whom did Caridin choose?"

_Okay, showtime_. _Ugh_.

With one last deep breath, Lenya raised her voice. "The Paragon Caridin has chosen Bhelen as the new king."

The lie fell easier from her lips than thought. There was no way she would let Harrowmont have the crown, although she had supported him at first. But those bridging words of the Steward made it all too simple for her to change her mind, to rectify the mistake of Harrowmont's support now had been in her eyes. How could she support a man who looked down at his _own_ people in disdain, only because they weren't _born_ the right way? Glaring up to Harrowmont, she saw the shock in his eyes and knew this had been the right choice.

Maybe Bhelen would change some most needed things for the dwarves for the better. If not, well she wouldn't lose sleep over that. Most important issue for her was now to get the troops from Bhelen instead Harrowmont.

Deal was deal, after all.

"I...am...speechless, Warden," Bhelen stuttered and struggled to regain his usual confident demeanor. Everyone else of the assembly was paralyzed with utter consternation, caught in a shocked silence. Even her companions were still, unable to speak and only Oghren seemed to grin, thoroughly amused at the chaos Lenya created with her answer. He had somewhat anticipated this, but seeing it actually happen was now even more... _fun_.

"….Though I praise your wisdom, late as it may come," Bhelen eventually finished this sentence, tearing the tranquility apart. He squared his shoulders, standing upright and proud as he added. "At least, this farce has ended and I can take the rightful place on my father's throne." The former-prince-now-king stepped from his dais to march over to the steward...and his crown.

"Let the Memories find you worthy, first amidst the lords of the houses, the king of Orzammar." With those words, Bhelen was crowned and the attendant nobles erupted into a thundering cheer. No matter the circumstances, Orzammar now had a king again and this was the only thing that counted for them. The succession twist was settled.

_Whatever..._

Lenya groaned annoyed and found herself not really caring for the revered coronation ceremonial that took place before her eyes. Hadn't they waste enough of her time already? While the Dalish had to watch them proceeding, she could feel Alistair's glare in her back and whirled around.

"What?"

Alistair couldn't believe that she even felt the need to ask. "How could yo –" he started angrily but was soon interrupted by Bhel – _King Bhelen_, he grudgingly corrected himself, who spoke his first words as the new regent of Orzammar. He turned to Harrowmont, with nothing more than scorn within his expression. "Do you acknowledge me as king, Harrowmont?"

For a few delicate moments, Bhelen seemed to bask in his own words while waiting for his prior rival to answer.

"Y-yes." The elder lord replied hesitantly at first, but then added more secure. "I cannot defy the wish of a Paragon." He bent down on his knees. "The throne is yours, Bhelen, King of Orzammar."

King Bhelen smirked for the briefest of moments, before it was gone, replaced by a firm expression. "Then as my first act as king, I call for the execution of this usurper. Guards, seize him!" Immediately, a group of four marched toward Harrowmont and arrested him.

"Wait..._what?_"

Alistair pointedly looked at the surprised Dalish, narrowing his eyes in anger. "I hope you are happy now, Lenya!"

"I..." She didn't want Harrowmont to be king... but never had thought he would get killed. Why?

The newly made king seemed to anticipate her discomfort and directed his word at her. "You know better than me that war is facing us, Warden. We cannot afford to be divided, so anyone undermining my reign is serving only the darkspawn."

Lenya crossed her arms and scrutinized him closely. "Err...yeah, how... nice for you. What about my troops against the Blight now?"

"I will immediately call for all of my generals to gather forces for the surface. Meet me in my palace tomorrow, if you will. We can discuss this matter then further."

"Wait..." Lenya called Bhelen out, making him and his armed retinue stop." Warden, I'm a busy man, I said tomo –"

"Just one question, Keep...eh king. What is your opinion about the Caste-system?"

And one tiny moment long, Bhelen looked confused by such a question of a surfacer...and elf of all things, but he quickly regained his stance, somewhat intrigued by her interest. "It is long overdue to vanish, a needless relict of tradition that only hinders our people to come to its full potential." With that, the king was gone, leaving Lenya and her group behind.

They stood there in silence for a half minute, until Oghren burst into a rumbling laughter. "Haha, that really beat the sod out of everything I had predicted you would do." He looked at Lenya and his grin broadened. "Well done, Missy."

Lenya only glowered at him, then turned around and stormed out of the assembly hall, before anyone could follow.

"That surely was..." Leliana started.

…infuriating?" Alistair offered, vexed.

"Well I was about to say _interesting_...but...yeah."

Still staring at the assembly's door, Alistair felt frustration welling up his system. "How...I don't even know..._argh_." His hand balled to a fist. "Every time I think I underst – ...Lenya does something like..._that._ She is impossible."

"Are you _that_ dumb, Warden...or just sodding deaf?" Oghren shook his head, annoyed. "I thought it was pretty obvious that she had done that for the dusters."

He blinked. "For the...dusters?"

"Heh, ever been in Dust Town, lad?"

"No, why should I?"

"Then you have sodding much to learn. Anyway, " the dwarf belched loudly, " all those stiff-assed deep-lords made me thirsty. Gotta catch a free mug o' ale in Tapsters while everyone is so sodding happy 'bout the king thing...or a whole barrel, heh." With that, Oghren left the hall and the others behind.

"Oh, " Leliana's eyes widened as it dawned her what Oghren meant. "I think I understand now why she made this decision."

"You...do?"

"Yes, I was with her there that day, as we cleared out the Carta hideout. " The bard nodded, her face etched with confusion. "It's just...I had never thought that she is touched by..." she halted her words, sighing. " I think I have misjudged her."

Between his urge to understand Lenya and to face and yell at her, Alistair grew only more confused. "Care to fill me in?"

"These are things," she frowned at the memory, " you better see for yourself, Alistair." Leliana patted him on his broad shoulder, then turned to go as well. "I see you later then, yeah?"

"Y-yes," the Warden mumbled lost in thought, all alone now in this vast hall. And while his urge to yell at Lenya had somehow completely dwindled by now, has the need to understand her just become bigger.

Maybe it wasn't that impossible, like he had thought before.

And with that thought, Alistair left the hall as well ...into the direction of Dust Town.


	39. Confessions

_**A/N: Mackillian** is now my new, awesome beta. Welcome to the world of madness and textwalls of doom, dear *tips hat* (and once again a beta-licious thanks for **Malymin** for going on the crazy journey with me for so long.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 38: Confessions**

.

Even before he was there, Lenya _felt_ him through her blood.

"What do you want, huh? To yell at me for my decisions?" she sneered at his arrival, her aggressive tone prompting him to stop his steps.

It was it a cold, clear, starry night and the half-rounded moon shone brightly over the area, reflecting everything in its translucent light. She sat there on the stairs, not far from Orzammar's gates and had her small form huddled up to the mass of muscles that Arai was. The Mabari had noticed his arrival too, but being too contented at being reunited with his mistress, he didn't move one bit away from her to greet him.

"No... I..." Alistair directed his head toward the sky and heaved a sigh, somewhat frustrated by her fierce reaction. "I have been to Dust Town just now."

Her shoulders rose into a shrugging motion. "Good for you."

"I mean, I think I understand now why you have made this decision, Lenya. First I was so angry that you fell back on your words that you gave Harrowmont... but seeing what it actually means to be casteless in Orzammar was..." Alistair fumbled, searching for the right words to describe it. "..._appalling_. It's like... I mean... is this even the _same _city? The smell, the despair there... it reminded me rather of the Deep Roads than Orzammar."

"Hmm," she hummed and still didn't turn around to him, hugging Arai even tighter. The hound didn't seem to mind. "In my clan..." Her voice broke momentarily and her breath still quivered as she willed herself to continue, ".._.everyone_ is equal. _Vir' Adahlen._ We are many, a union._" _The pain too overbearing to speak on, Lenya fell silent and continued to watch the stars in the sky. The thought of her clan watching the same firmament right now somewhere in Thedas strangely gave her some solace.

Not knowing how to break the awkward stillness, Alistair stepped down a few stairs to sit next to her, yet granted her a respectful distance. In the silence, his gaze fell almost automatically back on her, as if drawn by her mere presence, observing the white shimmering of the moon that reflected nearly golden in the strands of her hair.

No blood or dust tainted the wild mass of blonde that was partly bound into a neat ponytail and partly framed her features with several loose wisps. To Alistair, the way she wore her hair portrayed the contrariness that was just oddly, perfectly her.

Rude, yet caring, strong and independent and yet so _vulnerable_ when she was talking about all the things she had lost. And even if it was mostly frustrating for him to attempt to understand his fellow Warden, he was yet fascinated when learning new facades of her that were buried so deep within her. Just like.._. now_.

"Your world is a cruel place..." Lenya suddenly said, startling him with her voice.

Glancing sidelong at her, Alistair smiled. "Even if I'm... how did you call it," he paused to think, "_a_ _shemlen,_ it's not exactly _my_ world, you know. But I know what you mean. Many things human and all things dwarven don't cease to puzzle me as well."

She tilted her head, amused at that. "Oh, really?"

"Yup. Being confined in a Chantry for several years doesn't make you an expert on such stuff like how to talk to my Dalish fellow Warden without insulting her culture with my oh-so eloquent words." His smile warped to a full grin. "I say, their teaching is definitely lacking with only the talk about the Maker all day."

"Idiot." He was rewarded with laughter that momentarily washed that sad expression from her face.

Good enough for him.

"And while we are at it," Alistair continued, "I'm sorry that I asked for the meaning of your tattoo. I didn't know that it was something personal until Nithius explai—" Grimacing, he stopped, shaking his head. "See, I have done it again... master of words, indeed."

Lenya briefly closed her eyes at the surge of pain the name caused her and sighed. "It's... _okay._ We now have what we came for, after all. So as soon we have talked to Bhelen, I want to leave. I'm sick of this place."

He nodded. "Fine with me. And where are we going then, Lenya?"

"Away."

Now it was he who laughed. "Yeah, I get that, but I mean which treaty shall we attempt next, oh-fearless leader?"

The Dalish shrugged. "I don't know, actually. What is the closest one to Orzammar?"

"Right. Take me as our guide and we will run in circles soon... just like in the Korcari Wilds back in Osta—" His voice faltered at the simple name. "The Mage Tower is somewhat close, though," he said instead, hoping it came out quick enough for her not to notice.

Obviously, he wasn't as subtle as he thought. "Loghain will pay for this!" Her tone a low growl, it sounded like the same menacing promise she had given to Branka before. Appreciating the notion aside, the tone in her voice made him glad to be on her side... and _not_ on the other.

"Y-yes," he more or less stuttered, caught by the intense expression in her face. The prior emotionless mask was gone and Alistair couldn't help to wonder when she had stopped guarding her expressions like she had always done before.

"Mage tower?" Lenya suddenly made a displeased face, snapping him back to attention. "That is another building made of stone, I take it?"

He smiled. "Yeah, a tower is mostly made of that... Well, we can also search for your people, it is another treaty we need, anyway."

She visibly flinched at that and Alistair regretted having ever mentioned it. "Or...not," he hurried to add.

"It would better to wait until it is spring again." Lenya paused and looked down at something she held in her hands, but the light was too low for Alistair to recognize the object. "Doubles the chances for us to find one of the Dalish... clans."

"Well, okay... you are the expert here, after all," he jested, trying to lighten up her mood. It wasn't working. Searching for her eyes, his tone became serious again. "You still miss your clan, don't you?"

"Is it a shame to miss _home_, human?" Her eyes narrowed as they glinted angrily back at him, though there was also a hint of... _pain_. The Dalish turned her head away, staring into the clear night before her. Arai whined concerned and lay his paw into her lap in an attempt to console her.

"N-no, of course not. That is not what I meant." Alistair sighed, frustrated. "You could always return to your clan, once this is over, right?"

"I... I don't... know." It sounded sincere and also..._ sad._ Only weeks ago, Lenya wouldn't have hesitated to answer this question with a clear 'yes,' but now there was a new uncertainty that hadn't been there before. "Would you, Puppy? Return home?" A part of her wondered why she was even asking him this.

_I have no home anymore..._ This thought lay on his tongue but he swallowed it down again, the taste bitter. "Well... we have to survive first, huh?" He laughed weakly, and then sighed. "I mean, everything else is just so distant right now and we don't know what will happen."

"Hmm..." Lenya hummed in agreement and nodded. Her hair shimmered in the moonlight at the motion, captivating his eyes. "Surviving isn't the worst thing on the list." After a pause, she added, "So it's the Mage tower then?"

"Yeah, if you want to. We just have to find the First Enchanter and simply ask him for their support though. Shouldn't be too hard, really."

"_Simple,_ huh? " Her lip curved slightly up. "Just like with Orzammar?"

The young man groaned. "Oh please, Maker, no. Well, in any case, there will be no Deep Roads there, that's an improvement, right?"

A harsh gust of cold wind blew in her direction, making her shudder. Lenya couldn't discern if it was the freezing breeze or the thought of the Deep Roads that made her tremble... probably _both_. She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, very much, really."

Not a moment later, she stood upright, so fast that he didn't even notice it at first. "Let's get back, puppy. Much to do and all that." The Dalish grimaced. "Ugh."

.

~V~

.

The Commons had grown somewhat chaotic in the short of time of their absence.

Blinking at the dancing and cheering dwarves, they tried to make their way through the masses of people. Lenya scowled at the dwarves that were trying to pat her on the back, her glare a silent warning not to touch her. It wasn't helping much because they were too overjoyed with the fact of having a king again that they paid no heed to her more or less subtle body language.

"Well... you don't see that every day, huh?" Alistair blinked away the last remnants of surprise, actually smiling now.

Lenya's scowl only deepened. "Fortunately."

She turned to get away and nearly stumbled over another dwarf that was sitting amidst all the hubbub. It only took her a slight moment to recognize that this dwarf was Oghren, happily drunk.

"Heh, a sodding party, Missy. Haven't seen Orzammar like this in ages. Finally, they got the stick out of their asses and the only thing that was needed was a sodding king." He took another swig out of his mug and snorted. "Why don't you join the sodding fun?"

Leliana descended from the mass as well, a mug of ale in her hand, oddly giggling. "Yes, why don't—"

"No." Lenya cut her off, whirled on her heels, and vanished within the crowd quicker than anyone could react. Only Arai was able to follow.

After a small sigh, Leliana's gaze rested now on Alistair, smirking. "So what about you? One drink can't hurt, right?"

He was fast in raising his hands in defense. The last time he was drunk was still all too vivid in his mind. "What me? No, no, no. Bad idea. _Baaad._"

She did not relent at that and pouted. "You still owe me the story of the events of the Deep Roads."

"Right. Not really the stuff to tell for a happy party."

"Oh?" Leliana quirked an eyebrow. "Now I'm _especially_ intrigued."

"Great. Truly. Look, we have to leave tomorrow. Mage Tower, treaty and all that. So—"

"You are one of the Wardens!" an elder female voice asserted, overjoyed, the source coming from behind his back.

He turned only to see a middle-aged dwarf, her face lined and withered, but her eyes looking warmly at him.

"Err...yes?"

"I... well, I talked with your fellow Warden, the elf. Filda is my name." The dwarf hesitated, looking down at her patched, worn dress. "She promised me to look for my son while venturing through the Deep Roads. You were with her there, right?

Behind her, Leliana had inched closer, observing the interesting interplay of confusion and then... painful awareness in Alistair's face. He was easier to read than any book, though this was part of his charm, she supposed.

"You mean... Ruck?" It took him every ounce of self-control not to grimace at the name, the picture of the tainted husk of a dwarf too overly present in his mind.

Filda beamed, suddenly very happy... which only intensified his discomfort. "You- you have found him?"

"I..." He cleared his throat, willing himself to answer. "Yes, we have... I'm sorry, Filda... he is dead."

Her smile veiled as quickly it had appeared, and her expression saddened." I... see. Somehow I had already expected this... but it is better to know, right?" The dwarf rummaged at her worn belt, bringing forth a little pouch of money. "Here, for your efforts, Warden. It is not much, but take it as a sign of gratitude for what you have done for me."

Alistair shoved aside the pouch she offered. "I... cannot take this. Please, keep it. For your son, to," he said and halted, searching for the right words. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue as he found them. "…to return him to the stone. Even if there are no bones."

"You sure?" The surprise was visible in her eyes. Alistair only nodded. "Thank you, Warden. May the Ancestors protect your way." With that, the elder dwarf turned to go, her sunken down posture oddly standing out in the cheery crowd. Frowning, he trailed her way until she vanished within the masses, his gaze lasting on where she had disappeared.

"What was that about?" Leliana asked, caught between confusion and curiosity.

Alistair closed his eyes, suppressing the urge to shudder at all the pictures of the Deep Roads that had been conjured by the memory of Ruck and were present within his mind again. All at once. Hespith, Branka, the Broodmother, and... Nithius' death.

He took a deep breath that slightly quivered as he drew it in. "You know, I think... I need a drink now."

.

.

* * *

.

Due to all the people out in the streets, it took Lenya some time to reach the Grey Warden quarter in the Diamond district. Even now the cheering was still audible from outside the streets, and it followed her, unrelenting.

Sighing, she closed the door behind her, as she had finally reached her own room in the mansion. It was by far not so grand as Harrowmont's estate had been, and the furnishing was rather sparse, yet it sufficed. The flickering light of the lava hearth caught her attention, the red glow too eerily similar to the one she had seen in the Deep Roads. Nearly flinching at that, she quickly averted her eyes. Arai tilted his head and whined in concern, sensing her distress.

"It is... okay, boy." She forced a smile, but the Mabari wasn't convinced. At all. So he inched closer to her and licked her palm.

"I'm sorry I didn't take you with me, Arai... but it was... better this way."

The hound huffed as if disbelieving her words. She ruffled his brown fur, caressing the one spot behind his ear that made him sigh contentedly. "I'm glad to be with you again, however." Arai woofed in agreement, and that even let her smile for a fraction, yet it veiled all too quickly again.

Looking around the room, she felt confined by its four walls, the stone somewhat suffocating. Lenya couldn't wait to get away from this place, away from all the painful memories lingering here, these dark pictures in her mind that made her feel so helpless and vulnerable.

And yet she couldn't run away from _what_ she was.

Her gaze fell onto the griffon banner that were everywhere here in the estate, its fabric threading down the wall. Moving closer, she touched one flag with her fingers, trailing the way of the griffon's majestic, white wings down until they'd reached the woven letters under it. Her eyes followed, fixated on what was written there.

_"In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."_

And while she stared at what was their motto, a scoff bubbled up her throat. "They have forgotten to add, 'In pain, Grey Warden.'"

Because this was all what being a Grey Warden had brought her until now: _pain,_ new scars added to the old ones that already existed. For a moment, she wondered why her fellow Warden was so keen on what he was and if his prior Warden experiences had been more..._ pleasant_. Seeing his reaction every time someone mentioned Ostagar, Lenya wasn't too sure about it.

Or maybe that was the reason?

He was oddly puzzling for her, infuriating at times, which was not unexpected for the human that he was. As a proud Dalish, she naturally bore no love for the shemlen, given the history her people shared with... _them_.

Nevertheless, _that_ human sometimes showed glimpses of what made her believe that his simplemindedness was nothing more than an act, something to hide what was... _underneath._

Lenya huffed at this thought, yet had no time to wonder what that was all about as a deep voice was calling her out.

"Warden."

She did not react at first, so the voice tried anew, now more exasperated. "Warden!"

Right, that was what she was now. And it was time to get used to it. Swallowing down the still bitter taste the thought caused her, she looked up, blinking at the huge form of the Qunari.

"Sten."

"When are we leaving here?"

"Oh, hello to you too, by the way." Lenya sighed as he remained stoic in his place, demanding an answer with his boring gaze. "Why are you asking?"

"You are the leader."

"Right. Then be glad. I plan to leave tomorrow, directly after having talked to that durgen'len king."

"Is this procrastination really necessary?"

"Seeing that it is the _king_ who will send out the needed troops, I would say... _yes_." She rolled her eyes. "Also, we have to get supplies as well and it takes a while until everyone has packed, so there _is_ procrastination, Sten."

The huge man grunted at that. "So many words to say that we are going to continue wasting time. You spend too much time with that weepy human."

Lenya couldn't help to laugh. "Possibly." She pointed at her bed where her backpack waited, all packed. "Not everyone is so eager to get away from Orzammar than we both are, it seems."

"Annoying."

She smirked anew. "I know." As the Qunari still made no indication to go, she added, "Anything else, Sten?"

There was a slight, unusual hesitation before he answered, "You are not as callow as I thought. That is... unexpected."

Lenya blinked up to his giant figure, her tone all confused. "Callow?"

"Yes. A word in your tongue. It means 'without feathers.' Like a newly hatched bird."

An eyebrow shot up, somewhat amused. "Why should I have feathers, Sten?"

He snorted, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Perhaps I spoke too soon."

Her smirk changed into a wicked smile, if only for a short moment. "I jested, Sten. I know what callow means."

"Then why ask?"

"The shemlen tongue is not my own, you know. _Emma' elvhen a dirth Dalish."_

"Interesting." His indifferent body language belied the said word. "How does this help to stop the Blight?"

Lenya shrugged, not impressed at all by his antics. "It doesn't. It is what I am."

"Obviously. A Grey Warden."

"Dalish… and _that._"

"You are... a confusing little person."

Her smile only grew wider, teeth glinting as her lips twisted. "Likewise. Just... bigger."

Sten snorted. "What is there not to understand about me? I'm a simple creature. I like swords. I follow orders. That is all."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You like swords?" Then she exclaimed, all ecstatic, "Oh, me too. I _love_ swords."

His lips nearly curled into what resembled a smile. "I knew there was some reason to keep following you." After a brief silence, and the Qunari still had not turned to go, he asked,

"What is our next destination?"

"Huh?" She blinked up from the bed where she had sat herself down in the meanwhile and had not expected _more_ questions.

"Directions, elf."

"Oh..._that_. Well, the next treaty is at the Mage Tower, wherever that is."

"Mages." He snorted derisively. "You... don't know where it is?"

"No." Lenya sighed. "I lived rather secluded with my clan before. Never left the borders of our forest when not needed, so no."

"You have my condolences," he remarked dryly. Observing her sudden dejected posture, he added in the same dry tone, "Will you start to cry now? I didn't bring a handkerchief."

"No." She shook her head, lips twisted to a wistful smile. "Just a bit homesick, I guess."

Sten grunted, this time in agreement. "I think... I know that feeling."

"By the Creators, I swear this _shemlen_ world is so strange."

Another huffing sound of agreement. "To put it lightly. No one has a place here. The farmers wish to be merchants. The merchants dream of being nobles, and the nobles become warriors. No one is content to be who they are."

"You sound a bit homesick too, Sten."

"Perhaps." He sighed. "It's strange to be in a crowd and hear a language that is not your own. To see faces that are and aren't like yours."

Lenya's head snapped up to him at these words, taken aback by them. "I know _exactly_ what you mean."

One bushy eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Really?"

She smiled, her expression sincere as she nodded. " _Ar dirth a emma Dalish_, remember?"

Again a hint of a smirk in his face. "I see." His gaze wandered off, fixing somewhere at the wall nearby, as he continued, "I miss the smells of Seheron. Tea, and incense, and the sea. Ferelden smells of wet dogs."

"And dirt. And garbage."

"Parshaara, I was trying to forget that part."

Lenya chuckled briefly. "Sorry, Sten."

He snorted. "I'll survive." Eventually, the Qunari turned to leave. "Once your useless other Warden has returned, we should move on. There is a Blight to defeat."

The Dalish watched him leaving and tilted her head, amused at his wording. "Oh? So I'm not useless, huh?"

Sten only stopped briefly, not turning around. "We'll see."

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair wondered how he ended up here.

Surrounded by the bustling and a tangle of dwarves of all castes, he sat at one of the crowded tables in Tapsters. Staring into his half-emptied mug of ale, he basked in the warm, fuzzy feeling the beverage caused him and tried to distract his mind from the deafening volume within the tavern.

"You know, I believe she had planned all this," Leliana said, nodding.

He looked up from his mug and to the bard. "Huh?"

"Lenya, of course. She had asked me to move our supplies from Harrowmont's estate to the Grey Warden quarter even before she went into the Deep Roads. Apparently, she had contemplated longer on whom to elect as king than initially thought."

"Heh, otherwise you could have kissed the sodding rest of your supplies goodbye," Oghren threw in, snorting. "Don't think that Harrowmont's stone-licking family would have welcomed you back in their sodding mansion after all that."

Alistair sighed. "I feel sorry for him, somehow."

"Don't be, " she tried to reassure him. "Bhelen's measure had been a bit drastic, but it was perhaps needed to stable his position and therefore the future for his dwarven people."

He took another swig from his mug. "By ruthlessly murdering every rival? Riiight."

"If there is one thing that I have learned in my long time here in Orzammar while you all were away, is that politics is everything here, " Leliana stated. "You know how the game is played or you get eaten."

"Charming. Really."

"Heh, that's my woman!" Oghren laughed at that, making the bard scowl." Hey, just saying that it sounds like you are experienced in that sodding political crap." Snorting, the dwarf added, _"Experienced_, hehe."

Leliana blinked and hurried to deny. "N-no, of course not. And stop looking at me like that, dwarf."

Alistair sighed. "It's just... I can't get rid of the feeling that we used him."

"Well, there is the undeniably fact that you ventured into the Deep Roads on Harrowmont's behalf for several weeks, Alistair. So I wouldn't call it _that_."

Tell you what, boy." Oghren threw a flask at him that Alistair reflexively caught. "If you'd drink more wine, you would _whine_ much _less_."

He stared at the dirtied flask and grimaced. "Do I even want to know _what _is in there?" The dwarf's grin only broadened. "All right. Me? Not touching that." Instantly, he handed the brew back to his owner.

Oghren only shrugged. "Your loss, sissy. Heh."

"I'd rather stick to my ale, thanks."

Oghren scoffed. "This I see. Still your first, eh?"

"And your point is?" Alistair asked, mildly annoyed.

You can't hold your liquor, boy, right? Hah, I'm not surprised. Missy bested you the last time you both were drinking."

He made a face. As if he'd needed a reminder about that night. One night of drinking before the horrors of the Deep Roads and the warmth of her skin next to his own as they both slept in one be— "I can drink, you know, " he blurted to distract himself from that thought.

"Prove it."

"I have to prove nothing to you, dwarf."

"Heh. Told you. _Sissy_."

Leliana, who sensed what was about to happen, let out a sigh.

He narrowed his eyes. "Stop calling me that!"

Oghren only snorted.

"Okay." He grabbed his mug and emptied the beverage in one gulp. Momentarily, the world swam before his eyes as the strong taste and alcohol of the dwarven ale kicked in, but he shrugged it off. "See?"

"Men." Leliana shook her head, half annoyed, half amused "It is always the same with them, no?"

"Hah, good on you, Warden. Still got a stick in your ass, though. Ya need more of it." Turning, he waved for Corra, who was hectically running in between all the people, trying to get them their ordered drinks. "Aye, Corra, your Oghren needs more." Pausing, he snorted. "_More_...get it?"

Rolling her eyes at his words, the dwarven hostess snarled at him. "I'll get your drink, Oghren, once I have delivered the other two_ dozen_."

Alistair blinked. "M-more?"

Leliana giggled and leaned toward him, her chin resting in her hands. "Well, why don't you tell me about the Deep Roads while you still _can_, hmm?"

"Actually, I wasn't trying to get drunk, but now that you mentioned the lovely place I have been for the past few months, I think I changed my mind."

"That bad?"

"You have no idea..." He sighed. "Look, you can be glad to be one who got left behind in Orzammar, really. Thank the Maker for small mercies."

"Glad?" Her warm gaze shifted into something peeved, a glare, even. Her voice pitched into a louder, hurtful tone. "Have you any idea how worried I was? Every day I feared I had to go back to Orlais to deliver this letter. To face the fact that you all had die—" She stopped, taking a huge gulp from her drink to calm herself down.

Alistair groaned, slapping his forehead. "Wonderful. I have done it again. I'm always good at saying the wrong things lately, it seems. Not that I had any trouble with that before... but now I seem to be _especially_ good."

The bard sighed, placing a hand on Alistair's. "Don't. It's just... it was so... so _long._ First it was interesting because it gave me time to learn about the dwarven culture and all that. But the more time went by, the more anxious I'd become. I didn't know what to do. Wait another week or to leave for Orlais? I didn't want to give up, so I remained here until the last possible moment. But on the day you all returned," she said, and then lowered her gaze. "I was about to leave, you know."

"Oh," he simply replied, running a hand sheepishly through his hair. "Well, I guess I can't blame you, though. It was a bit shocking for me to find out how _long_ we were actually there. In the Deep Roads and the... everlasting darkness, it is all too easy to lose all feeling for time. Not to mention that we ventured far deeper within than originally planned."

"Did you find Branka?"

Oghren grumbled in his corner, and muttered some curses under his breath before his attention was drawn back to his stash of brew.

"I take that as a yes, so there was no happy reunion, I take it?"

Another grumble from the dwarf, this time audible. "Sodding Branka, sodding Anvil!"

"Considering that she was a insane, possessed dwarf who fed her entire house, including her secret female lover, to darkspawn in search for the magical Anvil... no not really." Alistair shuddered at the memory. "Lenya eventually killed her... for all she had done."

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "Lenya, hmm? She... seems..."

Corra interrupted her words, placing a not-so-little barrel of ale with a thud right on their table.

Alistair's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Whoa.._. wow_, who should drink all _that?"_

Oghren grinned broadly.

"Extra on the house tonight. Saves me time and nerves to come after Oghren every time he wants a drink." The hostess sighed. "And that is often,_ very often_. As you have probably noticed, Warden, Tapsters is a bustling stone-hole tonight, so I really have no time for that."

"Aww, and here I thought you would drink one with me, my saucy dwarven-minx." Oghren winked at Corra, who made a disgusted face at that.

"Go crawl under a stone and die, Oghren." Turning to Alistair, she became a lot friendlier again. "So how does it feel to be the hero of the hour?"

"Err... I haven't done much, actually. That was, rather, my fellow Warden." He took one of the mugs Corra had refilled and started to drink.

"Oh, don't be so humble. It was the two of you, I heard. Where is your fellow Warden tonight? You know, the cute elf."

He nearly spluttered the ale out and coughed. "_Cuuuute?_ Yeah, right. Be glad that she isn't here now, she would have gutted you for calling her _that._"

Corra laughed. "Well, ironically, for an elf, she isn't unlike a dwarven woman. We are stoic and rough from the outside... but we all have a _tender_ side too." She winked at Alistair and he blushed, more out of the reason that he suddenly thought about Lenya smiling than the female dwarf's action. To distract himself, he grabbed his drink again.

"Oh, I see, you already got a glimpse of that. Lucky you." She turned to go. "Barrel is on the house for our hero here. See ya later, Warden."

Leliana giggled at Corra's retreating back. "I think she likes you."

He blinked. "...Or Lenya."

"Heh, must be a Warden thing. You know, fancy boy, slowly I do believe it wouldn't be the worst to travel the surface with ya. Ya get stuff for free, and enough stuff to kill. What more can I ask for?"

"You want to join?" Alistair cocked an eyebrow. "It is a dangerous, near impossible task we have to fulfill. Just so you remember."

"Now you are being a sissy pants again, Warden." Oghren snorted. "Hah, near certainty of death. Small chance of success. Perfect. What are we waiting for?"

Alistair shook his head in disbelief at those words, taking another huge gulp from his beverage. It was starting already to affect him, and loosened up his tongue. "You are insane, dwarf, just like your ex-wife."

"Hey, now that was just _low_."

He snickered, briefly wondering on the weird tone coming from his throat. "Sorry. We can use any help, however. But _you_ are going to tell Lenya. Not doing that." Another swig from the ale and he added, grinning, "Nope."

Oghren bared his teeth in a grinning chuckle. "Hah, Missy will love it. Just you watch."

"Yeah. Right. Remind me to stay far away from you while she hacks you to pieces, Oghren."

"Heh, a toast to that." Laughing, the dwarf emptied his mug in one slurp and belched loudly.

"You know, Alistair," Leliana started, leaning forward again, "it is something I have noticed, if you would feel free to indulge me. Somehow, Lenya and you have changed. It seems to me that you have become closer."

"_Closer,_ she says." Alistair snorted. "Why should we—well okay... there was Hespith and the Broodmother and Nithius' death because he shielded stupid Morrigan from dying. Then Lenya sang all the sudden and looked so sad because of it, so I..."

Leliana stared at him with the quizzical expression in her face, making him stop.

"Oh, oops. I haven't told you all that yet, right?" He sighed at the pointed look she gave him. "Okay, guess I've had enough ale to do this now."

.

~V~

.

Lenya found no sleep, no matter how hard she tried.

The bed, the prior night welcomed and seized for an oblivious slumber, was too soft now, the flickering of the lava-hearth too peaceful, and strangely enough these the things stole her rest. She should have enjoyed these precious quiet moments of peace, but _couldn't_, the remembrance of the Deep Roads ubiquitous in her mind.

She saw pictures of Nithius' dead, cold eyes gazing reproachfully back at her, issuing the paradoxical guilt of '_Why did you take me with you?' _with their empty stare. And the blotched, swollen face of Hespith mocked her and called her_ 'Sister_' every time she tried to close her eyes.

Lenya didn't know which was worse, but they were both haunting memories she didn't want to have, didn't want to resurface from the depths of her mind, because they were both leaving her shaking and breathless.

Impulsively, she darted out of her bed, ran out of the room with the haunting pictures, away, just _away_. Heedless of the way before her, Lenya bumped into something big and rigid that made her bounce back on the ground at the impact. Back to her senses through the fall, she blinked up, recognizing that she had landed in some kind of huge storage room, and then noticed the golem before her.

"Shale."

"Hmm, is there something the painted elf is running away from?" She raised her stony shoulders to a shrug. "Not that I would care much... but I could squish it if needed."

Slowly, the Dalish stood up and ran a hand through her blonde, tousled hair. "Well, thanks, Shale, but I simply... couldn't sleep."

Shale observed the elf's form, who was only dressed in thin night linen. "Obviously. So why is it running away then?"

Lenya took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down with an inaudible prayer to Mythal. It helped a bit. "Maybe I'm trying to get away from the things I have seen and_ don't want to _see."

The golem tilted her head, amused at that. "Oh, is It acting like a petulant child again? What are the things It speaks of?"

"Warden things. Darkspawn. Faces that follow me when I try to sleep at night." She sighed, her posture sinking down to a frustrated bearing. "Maybe I'm just going insane."

Shale chuckled. "It is _already_ a bit insane, but at least not so boring like the Clown-knight is."

"Thanks... I guess."

"I have a question for the painted Warden —" Lenya's long sigh interrupted Shale's sentence, making her stop.

"Painted _Warden_, it is now? Fine. That is what I am, right? A proud Grey Warden. Saving the world and all that." With an annoyed groan, she hopped on one of the boxes standing there and sat herself down on it. "Go on, Shale, ask then."

"It is a better fitting name for It, is it not? Unless It wants me to call It _Clown-elf_, to make it _fitting_ to Its other Warden."

Lenya only glared at her.

The golem laughed. "I thought so. So I wondered about something. Why did it choose to side with Caridin? Paragon Branka was the reason it went into the Deep Roads, so why did it choose to defy it? It couldn't have known for certain that Caridin would be able to assist It with the dwarves, could it?"

_Branka..._ Lenya closed her eyes and tried to compose herself again. Alone, the name made her blood still bubble; the anger about the events had still not ceased. Another deep breath later, she was able to answer again.

"You are right, I did not know that, and to be honest, I did not care. There was simply _no way_ I would _ever_ let the Anvil that had the power to _enslave _people fall into the hands of such an _insane __bitch_. Never."

"I agree with Its decision, of course, and am grateful it has helped Caridin to the end he wanted, but that was a bit reckless considering Its initial goal, wasn't it? It likes to do stupid things, doesn't It?"

Shaking her head, the Dalish smiled. "Now you sound like the elder of my clan. Only this time, the stupid thing has been the _right_, needed thing."

The golem fell silent for a moment as if she were contemplating something. "Hmm," she suddenly spoke, the tone in her voice a bit confused. "Somehow It is different from all the humans I have watched before. And I have watched a lot. All were stupid, witless sacks of flesh. Somehow It is... _not_. Why is that?"

"Err, Shale? News for you. See my pointy ears? I'm all... but_ not_," Lenya said, nearly shuddering at the thought, "_not_ human!"

"Oh, this must be it then, but not alone. There must be more to it, I'm sure." Shale paused, thinking. "Surely It must come from some superior lineage. Some breed of flesh creature that has decided to elevate its generic stock above its natural shortcomings?"

Hopping down from the box, Lenya laughed. "Is that a compliment? Are you complimenting me, Shale? Wow. And yes, that is very likely. I'm _Dalish_, after all."

"Dalish? So that is the reason then? It must be," Shale said, baffled, and then scoffed. "Bah, humans have always spoken about elves being inferior, but obviously that is just their own stupidity talking."

Lenya couldn't help to laugh out loud at that. Her lips twisted into a wicked smile as she looked at the golem. "Oh, Shale, I like you, really."

"Hmpf, I hope we will crush something into fine paste tomorrow, lest It does think I have become soft. Perish the thought."

"Oh, we will indeed leave tomorrow and go to the Mage tower. So don't lose heart, err, so to speak."

"Mages?" Shale snorted incredulously. "Bah, they are all _hags_."

Patting the golem on her stony back, Lenya left in the direction of her room, smirking. "I thought you would like that."

.

.

* * *

.

Upon reaching her own room again, Lenya nearly stumbled into a stop as she saw the person waiting within.

"Alistair? What, by the Creators, are you doing here in my room?"

The tall human turned ponderously round, smiling at her. "Oh hey, Lenyaaa. So thiis iss your room. I already haavee wondered wwwhy there isss a doooggy lying there. I have no doggie, you knooow."

She narrowed her eyes as she came closer to him, frowning at the obvious odor of ale. "You are drunk."

"I'm nooot." Alistair giggled, holding up a finger. "Okay maaaybe a _little_. Shtupid dtwarf is to blame, he didn't waaant to beliiieve I can hooold the li...liq – ...ale."

Lenya groaned, annoyed. Of all the things happening, she had to deal with a drunken human... in her room now.

_Great._

"Well, apparently you _can't_, puppy. Now get in your bed and sleep it off, we have to travel on tomorrow, idiot. Mage tower, remember?"

"Mage tower," he repeated, and for some reason unknown to her, Alistair found that word incredible funny. "The maaages will loooove meee, I'm shuuuure."

Lenya was slowly losing her temper, since the human made no sign to go. "Good for you."

His grin turned into a pout. "But why weren't yooouu with me toniiight, Lenya? I miiiisseeed you while driiiinkiiing. I had to driiiink aaall aaalloooone, just with the shtupid dtwarf and Lel- Lel- Lelia...We aare f-fellow Wardens, are weee not?"

"Yes," she said, and her tone slowly changed to a hiss, "but that doesn't mean I have to babysit you all the time." She attempted to shove him to the door, which, due his unsteady stance, was easier than she thought. But all the sudden, he stopped and turned round, so that Lenya crashed against his chest.

"You aaaare a biiiig meanie, why aaaare yooou aaalways so mean?" Glancing down at her, his features softened. "But I don't care, becaaause I liiiike you."

She blinked again, trying to somewhat comprehend what nonsense he was talking there. "What?"

"Yeees." He nodded sluggishly. "You arreee nooot aaaaas baaad as you waaant to beeee."

Lenya rolled her eyes and sighed, stalking away from him to get some distance again. "This doesn't make any sense. _You_ aren't making any sense, human."

Alistair followed her, grinning. "No, you aaaare!"

Frowning, she observed how he stood in the middle of the room again and how all her prior work to get him out had been futile. Her glance fell to Arai who slept peacefully on the fur before her bed. The Dalish scoffed at this sight. Some watchdog, he was.

It was not that she felt threatened by Alistair's presence by any means, but dealing with him right now was simply plain annoying. Especially since he didn't think on leaving her alone, or the _room_ for that matter.

"You have suuuch a goood heart, Lenya, " his slurred voice put her out of her thoughts, "yooou hav heeeelped Caridin aaand the dwarves juuust liiike thaaat." Alistair smiled warmly at her. "And...and when ….wheeen you are laaaughing or shmiling...you are really ..._cuuuute."_

_Wait... what?_

To Lenya, it was as if time was stopping as her disbelieving stare bore into him for a long moment. Then she finally found her voice again somewhat. "Okay... show is over, idiot. Now finally leave and sleep it off. Or else..."

"Mhm, shleeeeppp." He nodded, suddenly feeling tired, so he headed in the direction of her bed.

Standing before it, she tried to prevent the worst. "Not my bed, you stupid oooooa—"

But it was already too late. Heedless of all, he slumped down on the furniture and took Lenya with him, his massive body a deadweight she was now buried under. Not a moment later, Alistair snored peacefully and contended in her arms, nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck.

"Ugh."

Balling her fist, Lenya felt her temper flaring, it seethed with unrestrained rage against that idiot that_ that._.. her thought suddenly went blank as she felt a gust of hot breath tickling against her bare skin, paralyzing her. Thoroughly buried under his torso, the Dalish was soon becoming all too aware of the heat of his skin seeping through his linen tunic... and over to her, surrounding her senses, all unwanted.

_Great._...

She wiggled and shifted, drumming her captive fists against his chest underneath and even tried to heave him up, but Alistair kept sleeping like a stone. A big, unmoving, stupid, _heavy _human stone. All glaring and curses she shot him were hopeless at moving at his sturdily sleeping form, yet she couldn't stop doing it, the hate momentarily overbearing. And while Lenya was trying her best to free herself, she swore herself one thing:

If she ever got out of this very embarrassing and compromising situation, she was going to _kill_ him.

Fellow Warden, or not.


	40. The new bird

_**A/N: **Shorter chapter this time, since I think all are busy gaming DA2, anyway... or raging about its quality (like me *cough*) Haven't answer all reviews this time, sorry, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate feedback (in contrary of BW atm, I suppose *cough*) So feel free to leave me one at the end of it. Hardly to overlook, this is Zevran's entry in the story. Have fun :)_

* * *

_*~ "Fate is a funny thing, my dear Warden. Some lives end when they fell backward out of a carriage, some other begin with a muddied boot pressed in the face. So far, I'm pleased with the outcome."__ *~_

**_ - Zevran Aranai, Chapter 41_**

* * *

**Chapter 39: The new bird**

"Wha- WHAAAA!"

A squall of cold water cruelly ripped Alistair out of any dreams he had in an instant. Started, he bolted up, staring into the face of his fellow Warden who held an empty bucket in her hand, glaring down at him.

"I give you five minutes to get ready, or I'll leave you behind." With that, she disappeared out of the door without a single backward glance.

Sputtering, he freed his face from most of the bothering water and noticing that his clothes and the bed were completely _drenched_. Blinking at the door Lenya had vanished into, he shook his head. "Well, good morning to you too, sunshine."

Looking around in the room, Alistair distinctively noticed that this wasn't his own one, despite of his armor laying splayed on the ground. Hadn't he put the parts on a display before? But his head was aching too much to actually think about such details. He feared more that Lenya would let her threat come true and in such a sour mood like she just were this wouldn't surprise him in the slightest. And so Alistair stood up and started to hurry, it was better this way.

.

~V~

.

Not much later had Alistair caught up with the group that was about to leave Orzammar, already standing before its main doors.

"Y-you...really have intended to leave me ….behind, Lenya?"

She didn't even look at him, only staring at the slowly opening gates before her. Instead, Morrigan commented his arrival.

"Oh, there you are. I thought we would manage to be quicker than you. And yet you are here. 'Tis such a shame."

"Right, Morrigan, I don't remember to have asked you for your opinion. _Ever._ So... Lenya?"

The Dalish whirled around, her glare hateful. " Do. Not. Talk. To. Me!"

"Okay, okay, I overslept, I'm sorry...but that is not a reason to be so angry on me."

Aside Lenya, Morrigan snorted.

"So, you have already talked to the king for the troops, Lenya?" She didn't react and he sighed, frustrated. "Can _anyone_ explain to me what is happening here?"

Sten glanced sidelong at him, snorting. "We are leaving."

"Yeah, thanks, Sten, so not helpful." Then Alistair discovered the dwarf standing close to Shale, his stoutly figure nearly wholly covered by the golem. "Wait... you are coming along _too_? I thought you were joking yesterday."

Oghren grinned at him. "Heh, told ya Missy would love the idea, fancy boy."

"Actually It has just rolled its little eyes and shrugged at Its question, but I can see why the drunken midget takes that as a sign of affection. The flies and the vomit are such brittle, fleeting allies after all."

"Pah. Sodding pile of stone," Oghren muttered and left to go to the other side.

"Oh, I have insulted It?" Shale looked after the dwarf and chuckled. "Excellent."

Alistair groaned, rubbing the pulsing sides of his temples with his gloved fingers. "Lovely. Why have I the feeling that this is going to be a loooong day?"

Almost at sync with those words, the gates finally opened, and the shine of light in the first moment was nearly overbearing. The guards bowed respectfully to the Dalish and her allies as they passed them by. "May the Ancestors guide your way, Warden."

"Yeah...whatever," Lenya only murmured, paused a moment to blink and let her eyes growing accustomed to the old, new surroundings. She had barely slept the night, not even after Morrigan had finally rescued her from..._that_, so she was very tired and most of all, very, _very_ angry. One false step of that human today and she would stab him in the face.

No exception.

"Wait. Warden." Stumbling, Oghren came to a halt, his head erected to the sky, overwhelmed by its openness. "I need a moment to –

Without to stop or to glance back, the elf barked. " We don't have a moment. So move!"

Grumbling, Oghren obeyed. "If I fall in the sodding sky, it is your fault, Missy."

Morrigan smirked. "That is not what I would call a loss."

The Dalish was long ahead of her allies, walking sturdily straight ahead. "Whatever."

"Umm...Lenya? The imperial Highway toward Lake Calenhad is... " Alistair pointed with his finger in almost the opposite direction, the Dalish was currently marching, " ..._that_ way."

She stopped and glared at him with such an intensity that made him wince. "Go crawl in a bush and die, smartass." Nevertheless, she changed her path, taking his suggested way instead.

Leaning in to Alistair, Leliana whispered. "What have you done this time?"

Blinking, he observed how she angrily stalked at the front of the group, muttering what seemed to be elvish curses under her breath. "Maker, I have no idea. ...Hey wait. _Why_ do think I have _done_ something?"

Leliana arched an eyebrow at him and giggled. " Because she _only_ reacts so strongly to _one_ person...and this is, well … _you_."

"You mean no one manages to piss Lenya off like I do?"

Leliana's lips pressed into an amused smile, as she nodded. "If you want to put it _that_ way..."

He made a face. "Right, thanks. Very helpful."

.

.

* * *

.

The walk along the Gherlen Pass to reach the Imperial Highway had been uneventful so far. The weather was cold but clear and the thick clouds had momentarily moved on in the other direction ...which the group was thankful for.

The hours of quiet marching passed on without that anyone said a word, which _Lenya_ was thankful for. Or more likely, no one_ dared_ to speak, because the Dalish was not very subtle with her overly exasperated bearings while walking, her feet nearly _kicking_ the ground. Huffing, she took the only turn left, which led into a closed-in, narrowed area, with hill plateaus overhead.

Lenya wouldn't have even noticed this fleeting detail because the road looked virtually the same since hours, if it weren't for that human woman that came running to them, all panicked.

"Oh thank the Maker. Our wagons have been attacked by bandits, we need your help. Please help us. Follow me quickly, I'll lead you to them."

With those words, the blond woman ran ahead, but Lenya did everything _but_ follow. Glancing up, she once more observed the area overhead and the closed- in, narrowed road before them. " Uh-huh, how _very_ convenient."

Without to turn around nor to move, she hissed to her companions. "Draw your weapons!"

Everyone followed Lenya's order, only Alistair hesitated. "W-why?"

It was Leliana, who now sighed. "It is a trap and not a good one, either."

He blinked, still confused. "A-a trap? How do you know?"

"The Clown-knight doesn't recognize a trap when It sees one? I'm hardly surprised."

She whirled round, holding her blade on his throat."Draw your weapon. That. Is. A. Sodding. Order."

"Right. Miss 'I-point-pointy-ends-at-you'..." Unimpressed by her antic, he unsheathed his blade and shield, holding it up to her to see, "...here _is_ my pointy stick. Happy now?"

Huffing and with her blades ready, she stormed ahead and deeper within the long road.

Shrugging, Alistair followed. "Guess not."

They reached the woman soon, who stood near a blond, lithe elf, obviously waiting -or more likely -..._lingering_ for them. As soon the elf caught the sight of the group, he waved with his hand, smirking. Instantly his men came out of the prepared, scattered wagons, false dead bodies stood up from the ground and several archer were appearing on both sides of the rock overhang.

"Oh my, it _is_ an ambush. What ever shall we do now? This is soooo sudden," Morrigan scoffed with false surprise and shock in her voice and turned to the one side of the plateau, a cracking ball of energy already dancing in her palm.

The blast behind the elf toppled a tree, and it fell exactly there where the Dalish stood. Lenya barely managed to jump out of the way of that deadly missile and landed hard on the ground, her blades clattering aside her.

She heard the elf laughing, so full of himself as he announced. " The Grey Wardens die here!"

Immediately, she jolted up and her eyes locked with the elf, her fierce glowering a deathly promise for even _daring_ the attempt to kill her. He smirked, his whole posture an evidence of confidence, as he drew his daggers...and started to dance.

Lenya was only happy to oblige.

.

.

* * *

.

The elf groaned as he awoke, he was beaten, battered...but still..._ alive?_

_Why?_

He could barely move and felt a distinctive pressure on his face and as he opened his eyes he recognized that it was the boot of the elven woman..._Warden,_ that caused this feeling. Her black leather armor was covered in blood and she had suffered several scratches herself, most likely from his own blades, but she did not seem to care.

"Why did you try to kill us?" Each word was punctuated with anew pressure on his face by her muddy boot. _The non-nonsense type then?_ Somehow he found himself smirking at this discovery.

"Oh? So I'm to be interrogated then?" A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, "Let us save some time then, no? My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, I'm a member of the Antivian Crows –

"It is a _bird?_ " The huge golem interrupted and glowered down at him." Let me stomp on Its head then."

The elven Warden whirled round, issuing a single "Later." and soon the stone golem was backing away.

_Oh? So she is the leader then? Interesting._

"At any rate, I obviously failed at my attempt to kill any surviving Grey Warden, so my life is forfeit. The Crows don't –

"What are the Crows?" she asked, and not soon after he felt the cool steel of her weapon's tip on his neck. But it was just _one _blade, so where was the other? He dared to glance up to her again, seeing that she was holding her side with one of her gloved hands. Injured?

"Pesky creatures of the sky," the golem rumbled anew.

There was a soft, feminine voice speaking now, not visible within his current narrowed view, but her Fereldan tongue was definitely heavy tinged with an Orlesian accent." No , Shale," she laughed," not_ those_ crows. They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

"Do I even want to know why you know this stuff?" the bulky, human man asked, but soon there was the pressure on his head again, tenfold, distracting him. The slowly spreading numbness in his limbs due to the ties made it hard to focus as well.

"Which brings me to the question who hired you to kills us?" She still seemed to be very, very angry. Zevran heard it in the hissing tone in her voice. Well, he had tried to kill her, so he ceased to be surprised about this fact.

"Hmm, let me see, it was a rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I believe was his name?"

There was a pause, a palpable tension in the air, then suddenly in one rushed motion, the other Warden grope the elf by his collar, held him up and glared at him. " You are Loghain's lackey?" The calm smile Zevran was giving him, seem to irritate him all the more.

"I have no idea what your issues are with him, my feisty, little friend, but I imagine the usual: Threatened his power, eloped with one of his daughters or something equally gruesome in his eyes, no? I simply have done what I have been contracted for, a service. Nothing personal, my friend."

"I'm NOT your friend!" he snarled into the elf face and let him fall down to the ground like the well-tied package that he was. Turning to his fellow Warden, he yelled, still vexed."Why is he still alive, Lenya? He was trying to _kill_ us!"

The blond Warden seemed to roll her eyes, as if it were the most obvious thing in Thedas for all to see, "Information, idiot. We need to see if there is more –

"Assassins comes and goes," he interrupted her. "We have killed many of Loghain's headhunter already – "

"I hate to disappoint you, my friend, but the Crows are quite different, so to speak. Since I have failed to fulfill my contracted task, I'm dead for the Crows, but they never give up on a contract until it is done. "

The red-headed woman frowned. "So...others will come?"

"Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you, my dear Warden. Not that you seem to need much help." But..." he smirked up to Lenya "... there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess.."

Her response was immediate. The weapon pressed on his neck and her boot in his face somehow told him that she wasn't prone to simply flattery like other women were. Quite the opposite, he felt her angry glare upon him and couldn't help to grin. _Charming._

Alistair couldn't believe it. "H-how did he call her?"

The pressure on his cheek made it somewhat hard to speak. "I was just stating the obvious about your fellow Warden, my friend. She _is_ tough to kill and utterly gorgeous, after all." His gaze wandered over to Alistair as far he could. "Or would you disagree?" Amused, Zevran observed how the human sputtered at that, unsure in his urge to kill him or simply to run away.

"However," Zevran continued nonchalantly,"since we are done exchanging pleasantries and if you are not about to hack my head off, or something equally gruesome, I have a proposal to make."

Again her eyes narrowed, but her voice had lost the sharpness. Little buds of sweat were now running down on her forehead. "Give me one good reason _not_ to rectify _that_..."

"It has to be a good one then, no? Good, let's see." He feigned thinking. "The thing is...I like living _and_ I know the Crows. As for me being one, well, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining them. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now or try it later again, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you. So let me serve you, instead."

"It _is_ a very talkative bird, isn't it?" Shale scoffed and turned to Lenya for approval. "Am I allowed to stomp on its head now?"

"Right. Great story. Still not believing you." Looking over to his fellow Warden, he saw how she was holding her side and his features softened to a worried frown. "Lenya, are you injured?"

"It's just the scratch!" she snarled at first, but then sighed and paused briefly to think. "I say we take him with us. He is annoying, but we can use him."

Zevran smirked up to her, all pleased. "Wise words, my fair Warden. Even if I must say that you calling me 'annoying' stung my heart." He sighed melodramatic. "Ahh well, can anyone sever these ties then?"

Alistair whirled to her. "Lenya, we can apparently also use a swift kick in the head too, but you don't see me go around and ask for one. He tried to –

She glowered darkly at him. "Go on and you shall receive one."

Alistair sighed, forcing himself to stay calm, even if everything in him seethed with anger. "Lenya, I'm just trying to make you understand that –

"I'm just trying to make you understand that this was an _order_," The Dalish mimicked him, not really caring. "The elf is coming with us."

Alistair's eyes narrowed, his tone overly sarcastic. "Oh fine excuse me for my opinion on sparing an _assassin_. I see I'm just a peon in your commando structure line here, so I will walk over there now and wallow in my insignificance." Putting his shield and sword back in place, the Warden turned round and walked away, toward the exit.

"It is already so desperate to take the _bird_ with us now? Bah." Shale shuddered disgusted, then muttered under her breath. "I will stomp on it when the painted Warden is not looking."

"Hey now, my big, bird-hating friend, no need for gratuitous violence, no? I'm on your side now."

The golem only snorted and stalked away, following Alistair.

Leliana was the only one who showed pity at the still tied-up Zevran. Bowing down to him, she cut through the rope with one of her daggers...and noticed how the elf was ogling her. "Oh, so you belong to the group too, I take it? I never had thought that there are such lovely companions to find under adventurers."

She rolled her eyes and hurried to put some space between herself and the elf. "Maybe we should at least _gag_ him?"

Morrigan scowled, thoroughly displeased with the outcome. "Sparing the assassin that was trying to kill us in an amateurish attempt of an ambush? Such a fine, witty plan. Ugh. We better control the food and drinks more closely from now on."

Knocking off the dust from his leather armor after standing up, Zevran smirked. "Ohh, that is a good advice for everyone! So where is the fearless, beautiful leader I have to thank my life for?" He discovered her leaning at the scarp a bit further ahead, her eyes unfocused in the distance. Once he came closer, however, the Dalish started to scowl.

"I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a tim – " his words were abruptly stopped by the blade pointed at his throat.

"I don't need your oath," she snarled, oddly panting. Her cheeks were burning in a glowing red. "If you ever _only_ attempt to try it again, I'll kill you." Lowering her weapon, she glowered at him to give her words the last credibility. To her huge surprise, he had no problem to hold her gaze, even seemed amused by doing that.

"So you're rather an aggressive little minx, aren't you?" Zevran noted, a chuckle audible behind these words."I will truly need to keep my eyes on you too."

"Whatever," Lenya grumbled under her breath and stormed away, ignoring her wobbling feet. More staggering than walking, she clamped her burning side, the world suddenly strangely spinning around her.

Not a moment later she couldn't hinder to fall and roughly hit the ground, passing out cold.


	41. Not alone

_**A/N:**__ Okay, I'm no poison expert, so excuse me if that what I have seen in movies is it most likely is, I'm sure, but yeah...somehow I needed to save Lenya's ass. So forgive me my medical incompetence, it's just a story after all :P As for the rest, loong chapter here and quite the progress in the Lenya/Alistair development and many other little, important things as well._

_I also have written a Lenya backstory part which is not kept in italics for stylistic reasons but you will recognize the part either way, I'm sure. And no, Lenya doesn't like Merrill...at all. For reasons I will explain later within her character development, ergo further backstory. So yeah._

_Thanks to __**mackillian**__ for the awesome beta work *hug* and all my people reading and commenting on that epic-seized story of mine. Keep being awesome, y'all ^^ _

_*shakes fists at server which kept me from updating as planned*  
_

_

* * *

_**Chapter 40: Not alone**

.**  
**

Surprised, Alistair spun around at the odd, thudding sound and his heart stopped at the sight.

"Leeeenyaaaa!" Filled with panic and dread, he instantly dropped his heavy equipment and ran all the way back her to help her, but Leliana was the first who arrived at the unconscious Dalish. Bending over her, the bard lay a hand on Lenya's forehead and frowned.

"She's burning up! She has... a _fever?_" Aghast, she observed the blood on Lenya's right hand, lifted it up and discovered a little, but severe cut near her abdomen that the Dalish had shielded with her palm before. The wound had penetrated through the layers of her thick leather armor, and blood still seeped from it.

Leliana examined the cut, and saw a strange liquid coming from it that wasn't blood. "_Poison_," she whispered, shocked, and glanced at Alistair. He stared back at her, horrified_._

Hurrying to the group as well, Zevran bowed down to Lenya. "I thought so. Let me—"

The fist landing in his face sent him backward. As he hit the ground with force again, he momentarily lost his consciousness from the blow. But, the Warden who had hit him pulled him up by his collar, and shook him like a rag doll.

"_What have you done to her_?" Alistair screamed in his face. He was trembling with rage as he held him close, ready to land the next blow.

Zevran coughed up blood and spit it to the side, along with a tooth or two. He willed himself to come back to his senses, the searing pain in the left side of his face almost overbearing. "It wasn't me," he croaked hoarsely. "My blades weren't poisoned."

"_Liar!_" Alistair was about to hit him again, but a sudden magical wave knocked him back and away from the assassin.

"Fool." Morrigan's sneer at him was derisive. "Have you nothing better to do than to brawl with the one person who knows the poison while Lenya is in mortal agony?" Her head snapped to Zevran. "And you, elf, give me one good reason not to let your blood boil until it fountains high from your body."

He rubbed his aching cheek that was swollen and bruised by now. "Tsk, tsk, you are a dangerous, dangerous woman, you know that? I happen to know the poison that was used, but it was not my blade that did that to her."

"Can you—" Morrigan started saying.

"Heal her?" Zevran finished her sentence, getting up from the ground. "I'm no mage as you are, my dear, but I will try my best. This I have sworn to the Warden."

Zevran was about to move to the still unconscious Lenya, but Alistair stepped in his way again, his glare at the elf hateful. "You are not touching her! Only over my dead body!"

The elf tilted his head and observed how Leliana desperately attempted to treat the wound, and then looked back to the Warden before him. "Even over _her_ dead body, hmm?"

He watched how Alistair's jaw worked, how it clenched and unclenched, seemingly becoming now aware of the possibility of her dying. Something appeared to break within the man at this thought, because his hateful expression suddenly changed into a pained frown. "I – I..." Biting at his lip, Alistair stepped aside, his breath heavy. "I'm watching you!" he added rashly, but the tone in his voice had lost its prior force.

Shoving Leliana aside, Zevran kneeled down to Lenya and frowned. "Not good. That sturdy woman has held out longer than anyone else I have seen before collapsing, but this also means that the poison is probably circulating in her blood already. Still, I have to try." Glancing up to the woman who watched him warily, he said, "I need fresh water, a large piece of cloth, and alcohol. Oh, and your dagger, if you would."

When Leliana still did not move from her place, Zevran sighed. "I know you don't trust me and have good reason not to. But your wonderful leader is going to die if you don't help me now and we don't want that, no?"

Reluctantly, Leliana handed him the dagger, still watching him. Her eyes widened as she saw how he cut through the buckles of her leather armor, dislodging the vest to the side. "What are you—"

"I need alcohol!" Zevran yelled and Oghren grumbled in return, handing him his flask.

"Who doesn't? Sodding elf, if Missy dies, I rip your balls off and feed them to the sodding dog!"

Ignoring the threat, Zevran opened the flask and poured most of the contents over Lenya's wound, and then took a sip himself to clean his mouth... and to soothe his nerves. The Dalish still did not move, but for the moment this circumstance was welcomed, at least the poison wouldn't spread further this way. With one swift move with the dagger, he ripped her underlay tunic in two and took one part to bind it around her abdomen, securing it with an knot. Then he widened his mouth and started to suck the remnants of the poison out of the wound.

.

~V~

.

Alistair couldn't watch.

Pacing back and forth, he had no idea what to do when he _wanted_ to do something, and the feeling of helplessness was overbearing. His fellow Warden was on the verge of death, and there was _nothing_ he could do to make it _better,_ no enemy to kill to _save_ her, pure powerlessness was the only thing left. And this made it even worse for him to bear.

Finally somewhat stopping, he sank down to the ground, and buried his face into his gloved hands and sighed, his breath trembling. Multifaceted questions of _what if_ accompanied by unbidden guilt were all the sudden swarming his head and intruded on his thoughts. Why hadn't he insisted more to treat her wound when he discovered it? Maybe then it wouldn't have—

"We should set up camp."

Blinking up, he recognized the huge form of Sten, who stared back at him with an unreadable expression. He seemed to waiting for something... _approval?_ With Lenya unconscious and hence unable to, it was he now who was in command for the rest of the group, right?

_Ugh. Oh, Maker!_

Nodding weakly to Sten, who instantly marched away to get their tents then, he saw how the witch was about to leave the area.

"Wait, Morrigan, where are you going?"

Stopping, she whirled round to snarl at him. "You are probably content with sitting here and mourning Lenya's fate but I have decided to actually do something."

"And this 'something' is sneaking away? Right, very helpful."

"No, you tool. Collecting herbs to lower her fever and the effect of the poison, 'tis." She turned around to move on. "I saw some of the needed herbs on the road a while ago."

"Let me help!" Alistair didn't even care how desperately pleading that sounded.

Morrigan snorted. "I doubt that you can distinguish elfroot from deathroot, so unless you want to poison Lenya further, I'll pass on your help. But why don't you help setting the tents up to make it more homely, despite the bodies lying around here? _That_ would be helpful indeed."

"Right. Forget I asked."

She smiled coldly at him. "Believe me. Already done."

Arai was sitting at the entrance of the narrowed, long road and whined as Morrigan passed him by. Sighing, she halted. "What you flea-ridden mongrel? You want to come too?" Arai barked, as if agreeing. The witch shrugged. "Well, okay. At least you are far more bearable company than Alistair. More intelligent, too. But I warn you, do not eat the herbs I find, or your beloved mistress will not survive the night."

Arai cocked his head and whined plaintively at first, visibly pained by this thought, and then he followed her down the road.

.

~V~

.

Alistair had decided to help Sten and Oghren with setting up camp, if only to keep his mind and fingers occupied. Though with his hands trembling so much, his own tent didn't obey as it had before and kept collapsing in on itself. Frustrated, he kicked the tent-fabric away, swore colorfully and buried his head in his hands.

"Let me help you."

It was Leliana. She placed a supporting hand on his armored shoulder, and then she bowed down and started to put up the tent with able hands.

Alistair fixed his own huge hands with a stare, hating that they were so rough, clumsy and... simply _useless, _just like he felt. There was nothing he could do to help and even the simplest task seemed to elude his abilities right now, making the whole situation even more unbearable for him. Blinking up, he noticed how Leliana was nearly done with his tent.

"Thank you."

"She is strong, Alistair," she simply said, peering at his dejected posture and showing some confidence where he was unable to.

"I know… it's just... just…" Sighing, he slumped down to the ground, the feeling of having failed too overbearing. It was Ostagar all over again in his head, the same flooding of _could_, _should, _and _what if's_ in the back of his mind was wearing him down. "I should have been faster... Killed them quicker." He sighed anew. "I don't know... _something_ that she wouldn't—"

"Things like that happen, Alistair," Leliana interjected, her lips pressed to a thin line and well aware of the fact that her words sounded harsh. "We fight every day to survive. It _is _dangerous, after all."

"No, no, no." He vehemently shook his head, his expression angered. "Having to pee after hours and hours of marching is something that happens, but my fellow Warden getting injured by a poisoned blade is not, and I repeat, _not_ a thing that _should_ happen!" Biting on his lip, he stared out at the slowly darkening sky. "I have failed. _Again_."

"It is not your fault, Alistair!"

"Maybe not, but that doesn't change the fact of her, her..." His voice faltered and he swallowed hard. "I can't do that on my own..." Scoffing, Alistair looked at his tent. "I mean, I'm even unable to put up a tent on my own, so how would I ever end the Blight alone?"

"Its self-awareness _does_ give It credit." Shale chuckled, and then tilted her stony head. "Why isn't the Clown-Knight with the Painted Warden? It could be dead soon after all. What will It do th—"

His glare at the golem was intense. "_Shut up!_"

"Shale." Leliana sighed."This is not helpful." Grumbling under her breath, the golem stomped away. Leliana waited until she was gone before pointing at the others. "Just look around, Alistair, you are not alone!"

"I know... but you all aren't..." He fumbled with his hands, not knowing how exactly to put it into words. "Like me... or like... _her_... there are things that _only_ she can understand, you know?"

"Like the dreams?"

Alistair nodded, drawing in a deep breath. "That... and so many things we have seen in the Deep Roads. I don't know how to explain it to someone who isn't—"

"...a Grey Warden," Leliana completed his sentence and saw how he nodded anew. "So I was right, you both have grown a closer bond after all." She smiled. "Not unsurprising after what you have told me about the Deep Roads."

"No, no not in _that_ way, Leliana!" he quickly denied and hated how helpless he was against the warmth that flushed his cheeks, unwanted. Alistair took a deep breath to calm down, looking down on his hands. "She... Lenya is the only one that is left... every other Grey Warden in Ferelden... is... _gone._ I don't know... I'm afraid…" He left the sentence hanging, swallowing down the words that were too bitter to vocalize. "The last thing she did was to yell at me... or I at her, for that matter. I don't think I could forgive myself, if..." He stopped again, fumbling with his hands in the futile attempt to control the emotions associated with his words.

Leliana waited for him to go on, momentarily _watched_ him and the interplay of pain and remorse in his expression that he desperately was trying to hide. As soon as she was sure that he wouldn't continue, she simply said, "I see."

At her few words, Alistair blinked up at her.

Leliana nodded encouragingly. "Go to her."

"W-what?"

"This is what you _want_, right? I can manage to set up the rest of the camp on my own. Sten will help me, too."

"B-but there is nothing I can do for Lenya right now. I... feel... so..." Sighing, his posture sank. "..._useless._"

"You can simply be there for her, for your fellow Warden, no?"

"Riiiight, I'm sure Lenya would be thrilled."

Smiling, Leliana observed how he shot up and hurried to the other side of camp, despite his contradicting words. It was all but surprising to her after all the things he had said in his drunken rambling about Lenya yesterday. Turning round to the Qunari who stoically stared out into the wideness of the horizon, she said, "Sten, let's find some decent firewood."

Sten grumbled, but nodded, and eventually followed.

.

.

* * *

.

"So another fancy elf, are you?" Oghren eyed Zevran, who was still cleaning Lenya's wound, somewhat warily. "Bet your ass won't be that fancy anymore after it crosses my axe."

Zevran didn't even look up as he sighed. "So this is going to be another lecture of how I'm not to be trusted and should have been killed on sight, I take it?"

"Nope, just watching so you don't do funny things to the boss. Me and... my _axe_."

Reaching for the poultice to bandage her torso, Zevran smirked. "Your subtlety is stunning, my stout friend."

"Heh, I know. So don't try funny things... or rather, I wish you _would._ As does my _axe._ "

"Is this the point where we are going to rekindle the old dwarf-elf rivalry?"

Oghren shrugged. "Naah. As long you don't kill Missy, we're good."

Zevran chuckled, his tone slightly sarcastic. "I'm so relieved to hear I have at least one friend here."

.

~V~

.

Alistair didn't know what was worse.

Seeing Lenya lying there still unconscious on the ground, Oghren as her only... _guardian_ or _that_... assassin bended over her almost naked upper body, treating her wound. As his anger flared at the sight of Zevran, he quickly settled for the latter option.

He glared at the elf. "Hands off."

Zevran raised an eyebrow, the one that wasn't bruised and swollen from Alistair's blow, at that. "You are well aware of the fact that I'm still treating her injury, yes?"

"Poisoning her more, you mean." Alistair's eyes narrowed. "Lenya should have never spared you. If she—"

"This again?" Zevran shrugged, but inched away from the Dalish. "I thought we already covered that topic when you hit me with your fist. It wasn't my blades that poisoned her." Looking up to him, he pointed at a human male corpse nearby. "Calo, however, _loved_ poison. Until your lovely girlfriend obviously ended this obsession, no? Go and see his blades if you don't believe me."

Oghren walked over to the body, checking the daggers close to it. "Sodding bastard, he has some of that odd, dried liquid on his blades." He kicked the bloodied corpse a couple of times. "Serves him right to eat the dust now, heh."

Alistair was aware that there were many other words coming out of the elf's mouth, but he stopped registering them after a certain one. "G-girlfriend?" He gave in to the urge to blink.

"Oh. So she... _isn't?_ My mistake, then." If the upward curling of the corner of his mouth were any indication then Zevran seemed to be pleased with this news. "Well, at any rate, the wound is cleaned for now, but needs to get stitched later when we have fire to boil up the water." He strode past Alistair, his movements fluid and confident, despite his own injuries and bruised face.

The Warden glowered after him until he vanished in between of some trees nearby. Hopefully he was gone for good now, but alas, Alistair didn't really believe it.

Alistair peered down at his fellow Warden, her face glowing with a heat that seemed to outright radiate from her body. Her forehead covered with a simple, wet cloth, she lay there, rigidly, not even panting at the high fever that was obviously plaguing her. He frowned. It almost appeared as if she was...

_No._

He shook his head, willing the dreadful thought out of his mind. And yet, she was lying there, nearly framed by those bloodied corpses of the men she had killed.

It wasn't... _right._

She didn't belong among _them_, the assassins that had tried to kill them both... _her._ To Alistair it was as if Lenya was sullied by their mere presence and he couldn't stand the thought. Bending down, he was about to scoop her up when a snarling voice stopped him halfway. "Don't move her, you imbecile, or else the poison will spread further." It was Morrigan who slowly ascended from a shadow that had obscured her presence before. Accompanied by Arai, the witch was carrying several green plants in her hands that Alistair had never seen before.

He glared. "Morrigan, you have returned. _Why?_"

The witch ignored him and bent down to the Dalish, touching her forehead. "Her fever has risen. 'Tis good that I have returned in time."

He sighed, his tone sarcastic. "Yes, I'm positively _thrilled_. Can you help her at least?"

Morrigan smirked, eager to make the cutting remark. "_Unlike_ you... yes." She enjoyed his single wincing motion at her words, but it veiled too quickly again for her taste.

"So no moving her, it is, huh?" Alistair drove a sheepish hand through his hair, feeling stupid for the idea in his mind. "So we probably should try... I don't know... set up the tent around Lenya? To keep her warm and dry when the night falls, I mean."

Morrigan snorted. "Normally when your mouth opens and sound is coming from it, this is never a good thing. This must be the first time 'tis not the case. Ever."

"Right. Great, really. Don't try to be actually... I don't know.._. useful_."

"Oh, I _will_, idiot. Unlike you." Dismissing him, Morrigan whirled around and strode away.

Alistair rolled his eyes at her retreating back. "You lash me with your words." Standing up, he left to rummage in his backpack. After a few minutes, the Warden returned with a woolen blanket in his hands. Spreading it over her to cover her still near half-naked form, he whispered, "I really don't understand why you are so fond of that bitch, Lenya."

Nevertheless, he hoped that Morrigan could do something against this burning fever of hers. Or else, Lenya wouldn't survive the night. Sighing, he sank down beside her, his eyes not leaving her still frame. If he could do nothing more than to simply stay at her side, then he would exactly do _that._

At least it was_ something._

_._

_._

_

* * *

_

_._

_Tamlen... why didn't I stop you? Why didn't I wake up earlier?_

Lenya's heart seared with pain... an overbearing _guilt_ that threatened to swallow her whole. Her steps echoed dully over the dusty ground of the ancient elven ruins she now wished she had never found. For hours they had already threaded along long forgotten paths deep within darkened corridors that reeked and felt so... _wrong._

They searched for Tamlen but couldn't find one single sign of him; it almost was as if his existence was obliterated from the face of Thedas. Twisted monsters with twisted faces were the only creatures that waited and leaped at the small group of elves, wanting them dead, so they fought them, their spilled blood on the floor eerily black.

Another turn and her head swam with agonizing resemblance of convoluted floors she had seen before, with Tamlen... only before –

Lenya staggered, feeling weak and incredibly despondent at the memory, so she stopped, in the need of air when breathing became all _but_ easy.

Behind her, she heard Merrill sneering with disdain, maybe frustration. Lenya couldn't say for sure, nor had she the nerves to pull up with Keeper's... _darling_.

"Why are you always doing such stupid, reckless things, Lenya? You are the daughter of a Keeper. When will you finally start acting like it?"

Lenya groaned, emotional pain momentarily turning into raw anger. Of course she would play _this_ card. Merrill was too much of a predictable, condescending bitch to ever change her arguments against her, embodying everything Lenya loathed. At least her comment offered the needed distraction for her to focus again. Even if it was only on her hostility toward her clan member, which was definitely... _mutual._

"Maybe you can teach me, Merrill. Sticking your head into the elders' asses is_ your_ specialty after all."

She saw the answer lingering on Merrill's tongue while glaring at her, maybe a lecture about duty or rules the keeper's apprentice was so keen on and Lenya couldn't care less about, but the appalled look of Fenarel stayed her words. First Lenya thought that he was reacting so strongly about them arguing like he normally did in this case, but turning she saw that the approaching horde of those twisted monsters was the reason.

Lenya focused to warp her anger toward them and as they started to charge, she was ready as well, her daggers raised to slice. There was a fiery burn seething inside of her that she couldn't explain, but it ached at her very being, down to her soul within. She only knew that she loathed this feeling, so she vented her rancor at their rotten bodies, her blades tearing them apart... and it felt _good._

~V~

She hated that shemlen with all her being.

They found him standing within the room that wanted her to break down and whimper incoherently, because the lingering taste of her mistakes was too painfully apparent here. Her chest constricted until it became impossible to breathe. The small hope to find Tamlen here had clawed on in the back of Lenya's mind and kept her from falling apart shattered along with the myriads of shards of the mirror that ruined and marked her life forever.

And all that would be left was pain.

So in a way, Lenya was, in all its contrariness, thankful for the Warden shemlen standing there and telling her that Tamlen was lost _forever. _The unrestrained hatred she felt at those words made it possible for her to push aside the glaring truth of it, to refuse and search on.

"I could help you, Lenya. I don't want to give up yet, either," said Fenarel.

While Merrill made no deal big out of the fact that she believed the human's words and turned with one last reproachful glance at Lenya to leave, Fenarel remained at her side.

_Oh, Fenarel..._

Lenya's friendship with him had never been so close like it was with Tamlen, but she was never more grateful for his support than in this moment. It was like an anchor mooring her against the certainty of the loss of Tamlen, giving her new hope, as futile it might have been. And so they searched on, calling his name over and over again, and it echoed at the hollow edges of the ruin, still unheard.

Growing more and more desperate as her voice became hoarse from calling his name for so long and still not finding a single clue of his whereabouts, Lenya staggered. Hopelessness tugged at her consciousness all of the sudden, combined with the surge of guilt and bitter realization of _'he is not here,'_ it was a mixture that brought her to her knees, making her sob uncontrollably.

Tamlen had once saved her from a terrifying cat that scratched her cheek when she was a little girl, more often even saved her from herself, but most importantly, he always had been there for her when needed. And she? She failed to do the same for him, even one single time. It was a bitter truth within her mind now while her tears wouldn't stop falling, mixing up with the dust on the ground.

_She_ had failed him.

Tamlen had been the one to touch the mirror in the end, but she had_ failed_ to stop him.

_Failed_ him, when she was most needed.

_If only I would have listened to you, instead of heading eagerly into the ruins._

_If only I could see you again._

_Emma ir abalas, lethallin._

_Tamlen... where are you?_

_._

_._

_

* * *

_

_._

Beneath his fingers that changed the damp cloth on her forehead, Lenya stirred.

It was more like a whimper that issued from her throat and only fleeting... but still more than he had heard from her since one whole agonizing day of waiting and _hoping._ Alistair couldn't suppress a frown at the strangled, near pained sound of that, and placed another, colder cloth on her burning forehead, the fever still flaring within her. Despite the high fever her skin was strangely pale in the shimmering moonlight that radiated through the crack of the canvas, the sweaty trenches in her blonde hair even darker in comparison.

Alistair's gaze lasted on her, momentarily startled at how much seeing her like this reminded him on Ostagar, where she had been sick with fever due to the taint, instead of poison. He shook his head at that thought, reminding himself that the taint was a poison itself... _in a way_. And yet had his world been whole back then with people accepting him simply as _Alistair_ and not the king's secret and unwanted _bastard._ They even called him _brother_. Those people were all gone, lost to Loghain's treachery, and with them, a place for him to _belong_. Lenya was now all that he had left from that place and happier times, and yet... she didn't belong to him. The tainted blood in their veins was often the only thing they had in common.

If Alistair was honest, he_ shouldn't_ be here in her tent, and yet he couldn't imagine a place he would rather be. The presence of _her_, his fellow and only other Warden, was strangely soothing.

Watching, he was pleased at the slowly calming down intervals of her breathing after her throwing around, and he fought the odd desire to reach out to her and touch the heated skin of her face with his hand.

"Don't leave me alone, Lenya, I can't do this without you!"

Without noticing at first, he gave in to this urge, his calloused finger tracing lightly along the line of her jaw, marveling at its softness.

Realizing his impulse, he blinked and quickly wanted to withdraw his hand, but another one stopped this intent, snatching and clawing at his hand before he could pull away.

Her hand.

"L-Lenya?" he managed to say and observed how her eyes fluttered open, looking back at him with a strange—_warm—_expression. His breath caught in his throat and he reflexively stiffened as her hand, her _fingers_, that were calloused like his own and yet so soft, touched his cheek. Caught between utter confusion and the wish to call out to her again, he remained still, even leaning in to the touch despite himself, seeking the radiating heat of her palm.

She smiled, seemingly overjoyed to see him, which amused him even more, until she uttered a name that wasn't his own. "Tamlen."

Alistair wanted to object, but then there were her arms slung around him all the sudden and his head swam with her proximity, leaving him breathless in her crushing embrace. A few moments passed like hours in a total stillness, except for his heart that hammered so furiously in his chest that he was scared she could _feel_ it. And there was the warmth, such heat that emanated from her feverish skin over to him and through his woolen tunic, completely surrounding him.

Lenya whispered words he didn't understand in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. He surmised it was Elvish that she spoke intermittently with a relieved, tearless sob and every time there was but one name audibly uttered by her.

_Tamlen_.

Although he didn't speak her language,_ this_ name made it obvious to him that she saw him as this person, perhaps a waking fever dream that held her captive within. Alistair took her hand as she started to trace tattooed lines in his face that weren't there and put it down. He felt admittedly a bit sorry about the loss of her warmth as he pulled away, but it was the right thing to do. Even if a part of him hated to do the _right _thing just now.

"Listen, Lenya. I'm not Tamlen... I'm Alistair, your fellow Warden."

She blinked, confused at that, her green eyes glossy and disbelieving at those words.

"_Na'dar Tamlen, ma'din Alistair! Din'dirth! Emma ir souveri suledin dar elvarel'u." _Her vehement voice broke to a whisper, one single tear streamed down her cheek as she said,_ "Ma isala, Tam—" *_

Before Lenya could finish her sentence, she lost consciousness again, and her head lolled forward to rest against Alistair's chest. He remained momentarily frozen in place, frowning. He didn't understand a single word of what she had said, but its tone had been so... _desperate_, so _lost,_ that his heart ached at the sound of it.

Whoever this Tamlen was, he was important to her.

Cautiously, he repositioned Lenya on her bedroll, spreading the blanket over her and couldn't help but to wipe the remains of the tear from her cheek. His finger lingered a moment longer than needed on her face, on those lines that were still contorted with pain, but slowly easing again.

Standing up, he was slightly aware of how his own cheeks glowed in a fiery red, how his head swam with her lingering warmth and new questions. And yet, it was all too overshadowed with his concern for her as he reluctantly left her side to sort out his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Lenya."

Sorry that he wasn't the person she thought he _was_.

And somehow this thought was painful for him to realize, even if he couldn't exactly grasp _why._

_

* * *

_**_Elvish note:_**

_Na'dar Tamlen, ma'din Alistair! Din'dirth! Emma ir souveri suledin dar elvarel'u. Ma isala Tam - "_Your name is Tamlen, not Alistair, so stop talking. I'm so weary to endure this everlasting loneliness. I need you, Tam(len)_._

_

* * *

**Review please :)**  
_


	42. Awakening

_**A/N:**__ Make way, DA2 stories and Hawke, here comes Lenya, lol. I needed extraordinary much time to write this chapter, but in the end I think it was worth all the struggle I had with it. Probably the most intense and emotional chapter I have __**ever **__written so far, as well the most important one in terms of character development. But as we all know without pain...no gain. So I hope you enjoy the ride._

_Thanks like always to Mack for the beta-read and all the peeps out there staying faithful to teh good old DA:O -stories like this one here. You rock ^^_

_

* * *

_

**"The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head**

**I tried my best to be guarded, I'm an open book instead**

**I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts**

**I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out**

**I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing **

**With a broken heart that's still beating**

**In the pain, there is healing**

**In your name I find meaning **

**So I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on**

**I'm barely holdin' on to you."**

– _Lifehouse – Broken_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 41: Awakening**

.**  
**

The first thing Lenya noticed was the overbearing smell of herbs surrounding her, and then the sound of chirping birds from afar, and that her hand felt wet.

Gingerly, she opened one eye. Noticing the burn of daylight within, she waited to open her other eye, eventually blinking the pain away. Turning, she was greeted with the lapping tongue of Arai, who whined, overjoyed, at her awakening.

And this was how it felt like to her—an awakening, after a long absence.

Turning again to get away from her Mabari, she recognized the fabric of a tent surrounding her like a shell from the world outside. Her own body was also wrapped up in blankets and fur, so Lenya surmised she was right with that notion.

Slowly, the Dalish sat up and noticed how her whole body ached with something she couldn't quite place. It was similar to the burn of the taint she had felt prior to her Joining and yet... _different_. She felt sour, still thoroughly exhausted although she apparently had slept a long time already. And then she remembered how her side had burned, even if it had been a only minor scratch after the fight with those assassins who tried to kill her and... Alistair.

_Alistair..._

That name resounded in her mind, unbidden. She had been so angry at him for barging drunk iton her room and... _that_ afterward. Though, oddly enough, Lenya felt no grudge toward the human anymore. It seemed so minor now, so distant, after she had survived what had tried to burn her being. And with that she became aware as to why she had broken down and lost her consciousness after the fight.

Poison.

She had been poisoned by the bulky human's blade, the one she had fought prior to that elf. Bizarrely, this thought made her smirk, more about the fact that it didn't work and she was still alive, but also about the futility to actually try to _poison_ her. The Crows apparently didn't know that she was _already_ poisoned and that the taint was a jealous bitch who didn't allow another toxin in the blood beside her.

Momentarily, Lenya laughed at the irony of it, that being a Grey Warden saved her life... once again.

She blinked.

_Wait. Once again?_

She had no time to dwell on this thought, however, as she heard approaching steps that led to the canvas of her tent. The flaps opened and it was the elf who slipped through the cracks and into her tent. The next thing he saw as he turned was a dagger pointed at his throat.

"You tried to poison me!"

Unimpressed, he smirked, and even brazenly admired the curves that showed beneath the thin, long tunic she wore. "Oh, you are awake, I see. And to answer your question: no, I have not done such a thing... and you know it, no? You have slit the culprit's throat yourself, quite formidably, if I might add."

Lenya wavered, and her brows furrowed in confusion. "You say such things about your friends?"

"My friend?" He laughed. "No. He was a fellow Crow at best and I never liked him. Calo was a bastard who liked to torture his marks with slow, effective poisons. So the end for him was quite fitting, although a bit quick."

She still did not move or lower her weapon, even though he obviously was unperturbed by it. "Can I expect the same amount of loyalty from you, flat-ear?"

"As said before, my dear Warden, my name is Zevran. And in the aspect of loyalty... well I'm very loyal, as long one doesn't expect me to die when I fail."

"Better get used to that." Her eyes narrowed, although she did lower the weapon. "We are fighting darkspawn, so you _are_ going to die when you fail."

His eyebrow shot up. "That is the nature of killing, no? To kill or to be killed. I get the impression you know the concept of that well enough yourself."

Huffing, Lenya turned around, returned to her bedroll, and enveloped herself in a blanket to protect herself from the biting cold and his... _stare._ "You are a sick person."

Zevran chuckled. "But a _sick_ person who saved your life afterward, my dear Warden. That has to count for something, no?"

Lenya was baffled. "You have... _what?_ Why?"

"Well, I swore an oath to protect you, after all, and to be honest... it would have been a waste to lose such a beautiful woman to Calo's amateurish poison."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Forget I asked."

"Oh, not prone to flattery, I see. Interesting." Zevran laughed, and then suddenly became serious. "Well, my dear Warden, then allow me to ask _you_: why _did_ you spare me?"

Lenya blinked, dumbfounded. "Huh?"

"I'm of a curious mind, perhaps. I tried to kill you, after all. There was no reason to trust me."

"And there is still _none_." Her gaze on him was hard, almost a glare. "But you know about the Crows and their patterns of action. Also, you are capable at fighting and I_ need _capable people. There are a lot of darkspawn to kill, after all. If there is a chance of one or two blades between _them_ and _myself_, I don't say no to it."

He laughed, somewhat impressed. "A most practicable way of thinking. Witty, too. So you are not afraid I will fulfill the contract later?" The elf pointed at his still-bruised face. "Your fellow Warden very much is, as my poor, abused, handsome face shows."

She twirled the dagger in her hand. "Afraid?" Lenya scoffed. "If you wanted to kill me you would have had much opportunity while I was out cold due to the poison." She shrugged. "I see you have chosen_ not_ to."

"True. While your companions are wary of me and refuse to even talk with me, they aren't wary _enough_. I've been here in your tent for some time now and still no one has even bothered to check on me... or you, for that matter."

Lenya smirked as she shrugged, unfazed by his implication. "Not needed. You are not armed, as I can see, and well, you see the hound there sleeping at my side, I take it?" Arai heaved his head, yawning. "One wave of my hand and he'll tear your throat out, while I whistle a happy song."

At that, the Mabari darted up, fixed Zevran with a stare, and growled.

Zevran grinned. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, you know that? I think the prospect of traveling with you will be far more interesting than being with the Crows."

The Dalish waved Arai back, ruffling him behind the ear. "Why did you want to get away from your clan at all?"

"Oh, my dear Warden, I think there are things to clarify. The Crows are not a clan as you surely know it as a Dalish. They are a professional organization, a business. They are well-known and feared in Antiva."

Lenya shrugged, not impressed. "Not for being good assassins, apparently."

"Ouch. Such wounds to my pride." Zevran clawed at his chest and staggered, purely for dramatic effect. "I will never recover." He paused, smirking. "Or I will and continue to explain, yes?"

Lenya only shrugged again.

"Tsk, tsk, your enthusiasm for my person knows no boundaries, it seems. Ah well, where was I?" The elf halted, showing an exaggerated thinking motion. "Yes, the Crows, gruesome organization but at least they keep you supplied: wine, women, men, whatever you fancy. The thing is, I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?"

"So you were simply..._. bored?_"

Zevran burst into a rumbling laughter, shaking his head. "I don't know if I would put it _that_ way, exactly. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end."

Lenya couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Purchased? You were.._. bought?"_

"Ah, such compassion. Always there to find where one would expect it last. Does this bother you much?"

"Bother?" She spat the word out in a snarling tone. "I don't even know where to begin!"

Zevran brushed it aside. "Ah well, then I better not tell you what happened to the other orphans who weren't lucky enough to catch the Crows' attention, no? Such are not stories for a sheltered, but beautiful Dalish woman, it seems."

Her eyes narrowed at that. "It has nothing to do with compassion, idiot. I couldn't care less how you have lived your life so far. It is just the thought of being bought like cattle that is.._. ugh. _I never could—" She stopped and grimaced, thoroughly disgusted. "...I would rather _die._"

"Oh." His eyebrow rose, surprised. "I see. It was not that bad, though. They trained me, and made me to what I am now. And being a Crow isn't that bad of a fate in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at."

"And yet you are here... makes me wonder _why_, really." Lenya rolled her eyes. "But I'm paralyzed with not caring much."

Zevran chuckled. "Fate is a funny thing, my dear Warden. Some lives end when they fall backward out of a carriage, some others begin with a muddied boot pressed in the face. So far I'm pleased with the outcome."

"Uh-huh," she said, not really caring.

"Anyway," Zevran said," I probably should leave again, so that you can get cleaned up and dressed. Or…" he briefly stopped and his tone became all suggestive, "I could stay and help you with that."

Lenya glared at him.

"No? Such pity. Ah, well, then I will take my leave, no? Not that your_—our_—lovely companions will start to think that I'm trying to kill you. Being alone in your tent and all that." He chuckled under his breath. "Oh, the opportunity."

Instantly, Arai positioned himself protectively in front of his mistress and growled at the elf.

"...which I am definitely not. Perish the thought."

With that, Zevran slipped out of her tent, as silent as only a trained assassin could be. Lenya looked after him and suppressed the urge to slap her forehead, and let out a long sigh.

The Mabari slanted his head as he looked up to her and whined, confused.

"Yes. My thoughts, exactly, Arai."

.

.

* * *

.

_First day, they come and catch everyone._

Hespith's voice resounded in her mind, loud and conspicuous, the image of the tainted dwarf with the back turned to her clear before her eyes.

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

Now the dwarf turned, but instead of seeing Hespith's blotched and swollen face, Lenya saw her own... and it smiled back at her...

_"Welcome home, sister."_

Horrified, Lenya jolted up, the scream dying in her throat as she muffled her mouth with her sweaty palm. Again, she had dreamt the same, the third night in a row and yet it never failed to leave her shaking and breathless. As much as the female Warden hated the archdemon's babbling in her head, she would yet much prefer it to the perpetual returning pictures of the Deep Roads. But, most of all it was Hespith—the memory of that dwarf seemed to follow her everywhere she went, even when she was _awake._

Lenya was finally away from the Deep Roads, but the Deep Roads weren't _away_ from _her._

She buried her head into her hands, trying to calm down her frantic breathing as the pictures of the nightmare still played in her mind. Looking upward to the darkened fabric of her tent that separated her from the night sky, a sigh escaped her. Would it now always be like this? Would she always be reminded of what _could_ have been, as soon she closed her eyes? Of _what _she_ could_ have become, if she hadn't become a Grey Warden?

A _Grey Warden_.

Blinking, she took these two words in, let them replay in her mind, and suddenly saw them in a new perspective and light.

_Maybe..._

A harsh gust of wind interrupted her chain of thoughts, making her shiver. Lenya wrapped the woolen blanket around herself and stood up, her bare feet cold admist the evening dew of the grass. Hastily, she slipped into the boots that lay scattered before her bedroll, like the rest of her armor.

She was still fretting about the leathery vest that she only could do makeshift repairs on, as all the buckles were severed and cut through and wouldn't hold long together in a fight. Fortunately, on their slow journey forward to the Mage tower, they hadn't encountered anything that would make an armor needed, though the Dalish surmised it wouldn't stay this way.

Sighing, Lenya tore her eyes away from the armor and halted to listen before she slipped her head out of the crack of the tent's flap.

The area outside was silent and seemed to be lost to the oblivion of the night.

The campfire crackled, and the dried twigs hissed away in the blaze. There were the heavy steps of the golem who patrolled around the camp, and the faint voice of Leliana humming audibly to herself to stay awake. Also, there was _his_ voice, ever babbling and unstoppable as it was, even failing to make the other human listen to him. Which didn't hinder him in talking on, or stopped the female shem's humming.

Lenya arched a brow at the odd myriad sounds, slowed her pace to reach the main camp, and shook her head.

_Humans are, among other things, incapable of silence._

This remembered fact made the Dalish roll her eyes and smirk almost simultaneously.

_Especially _that_ human._

"It used to get so quiet at the monastery that I would start screaming until one of the brothers came running. I would tell them that I was just checking. You never know, right?"

Leliana looked up to him, a bit bewildered. "I... no, I never did anything like that. I enjoyed the quiet."

"Well, suit yours—" He stopped mid-sentence, his head snapping up to the slowly approaching Dalish. "Lenya..."

Leliana noticed the emotion he put behind calling the elf's name, and so as subtly as she could, she stood up from the log she was sitting on. The bard faked a yawn. "I guess it is time for me to go to sleep, it's been a long watch, after all." Then, turning to the Dalish, she asked. "Are you staying here now, Lenya?"

"_I'm_ here, or am I not?" She more or less scoffed in response, making Leliana sigh.

Alistair's eyes darted back and forth between the two women, and then rested on Leliana with an anxious glance. "W-wait, where are you going?"

She smiled and it was a bit too amused for Alistair's taste. "Sleeping, as said before. You still have company now even with me gone, no? Good night." With a wink, she turned and descended into the night.

"Riiight." His sigh was long and resigned and he didn't like the feeling of sudden nervousness that crept up inside of him at the prospect of being alone with_ her_. He had avoided talking to Lenya the past three days, except for objecting to her plans to march on, which, of course, she had _ignored_. It bothered him that although she obviously hadn't fully recovered yet, she still was heedlessly pressing on toward the tower. He shook his head at this thought.

Such a reckless woman, she was.

And then there was still the matter of her embracing him, mistaking him for a beloved person during a fever dream, which was still so overly present in his mind. The warmth of her sk—a loud rustling sound stopped his thoughts, making him look up.

"What are you doing there?"

"I'm hungry."

Ignoring him, Lenya rummaged further in their rather sparse storage bag, piling up whatever food she could find. Finally somewhat content with her pickings, she returned to the fireplace, greeted by Alistair's chuckling.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I have never seen a woman with such a _healthy _appetite, that's all."

She shrugged, her mouth full of bread as she answered, "Thashht's tshee thhaint's fhhhault."

He couldn't help to find her way of answering actually... _endearing. _"Right. But if you keep shoveling our rations down like that, the entire party is going to _starve_ soon." His laugh died on his lips as he watched her a bit longer, noticing her exhausted posture, the shadows under her eyes.

"Why are you up, anyway? You are not on watch duty tonight, as you are still busy recovering. Or _should be_, more like."

She didn't even look up. "As said, I'm hungry." As if to emphasize her words, she snatched a piece of dried meat and took a mouthful, wolfing it down.

"Not to mention that you lack..." He glanced at her, and his eyes caught at her frame. Noticing what he did, he harrumphed. "...proper armor. Nor are you armed. So what are you planning if darkspawn suddenly attack now? Glare them to death? Strangle them with your bare hands?"

Lenya swallowed the food down, and then her lips twisted to an amused smirk. "Oh, I think I could manage that."

Alistair grinned. "Of that I have no doubt. Still, you are pushing yourself too much, really."

"I'm fine!" The Dalish scowled. "There is a Blight to defeat after all."

Alistair groaned, the frustration of the past few days now worming its way to his consciousness.

"Channeling Sten now, are we? Look, Lenya, I know as well as you that this _is_ really a Blight. The archdemon was not only in my head, obviously apparent... but also—" He halted his words and sighed. "The thing is to press on, heedless of your own health, is not going to help in the end."

Lenya only rolled her eyes at that. "Smartass again, are we?"

"I have my moments." His smile was wry. "It doesn't, however, explain why you are so keen on reaching the Mage tower so fast. One day more or less—" His voice failed him at the sudden appearing figure at the fire, ducking behind him. It was Zevran, only half and hastily dressed, the blond strands of his hair still drenched, trails of water dripping down his bare chest.

Alistair turned round to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. "Do I even want to know?"

Zevran instantly straightened his posture, coming forth to the both of them, smiling. "Ah, my dear Wardens, it is so nice to see you keeping watch together. May I sit with you at the fire and warm myself? Ferelden is such a cold place."

Lenya scowled. "No."

"Tsk. Tsk. Such cruelty, my dear lady." His lips twisted into a wicked smirk. "I would be also contend to take cover within that blanket of yours and warm myself at your bosom."

Her scowl only deepened.

"No? Pity."

"Elf!" Morrigan's snarl resounded over the place, even before she was visible. "I'll kill you!"

Alistair turned to his fellow Warden, grinning. "Wow. He pissed Morrigan off now? Makes me _almost_ like him."

Lenya only shrugged, too engrossed by digesting the food, and she ignored the commotion around herself.

Now the witch ascended within sight, her raven hair was open and still wet, so that it clung to her head, framing the single, furious glare of her expression.

"How dare you!"

Zevran heaved his shoulders into a shrug, grinning up at her. "I was merely taking a night bath in the stream close by, my magical temptress. Who had ever thought that you would have the same enthusiasm for it like I do? Marvelous."

"Wait... you snuck a peak at Morrigan? Right, _creepy,_ that."

He turned to the Warden, and the grin in his face only broadened. " can assure you, my friend, that this was pure coincidence, if not a most fortunate one."

At that, Morrigan made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a growl, barely able to contain her rage. "Why have I not set you on fire yet, elf, and ended your meaningless existence? 'Twould be a service to the world, I'm sure."

"You are captivated by my sultry charm and wits?" Zevran offered.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed into slits, and her voice became one single growl. "I would sooner stab myself in the face than let that happen. As for setting you on fire..." Her lips pursed into a dark smirk as she conjured a flame in her hand. "That can be easily_ rectified."_

Alistair's eyes grew wide. "Whoa. Could you kill each other _elsewhere?_" He pointed into the blackness of the night. "Like over there? That would be nice."

Morrigan sneered and closed her palm, the fire dying within. "He is not even worth my magic. 'Twould be a waste." Whirling around, she stormed off and toward her secluded tent, muttering under her breath.

The elf chuckled. "Now that was riveting, no?"

Alistair merely bestowed him with a blank face while Lenya was still in full ignore-mode. The meal was far more interesting than the elf to her.

"Ah, Fereldans, so finicky." He shivered at the freezing breeze. "Must be the cold here, no?" Standing up, he mock-bowed to Alistair. "Good night, dear Wardens. I will take my leave then, no? Although my heart cries at being so thoroughly refused at being part of your glorious company."

Now Lenya looked up, her mouth still full of food as she answered, "Whatever."

"Ah, well." Zevran chuckled. "I will survive. Another time then, no?" With that, he turned and vanished in between the tents.

Alistair watched him disappear, and then blinked up to Lenya. "_Why_ did you spare him again?"

After taking a huge gulp from her water-flask, she cast the sparse leftover of her meal aside, which landed nearly all mid-air in Arai's muzzle.

"Actually, I have no idea. I must have been delirious from the fever already," the Dalish said and rolled her eyes.

"Right..._that._" Alistair chuckled, but it was short-lived, fading into a heavy sigh. The pictures were all apparent in his mind again, how she lifelessly had lain on the ground, like she was dead, but also the _other _pictures. These hit him unexpectedly more, even overshadowing the sadder impressions experienced within the last past days. The remembrance of her hot skin so close to his own, of her arms slung around his neck, so close and yet...

"Oh... you are quiet. Must be a first."

He blinked at her voice, feeling the heat flaring in his cheeks. His head was suddenly filled with questions again that had been there since that night, only pushed into momentary oblivion. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Who is Tamlen?"

At this name, Lenya's face instantly fell, almost as if had someone had punched her hard and with full force. Alistair helplessly observed how she struggled for control, the interplay of pain and the disbelief of _'how could you know this name?_' too blatantly obvious and _that_ intense in her expression that his heart seared at the sight.

The air was tense and all the sudden not cool anymore, as he heard her swallow hard, her eyes blinking rapidly as if in the need to get rid of _something, _and then settling on him with an incredulous gaze. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him, her expression framed by such a severe, pained frown that made him wish he had never said those words, _that_ name.

Before he could apologize to somewhat _undo_ the damage already done, she raised her voice first, tearing the heavy silence apart.

"H-how?" It was all she said, all she was _capable_ of saying, her voice tiny and wavering. And for a slight fraction of a second, the word hung fragile in the air, the flickering of the fire the only apparent sound.

"I... I," Alistair started to say, but his voice failed him then, the weight of her question too much. "You said that name, while..." He paused, pushing the pictures in his mind aside., and then said, "While I changed the cloth on your forehead."

"Oh." Her fingers dug deep into the woolen fabric of her blanket and as that wasn't enough to relieve the tension inside, she started to claw hard at her bare arms, the pain of that welcoming and distracting from the _real_ one inside.

"Look, Lenya... I had no right to ask you that, so—"

"It doesn't matter anymore." Her voice was hard all the sudden, as if brushing him off. Though the hardness was in her voice, her expression quickly faltered again, something in her eyes stirring sudden guilt. "He is dead now."

_And it is my fault..._

Those words were left unsaid and still they stung deep in her heart, too close to the surface of her consciousness now to not_ hear_ them resounding in her mind. Lenya wrapped the blanket around herself, tighter and _tighter,_ as if it would help her shield herself from the agony that washed over her, unbidden.

Few moments passed like hours and the silence became unbearable for him, as Alistair searched for words in his mind to describe the feelings her words caused him. As expected, he found none. So he stayed quiet, watching helplessly at how Lenya was getting smaller and smaller, nearly sinking entirely within the blanket. He would rather have her scream or glare at him for intruding and awakening such painful memories that he'd have better left untouched. It was a known behavior of hers and one he could _deal_ with, but not with the whole nothingness that had followed after her words.

"You know..."

Her voice startled him once more, though deep down he was thankful for her _speaking_ again. Alistair waited for her to continue, to gather emotions that had been scattered by his stupid, unthinking words.

Much to his dismay, she didn't continue and instead had fallen completely silent again, her eyes staring still into the fire, expression contorted with what looked like an internal struggle. Seeing her like this somehow cost him every ounce of self-control to not jump up and run over to her to make it go away... or at least _better._

"Maybe I just need to be away from... _there._ Maybe that is the reason why I press on so much."

Alistair's brows knitted. "There?"

"Orzammar. The Deep Roads..."

Lenya felt stupid to admit that, especially to him, a _human_... and yet was he the only one who was in the slightest capable of understanding since he was the only _other_ Warden. Or so she hoped. Why, she didn't even know for sure. Perhaps she just needed to get rid of it, to say it out loud where coping alone with those haunting pictures in her mind had become too much.

But since when was speaking with him threaded with such implicitness? When had she stopped guarding her emotions from displaying within her expression like before? Lenya had no answer on that, even more was she puzzled by the fact that she didn't react angrily at him for asking about Tamlen, for_ daring_ to, like she would have done not long before.

Her heart did a little squeeze at the name in her mind, an aftershock of the immense emotional distress that had rippled through her. Though this time she took heed _not_ to show him that.

"Oh... I see," Alistair finally said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Bad dreams, I take it?"

Lips pressed thin as she nodded. "This place... it seems to follow and mock me, no matter where..." She stopped, sighing.

"I know what you mean."

The Dalish blinked up to him, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes, I... um, well, have spoken with Leliana about.._. that,_ but I don't think she can truly comprehend the horrors that happened in the Deep Road. Not like…" He hesitated to use the word. "..._we _can."

Impulsively, she scowled at the name. "Leliana."

"Yes, since you left her behind, she naturally wanted to know why we were away for so many weeks. And I think I owed her that, at least. Anyway." He let out a long sigh. "Why do you get all grumpy whenever her name is mentioned?"

Inwardly glad to switch to a lighter topic, Lenya tilted her chin to look up at him. "I don't like her."

Alistair shook his head. "So much is obvious, really. And yet, you would be surprised about how much she was worried about you while you were... _poisoned._ She was the one changing the bandages of your wound, the one who had stitched it, you know? She is not as bad as you think."

Absentmindedly, she drove with her fingers over the side of her injury, the threads of the stitch itching within her skin.

"Why?"

"As said, she was worried." He held her eyes, his gaze within sincere. "We all were, Lenya."

Unable to keep her eyes even with his intense look, she glanced away. "I... see."

"You are not alone."

Alistair didn't know why he insisted on telling her that. Maybe because she has looked so lost, so _hurt,_ that he felt the urge to make her _comprehend_ that even though she was their leader, she didn't have to bear all the weight _alone_. If she'd believe him, however, was another story, an uncertainty that nagged at him, because he _wanted_ her to believe it.

Her answer was an extended sigh... and _silence,_ observing how the fire threw flickering shadows on the muddy ground. After a while, she raised her head again and brushed a fallen strand of hair from her eyes. "Tell me... why are you so keen on being... a Warden? It is so..." Lenya left the sentence hanging, her fingers curled into a fist, her whole posture tensed as she scowled.

_Painful... _her mind added, automatically and unwanted.

Blinking, surprised at her question, he needed a moment to form an actual answer.

"Right, you never really met the others, huh? We were quite the group. Actually, they felt like an extended family, since we were all cut off from our former live..." His breath hitched as he became aware of his words, feeling a sudden surge of grief that tried to pull him down, stopping his words.

Inclining her head, she studied him and his pained expression. Lenya had never thought about the things he had lost, had always shrugged it off as _needless whining _that had been merely bothersome to her. Though this time was the first time she had _really_ listened and _noticed _that he had experienced the bitter taste of loss as well.

"_Emma ir abelas."_

It was whispered quietly, hanging frail in the air for a moment before fading away. Shaking her head ever so slightly, Lenya reminded herself that she was speaking to a _human_, someone not _capable_ of her complex language, so she added, more loudly, "I'm sorry."

And she meant it.

Alistair blinked, totally taken aback by those two little words that came out so unexpectedly, at the fact of_ her_ showing_ compassion_ for _him, _and yet he was grateful for it. "I… thank you." He drew a breath in that was still slightly shaky, trying to calm his nerves.

"As you might know, I was packed off to the Chantry at age ten for many years and was already resigned to my fate at becoming a templar when..." He paused briefly, willing himself to go on "...Duncan came, searching for new recruits. I was praying fervently to the Maker that he would pick me." A ghost of a smile hushed over his face. "And I'm normally not very religious, you know?"

Tilting her head to look up at him, Lenya smirked. "So, you wouldn't have been a good templar for your _shemlen_ Chantry, I take it?"

He showed her a wry grin at that. "The worst of all, I'm sure. So I'm grateful that I was able to have a way out of that, really. Always will be." Hesitating briefly, he added, "You were—_are_—a trained Dalish hunter, if I remember correctly, right?"

Funny, months had already passed and he had never asked her about such simple things before.

"Hmm," she only hummed, avoiding his gaze.

"I thought so. Well... um, I mean the way you hack things into pieces is nothing I have seen before. Ever."

She arched an eyebrow, amused at that. "The way I hack things into pieces? You really have a way with words, huh?"

Strangely feeling at ease with her, he leaned forward, grinning. "What can I say? I do my best." Alistair observed how she was playing with the little belt knife they normally used for cutting meat or cheese, twirling it idly between her fingers.

"I trained all my life. It's like a second nature to me, the moves, whirling my blades... making them dance, so to speak. The first time I held a blade in my hands, I was three."

He found himself entranced by the way she told him that, how a smile accompanied those words, lightening the features of her face. Noticing that he was staring, he quickly averted his eyes, giving in to the urge to talk to cover the embarrassment. "Whoa. Wow. That is quite impressive. Really."

"Yeah, I never heard anyone complaining. Probably because they're dead _before_ they are able to," Lenya said dryly at his astonishment, one corner of her mouth curved up. "And still I got hit by the blade of the shemlen that poisoned me." The elf hesitated, burying one hand in Arai's fur for comfort at which the hound made a sighing sound.

The pause stretched, and then her voice suddenly broke the silence. "Can you train with me?"

Alistair couldn't believe what he was hearing. "W-what?"

She sighed. "Speed and dexterity are my weapons, so naturally I lack force in strength. The few times I was bested was by those big hurlocks... and that bulky shem. I can't allow that to happen." Her fingers nearly curled into a fist within Arai's fur. "I need to get stronger."

"No one is perfect, Lenya," Alistair noted, a chuckle audible behind his next words. "And I doubt that there is much I can teach you, _oh Princess of Slice._"

She glared at him for that, for the first time tonight, which almost made him feel bizarrely triumphant. Her glowering, however, shifted quickly into a mischievous smirk; the same she'd showed him back in the Frostback Mountains in the rain. He braced himself for the worst.

"Well, I struggle against hurlocks, and you have about the same build and height. So I figure training with you would be _fitting _for rectifying that."

"Why, thank you. That is too kind." His tone was all sarcastic, though somewhat amused. "I'm really flattered that you compared me with a _hurlock_. Shall I make some grunting noises during the training to make it more authentic?"

Lenya shrugged. "Not more than usual."

"Ow. Ow." Alistair feigned a stabbing wound at his heart for dramatic purpose. "And did I mention _oooow?_ You are a cruel woman." He shook his head, actually chuckling now. "All right, I'll do it... when you have recovered."

The Dalish rolled her eyes at that. "Smartass." Standing up, she took a log of wood from beside the fire and threw it in the flames, watching as it snapped and hissed in the blazing heat. There was a moment of silence again, one where her eyes stayed on the red-yellow light, her mind racing with pictures that wouldn't let her out of their clutches.

"I dreamed of her again, of Hespith, I mean." Her posture stiffened, visibly struggling to speak on. "Of all the things... _seen_ there... it is her face that haunts me most." Fingers entwined, and nails bit into flesh before she continued, still staring into the fire. "I never wanted to leave my clan, never wanted... _this._ I have always hated that shemlen for ripping me away from my life, from all that I held dear." Lenya stopped, swallowing hard at the impact of the words.

Alistair blinked, completely thunderstruck by her candidness. "That shemlen... you mean.._. Duncan?_"

Slowly, she nodded, her eyes suddenly fixated on his and he started at her distressed look. "I was tainted before... before... the Joining, you know?"

"Yes, I know." It was barely more than a whisper but the elf caught it, her gaze shifting into a questioning one. "I... uh... Duncan... he told me... about you, I mean. I just don't know what this all has to do with Hesp—" The sudden voice in his mind let the sentence die on his lips. Duncan's words came back to him, spontaneous and unbidden.

_"The change starts inwardly; slow and creeping. And you do not want to see what becomes of tainted women unlucky enough not to be able to do the Joining ritual to stop it. She doesn't have much time left… if the ritual can't be held tomorrow night for whatever reason, I fear I will have to kill her."_

His eyes grew wide as saucers as his mind suddenly comprehended the correlation, the horrid truth almost too much to grasp. "Oh. _Oh_." And almost instantly his heart squeezed at the mere imagination of her, of _Lenya,_ becoming... something similar like Hespith, a tainted husk of a person.

_No..._

Lenya turned away, could no longer face him, the effort of saying _that_ out loud, the bitter conclusion of _'what if' _cost all her strength. Her voice was tiny and quavering and she hated herself for that. For all those thoughts and feelings she couldn't conceal any longer, their weight just too burdensome and grave on her being.

"That could have been... _me_… I could have ended like... if Duncan... if..." Her voice failed her, swallowed by the struggle not to cry. Not _here_, not in front of a _human_, she wanted keep this promise, one she had made to herself, at least.

_Never let a shemlen see her in tears. Never submit._

"...if you hadn't become a Grey Warden," he said, completing her sentence.

And _that_ made it only _harder_ to hold back what was already forming behind her eyes_,_ because these words showed that he... _understood_.

_Stupid human, you._

Lenya swallowed down the sadness she could, yet couldn't hinder a solitary sniff that became audible, involuntary escaping her throat.

Alistair tensed at the noise, and observed how Arai jerked up and hurried over to her to give comfort, something he _wanted _to do, and yet not _dared_ to do. So he remained seated on the log, bare hands digging into the wood beneath him as he watched her frame obscured by shadows where the light of the fire didn't reach her.

Lenya bowed down to her Mabari, glad for the distraction and solace he offered, and then she embraced him. Arai whined emphatically and Alistair felt stupid for the wish to switch places with _a hound_, but in this moment he really did want to.

"I don't want to go there again." Her quiet voice sounded muffled through Arai's fur. "I don't want to return to the Deep Roads. Ever."

"I don't think that is possible for a Grey Warden," he said out before he could stop himself, feeling the need to slap his forehead once again for his overeager tongue.

Lenya straightened at once but did not turn around. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well... uh... I think this is not the right time." And it really wasn't. Telling her about what would happen when the body couldn't—

She whirled around, interrupting his thoughts with her sudden harsh voice. "It never is, so tell me!"

"I really think—"

Faster than he expected, she stood before him, the light of the fire reflecting in her eyes, as she glared down to him. The belt-knife twisted in her hand, as if a mild warning. "It's about the Grey Wardens, right? You are holding back something. And I _hate_ lies, human!"

Alistair scowled at first before a long, resigned sigh escaped him. Not knowing how to put it in words, his tone was unsure, almost stammering. "It's not that... I...uh... we never had time to tell you that... I guess. We... _I_ never expected that... Ostagar." The lines of his scowl deepened, as he snapped for air, momentarily pausing.

_Oh, Maker..._

"It is... a Grey Warden tradition to return to the Deep Roads, before... before..." He left the sentence hanging, not knowing how to continue.

Her stare was demanding. "Before _what_?"

Alistair drew in a deep breath, his eyes resting on her, before they closed and willed the words out. "The taint... it's a death sentence. Ultimately your body... won't... be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and... die in battle rather than... _waiting._"

It was a moment before she remembered how to breathe. Her whole_ being_ was paralyzed, only able to stare at him. Lenya's demeanor, her whole silence was unsettling to him and he braced himself for the worst. But moments passed and nothing happened, only her stare continued to bore in him, without her saying anything.

"When...?"

He startled as this tiny word fell all the sudden. Mustering the remaining bits of his courage, he murmured, "Thirty years, give it or take. I'm sorry, Lenya... I should have told you—"

A strange, hysterical laugh interrupted his words. Heaving his head, he saw that it came from Lenya.

"I'm... going to... _die_." Another laugh bubbled up her throat, it sounded so detached that she didn't recognized her own voice. "Due to the taint. It is somewhat_ ironic,_ don't you think?"

"Lenya… I – I..." At a loss for words, Alistair watched her laughing, its sound bitter. He couldn't handle this reaction, and was utterly confounded because he had expected her to yell at him, to be angry, Maker, maybe even_ hitting_ him... but nothing like that happened.

She only... _laughed_.

And then there was silence, as she stopped all the sudden. The cracking of the fire, even the howling of the winter breeze all seemed to become unbearably loud, as the tranquility weighed down on the moment that stretched on like forever.

Lenya did her best to glare, but instead a bitter chuckle escaped her as she turned to him. "Will I become like Hespith? Or... Ruck?" She staggered as she struggled to stand upright, the thought crushing down at her. "Why did that shem save me at all, if the end is _same?_ This was no cure." Slowly, she raised her head, looking directly at him, her voice quiet, almost desperate.

"Is there anything good about being a Grey Warden? Anything? Because I don't see it."

Shaken by her gaze and words, his features shifted into a pained frown. There had always only been death, destruction, and the agonizing taste of loss for her since she had become a Grey Warden. None of the good things, he at least had experienced before... _Ostagar._

Before he knew what he was doing, he stood up and walked forward in the attempt to embrace her. "Lenya…I..." Immediately the elf jerked away and hit him across the face with her palm, glaring at him.

For the fraction of a second everything went still, only the ringing of the slap echoed through the night.

"Don't touch me!"

Alistair stared at her in utter shock, his cheek still aching with the impact, as she suddenly whirled around and ran away.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya fled as fast as she could, needed to get away from there, from all pain and thoughts in her head, the dread inside of her overbearing. She ran toward a nearby glade surrounded by high-towering trees and a purling stream that reflected the moonlight above in its water. Distantly, she could hear the human's calling, _his _voice she hated so much right now, the one of her fellow Warden. Although slower, he followed after her, not stopping to leave her alone, which only made her _hate_ him even _more_.

Within the clearing, the Dalish was forced to halt, her legs too shaky and trembling too much to move further. Stumbling, she crashed down to the muddy ground, paralyzed with the effort not to cry. She simply remained lying in the dirt, uncaring. And for a moment, the world seemed to stop, but the pain lingered.

"Lenya?"

Alistair halted to listen for an answer, but there was none. He didn't know why he had instinctively followed her, maybe because he simply didn't want her to be alone after such news. He remembered how much he had loathed everything, _everyone _when Duncan told him that. How forsaken and needless all had become from one moment to the other. Alistair didn't want the same for her, so he tried anew, louder.

"Lenyaaa!"

"Rot in the Beyond, shem!"

Her voice shook with hatred; her breathing heavy.

His head snapped toward the direction of the sound, but it was nearly pitch black within the glade, the light of the moon and the far away campfire the only sources of light. Alistair also was aware that he couldn't find her if she didn't _want_ to be _found_.

So he stopped his steps and closed his eyes to listen in. It was only a faint humming that he could distinguish within his blood, a soothing tone in contrast to the raging fire when darkspawn were near. Alistair had quickly learned to tell those two different kinds of taint apart and not only because he had lived among the other Warden's before. Briefly after Ostagar, after Loghain's treachery, this presence, the lingering quiet humming within his blood had been his only solace. It showed him that he wasn't all alone and he wanted her to understand that she wasn't _either._

"_Is there anything good about being a Grey Warden? Anything? Because I don't see it."_

Those words haunted him, reverberated in his mind with its anguish and despair.

Cautiously, Alistair stepped forward, following the increasing volume of buzzing to its source within the dark. To her.

Lenya felt him approaching as well, stirring from the ground, her head turned in the direction she surmised him to be. Only scarcely was the moonlight breaking through the treetops, yet was it enough for her to remotely see something. Trembling, she searched for her belt-knife in the soil, knowing that she had still held it when she fell. "Don't come closer, shem, or else... I'll—"

She hadn't called him _shem_ for the longest of time, he realized, and it bothered him. Alistair didn't want to lose all her trust he had struggled and fought to gain over the past months. Not like this.

"I… I know... it is _hard_." His voice was soft, soothing, almost as if talking with a child.

Quicker than thought, she appeared in front of him, the small knife pointed at him. "You know nothing!" The unspoken warning in her tone stopped his steps toward the Dalish, but he didn't yield. Unsure of what to do next, he remained in his place, watching her shadowed figure.

The silence stretched on with neither of them moving, her ragged breathing the only sound.

"Why don't you leave me simply alone?" she asked all the sudden, startling him. It sounded like an accusation, yet had her voice lost its prior sharpness, instead replaced by... _desperation? _He couldn't exactly pinpoint it, but its tone shook him to the core.

"I... should have told you earlier, Lenya... but..."Alistair sighed. "_When_ should I have done this? Maker, there had never been the right time. And it surely wasn't tonight either. I'm sorry."

Lenya only snorted derisively, swallowing down the bile of anger those words caused in her.

"This is why it is kept a secret under Grey Wardens, just like the Joining," he continued saying, not knowing what else to do. "Do you think many people would fight against darkspawn, would join the cause of the Grey Wardens if they knew about this?"

"Remember, I'd no choice in that matter, you bastard!"

_Bastard_... how ironic that she called him that, even more how _much_ it hit him. He was aware that it hadn't the _same_ meaning, and yet was that _another _thing that lay unspoken between them, like so much else. Secrets had the tendency to be gruesome and hurtful at times, things that one better left untouched or pushed back in the farthest corner of the mind, because it was _easier_ this way. Like Lenya did with the friend she had lost, he with his parentage... or the fact that they _both _would have to succumb to the taint in their veins in a few decades.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. "I know!"

There was a pause, an audible gasp tinged with a quivering intake of air. "Stop being so damn sympathetic, you idiot!" Her small fist hammered against his chest, but the gambeson he wore eased the impact of the punch. Then there was another. And another. Standing stock-still, Alistair endured it, letting her vent her anger, knowing how he had felt when Duncan told him about the taint.

"I hate you!"

Again she hit him, but only with one fist. The other hand was still clawed around the knife's blade, almost forgotten, until the steel bore into the flesh of her palm. Wincing, she let it slip to the ground and stared at the blood seeping from the cut.

_Tainted_ blood.

It would kill her sooner or later. Or even worse, would make her become what she had seen in Hespith, a deformed husk of a creature, driven mad by the taint. It seemed that Lenya couldn't escape the Deep Roads, would always be intertwined with that place, its horrors... and _loss._

_Nithius._

The thought of him crashed down on her, the guilt of his death weighting heavily on her conscience, the taste of _yet_ another mistake bitter. She should have never taken him with her, should have never allowed it. He would be still alive, not burned to ashes within... _that_ place. Lenya didn't want to end like him.

_I don't want to die. I don't want to become..._

Lenya staggered, the impact of her emotions almost too much to bear. Feeling his fingers at her injured hand, she jerked away, trembling. "Don't touch me!"

"I... sorry." Despite his words, Alistair inched closer to her, even feeling the need to.

"I hate_ this!_" Uncaring for the burn of the cut in the one hand, she hit his chest now with both of her fists, repeatedly. "I don't want _this!" _She couldn't stop the whimpering escaping her throat as anger turned into anguish, pulling her down. She still drummed against his chest, but it had lost its force as the despair within grew bigger.

"I know," Alistair repeated in a whisper, his heart aching with his fellow Warden... _no,_ his mind corrected him... _with her._ There was an impulse, almost an urge inside of him that let him step toward her—a need to make it better, to take away the pain and, most of all, to _be there_ for her.

And so before her knees gave way, he caught Lenya's fall, holding her upright as she started to cry bitterly in his arms.

_You are not alone..._

* * *

Can I haz reviewz pleaze? ;)


	43. Epiphany

_**A/N: **Very long chapter but needed, sorry. Thanks to Mack to fighting through this one for the beta read._

* * *

_***~There's something about you now  
I can't quite figure out  
Everything she does is beautiful  
Everything she does is right ~***_

_- Lifehouse – You and me_

* * *

**Chapter 42: Epiphany**

"What happened to your hand?"

Curiously, Leliana pointed at Lenya's bandaged palm while they marched toward Lake Calenhad. They had pulled up camp right after sunset to reach the Mage Tower before the sun would set. Given the quick pace their leader dictated from up front, she had no doubt about reaching that goal.

The Dalish didn't even turn around, staring right ahead at the road that was clouded in thick fog. "I cut myself. Obviously."

"Oh?" Zevran piped up. "You don't seem to be a clumsy one and are well-versed with blades otherwise, my dear Warden."

Lenya groaned, annoyed of the curiosity of her companions. "Yeah... because you know me so well, idiot."

The elf chuckled. "My, feisty again, aren't you? There are, however... ways to rectify this little detail. About getting to know you, I mean."

"Not interested."

With that, the Dalish sped her pace up even more and descended into a cloud of mist. While she hated the weather with the narrowed view today, it was welcomed at the same time. After last night, the fog made it easier to evade unwanted questions and faces. She heard the clunking of _his_ armor, _his_ heavy, almost clumsy human steps not far from her, but the fog was like a shrouding barrier that kept _him_ away from her and out of her sight.

Just like she wanted it.

It was... _easier_ to simply ignore him after all that... at least for now.

Zevran sighed over-dramatically. "Ah, rejected again. Pity." Turning to Leliana, he added with a smirk, "May I rest my head in your bosom? I wish to cry."

The bard shook her head, incredulous at that. "You are impossible, Zevran."

He grinned. "Why, thank you. I try my best." Leaning in to the woman, he lowered his voice. "You heard it too, no? Last night, the Wardens, I mean. They made quite the noise... and not in a good way."

Leliana sighed. "She obviously doesn't want to talk about it."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, my dear Sister. If I learned one thing as an assassin, it is to choose the ...let's say... _weaker_ target first." With that, he glanced over to Alistair and smirked suggestively to Leliana, who smiled back as she caught his drift.

.

~V~

.

Due to last night, Alistair hadn't slept much and now felt the exhaustion in every bone of his body. The ambush of some bandits on the road earlier had made it only worse, and he wasn't really keen on physical exertion other than sturdily walking forward today. And with the pace his fellow Warden held up, that was hard enough already.

_Lenya..._

His head still swirled with the events of last night, his thoughts filled with her presence, unbidden. How she had... _cried_ in his arms and didn't stop for what seemed to be an eternity to him. He had never seen her so vulnerable before, never so open with her emotions, particularly toward him. It was utterly... _confusing_, especially that he found this fact delightful in equal parts. Not that she had cried, _Maker forbid_, but that Lenya trusted him well enough to not hide her emotions from him any longer. It made him feel... _what?_ Closer to her? Less like a human idiot in her eyes? Equal?

Alistair didn't know where to sort this feeling in, how to pinpoint it, but he was aware that something has changed... _shifted_, perhaps. Which didn't keep her from completely ignoring him today, however. A sigh escaped at this thought.

_This woman is complicated..._

"You are quite broody today, Alistair."

He nearly jumped at Leliana's sudden voice. "What?"

She giggled. "Being so deep in thought is unlike you, I mean."

"Well, I have my moments." He arched an eyebrow in her direction. "Wait... what do you want, exactly?"

"Oh, nothing... I'm just wondering about the loud commotion yesterday while both of you were on watch at night."

Instantly, Alistair's face fell. "Oh _that_. Sorry, I can't tell you."

"Why?"

Alistair shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. "Warden things."

"Oh? So you both have your very own secrets now? That is adorable, somehow."

"_Adorable_ is the last word I would use for the reasons I have to actually _keep_ them secret, really. And why are you so keen about knowing it at all?" He turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maker... are _all _women so confusing?"

Leliana stifled a sudden chuckle as she smirked up at him. "You _are_ thinking about _her_, eh?"

It was maybe a little unfair to tease him like that, but it was the only current amusement available while marching forward in this bleak environment filled with misty air. He surely couldn't blame her for seizing upon it, right? Not to mention that she found his ever-same pattern of getting all flustered, denying and blushing, kind of cute. Somehow Leliana started to understand _why_ Lenya gave him _that_ nickname. He was indeed like a huge Mabari puppy. She couldn't help to giggle quietly to herself at that.

Alistair held up his hands to object quickly, yet wasn't very convincing in doing so. "I... no. _No._ I didn't do that. I was..." Distracted by a little voice in his mind, he trailed off.

_Lousy liar..._

And that he was, if he was honest. He _had_ been thinking about Lenya. In fact, he was able to do little else since last night. Today, Alistair had intended to talk to her about what happened, and yet was too intimidated by her cold and ignoring behavior to even try, which ultimately only led to more thoughts about her. It was a maddening circle he didn't seem able to break... and an utmost confusing one on top of that.

Leliana's grin only broadened. "Oh, surely you haven't."

Alistair groaned, annoyed. "Great. Really. I love existing for your personal entertainment." Speeding up his pace to escape Leliana's amused gaze, he only hoped they would soon arrive at their destination. Simply walking gave him too much opportunity to let his mind wander, which ultimately put him back into this inescapable loop of thoughts about _her._

Sighing, he heaved his head, watching the blurred figure that was leading them and somewhat regretted for once that there were no darkspawn or bandits in sight. Despite his utter exhaustion, he really would welcome some mindless slaughter now.

That was at least something Alistair was skilled with, in contrast of how to figure out what actually to say to his fellow Warden who had _cried_ in_ his_ arms.

.

.

* * *

.

They had reached the outskirts of Lake Calenhad after endless hours of walking, though right in time, just before it had started to grow dark. Fortunately, most of the fog had lifted as well. The now clear remaining light that broke through the clouds above made it easier to set up their camp, just beyond the lake's shores. Tall as it was, the Mage Tower was already visible in the far distance, although shrouded by the remaining mist that still lingered high in the sky.

Leliana sat at the fire, her cloak huddled around herself to protect herself at least a bit from the freezing wind that howled in between their tents. Drawing her face deeper in her hood, she shivered and sought the warmth of the flames even more, while humming to herself to keep her mind distracted from the cold. The bard was aware of the presence of the Qunari who stood across from her, unmoving he observed the wide, even area with his dark eyes in tensed vigilance.

"This place is unsuited for camp."

Her head snapped up at his deep voice. "Oh? You think so?"

Sten snorted. "Obviously. Too easy for enemies to ambush us here. We should move on."

She sighed. "But it is already too late to venture to the Mage tower today, and after the long march, we need a break first. Tomorrow is another day for that, you know?"

"Petty excuses. I'm sure our enemies will spare us when you tell them that," Sten remarked dryly, and then added after a brief pause, "Why are you here, woman?"

Leliana blinked, not knowing how to react. "What do you mean?"

"Women are priests, artisans, farmers, or shopkeepers. None of them have any place in fighting."

She tilted her head to look up at him. "Do you mean your people have no female mages or warriors?"

Another snort. **"**Of course not. Why would our women wish to be men?"

Leliana escaped an exasperated sigh, as her brows drew low in frustration. "What are you talking about? They don't wish to be men."

His stare bore into her; his tone was as stoic as his expression. "And they shouldn't. That can only lead to frustration."

Leliana shook her head, growing more and more annoyed with his view. It was as if she was talking to a wall. "Sten... no, never mind. Let's drop this."

Another sigh mixed into the one the bard let out again. Raising her head to the noise, she recognized the figure of the Dalish appearing at the fire. "Oh, that discussion again, Sten? So I figure you expect me to not fight either? Because I'm obviously a woman as well."

"Of course not. You are a Grey Warden. It is your duty to fight the Blight."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I get _that_ a lot lately."

"Parshaara. This is a waste of time." Shaking his head, the huge Qunari turned and strode away, disappearing into the grey shadows of the slowly descending night.

Momentarily confused about Lenya sitting down next to her, Leliana didn't know what to say. And so, the pause stretched on to a longer silence with her not able to break it, until the Dalish suddenly spoke.

"Thank you."

It was only two words, but never had she thought that those little words could confound and baffle her so much as they did. "W-what?" Leliana managed to stutter.

Lenya didn't look at her. Instead, she threw a stick into the fire and watched as it hissed away. "For... treating my wound... as I was unable to, I mean."

"I... you are welcome. Really. I'm glad I could help you to recover, as little my help might have been. Zevran and Morrigan are the ones you truly have to thank, I think, but we were all worried sick about you."

She sighed, her voice quiet. "I know."

Leliana attempted a smile as she looked up to the Dalish. "It is good to see that you are better now."

Impulsively, Lenya shrugged. "Not so sure about that."

"Want to talk about it?"

At that, the elf scowled and Leliana had the feeling to have said the wrong things... once again. "I... uhh... sorry. I didn't mean to pry. " Sighing, she shook her head. "Maker, you don't make it easy for one to talk with you, you know that, Lenya? I still don't know why you are always so hostile toward me. You never explained that in all the time we have traveled together." Leliana hesitated for a moment. "I have noticed that you don't like humans much... so is it because I'm a human?"

"No. Because you are crazy... and annoying." Walking over to her pack, Lenya snatched her leather vest from the ground that lay beside her blades.

"Oh, that is good to know, I guess." Leliana couldn't help to chuckle. "Care to fill me in why you think so?"

Lenya returned to the fireplace, the armor in the one and some leather straps in the other hand. She wasn't contented with the prior repairs of the vest. It still sat far too loose around her body and offered not enough protection as it now was. So the Dalish intended to reinforce the cut and repaired straps with the spare ones she'd shamelessly looted from a dead bandit today. After a brief moment of work, she looked up to the human, noticing her still waiting for an answer. Sighing, Lenya fulfilled that wish.

"You said you had a vision. That your shem god spoke to you and that is the reason you wanted to help to fight the Blight. That is... ridiculously inane, to say at least."

The bard raised an eyebrow at that. "Why, thank you. I know it sounded strange, but I don't know how to explain it otherwise. I had a dream–"

Lenya snorted derisively, interrupting her speech. "There is a difference between a vision and a mere dream, shem."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that. But this dream was so dense, so real." Her eyes drifted to the darkened distance, lost in her memories. "I stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything... and when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I fell and darkness drew me in."

Lenya twisted in her seat and blinked, completely bewildered. She made no effort to hide what she thought about that human's babbling. "Okay... this is the reason you wanted to fight darkspawn? That still sounds... inane to me."

Leliana narrowed her eyes. "Why? Is it so hard to understand that I just want to help?"

"You know, I didn't wake up one day and think: wow, I want to be a Grey Warden and leave all I ever know behind for that. This is going to be sooo awesome. Well, news to you: it is _not_."

"Then why do you fight, Lenya?" She tilted her head and glowered down at the elf. "Why did become a Grey Warden when you hate it so much?"

"Because I would be dead otherwise!" Lenya burst out in a loud tone, her posture tense. _And I will still die because I became one, _her mind added, making her feel even more angry.

Standing up, she looked down on the momentarily shocked human. "You have no idea what I have seen in the Deep Roads, of what would have become of..." the Dalish halted her words, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. "So I would rather be a Warden than... _that._ That is why I'm here, fighting the Blight because I can't change _what_ I am anymore. Just don't expect me to love it only because you are happy following us due to an inane dream, shem." Huffing, Lenya whirled around and stormed away into the darkness.

For a moment, the bard simply stared bewildered after her, not knowing how to react to that. A loud voice obviously coming from the other side of camp shook her back to attention.

"Ouch! Why you little..." Alistair's words were accompanied by an angry growl of the Mabari, who trotted away but not without barking warningly at the Warden a final time.

"Good... I like it better when you stay over_ there,_ " he called after Arai and waited until the dog had disappeared.

"What happened, Alistair?" the bard asked, turning to him as he came closer.

"That massive furball snapped at me all the sudden. When I came to close to his food, I suppose." Showing his finger to Leliana, his tone changed into a complaining, nearly whining one. "Look, I even got hurt."

Sometimes Leliana really wondered how Alistair managed to change from a grown man into a five-year-old boy from one minute to another. Observing the fatal wound that the little, superficial scratch obviously was to him, the bard couldn't suppress a grin. "There is hardly any blood drawn, so I think you will survive."

"That is not the point you know," he answered in the same pouting tone. "He can't just go around and snap at people. Sometimes I forget that he is indeed a wardog. That will teach me." He paused, his eyes wandering to Leliana, and then to the empty place where the Dalish had been sitting, her armor vest still lying on the ground. "Wait, that is Lenya's right? She was here with you?" He couldn't hinder the crooked smile playing into his features. "Freely?"

"Well, we talked and it didn't work out that well. Obviously." Sighing, she rubbed her face with both hands. "I just don't get her, Alistair. Every time I think I can have a normal conversation with her, she just does things I simply don't understand."

Grinning, Alistair sat down next to her. "Make that two."

"Right. I mean she even thanked me for treating her wounds, but somehow it ended in yelling at me again."

"Yep. That sounds like her." He chuckled." So what made her angry... _this_ time?"

"Talking about my vision and hence my reason to follow you both against the Blight, I suppose." With another sigh, she picked up Lenya's vest from the ground and continued the elf's prior work.

Alistair arched an eyebrow. "Well, don't get me wrong but... I don't think that talking about a vision you had from the _Maker_ is exactly well-suited to deepen your friendship with Lenya, though."

Leliana shrugged and looked up to him. "She had asked..."

He smirked. "...and then yelled at you for it? Right."

"She had questioned my motivation to fight the Blight." Leliana ran a hand through her hair. "Well, only fair after I questioned hers, I guess. Yet, how can I sit by while the Blight devours... everything? There are so many good things in the Maker's world. So is it wrong for me to want to do something about it, even if I'm not a Grey Warden like you two?"

Alistair shook his head, smiling at her. "Not at all. As said before, I'm glad that you are here and help us. We never could do this on our own. Or do you think I would freely endure Morrigan otherwise?"

She returned the smile, glad about his comforting words. "Right. We are truly a bunch of misfits, huh?"

He shrugged and stood up to warm his hands at the fire. "Adds to the charm, I suppose. So... what is your vision all about? You have never told me."

Leliana let out a sigh, and then fell silent as if contemplating whether to tell him or not. After a moment, she eventually spoke.

"I think I dreamed of the Blight... I'm not sure anymore. It was all so dark and somber. And when I woke, I went to the Chantry's gardens, as I always did. But that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered, everyone knew that bush was dead. It was grey and twisted and gnarled... but there it was a single, beautiful rose amidst the dead bush.

It was as though the Maker stretched out His hand to say: _'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.'"_

Alistair blinked. "A rose? In Lothering?"

Leliana knitted her brows, growing confused. "Yes, why are you asking?"

"Oh... err… for no reason. Beautiful story and all that, but I think I'll go now and... do stuff." Turning quickly, he was about to stalk away as Leliana stopped him, her tone somehow dejected.

"You don't believe me at all, right?"

He shook his head, running fingers through his ruffled hair. "Well, that's not it… at all. I just have to... check something. Also, it is my turn to cook dinner tonight and that without poisoning us all. That will be hard enough."

Leliana smiled. "I see. Well, I can help you if you want."

"Yeah, that would be nice, really." With that, Alistair hurried into his tent and rummaged in his backpack until he had found the desired object. Wrapped in a linen lay still the rose, its red petals beautiful as ever and in full bloom... even after all those months. Sure it had been magically enchanted by Morrigan back in Orzammar to preserve it, but even before it had already bloomed for an unnaturally long time. He held it up to observe it more closely in the faint, dimmed light of the moon.

_Maker... it couldn't be the same rose, or?_

Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and, with a sigh, wrapped the flower back into the linen. Alistair didn't even exactly know why he had taken the rose with him back in Lothering or what to do with it eventually. He only knew that he couldn't leave this piece of beauty behind in a place where darkspawn would destroy and taint everything else. He simply had to rescue the flower from their claws as a reminder that there were indeed wonderful things worth saving.

In that regard, this rose was not so different from the one Leliana had described to him.

.

.

* * *

.

"Oh, It is sulking. Again."

Twilight deepened until the purple of the clouded sky turned into blackness and the stars began to come out. Apart from their camp, Lenya sat on the ground and silently watched the shadow of the Mage Tower visible in the distance. She didn't even turn her head toward the golem as she greeted the creature.

"Shale."

The golem chuckled. "So It still speaks. Good."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "Why shouldn't I?"

Shale shrugged. "It likes to behave taciturn after all. Better than the ever-prattling Clown-knight, however. So it is good that It hasn't died of the poison, despite Its squishy-ness. "

"Thanks... I guess." Lenya now turned around with a sigh, looking at her. "Is there something you want, Shale? Except to state the obvious?"

She hesitated for a moment, her violet crystals glowing in the semi-darkness as it moved yet a bit forward to the Dalish. "I have been thinking. About what Caridin said. Of who I am—_was_—before."

Lenya smirked, amused. "You are tall for a _durgen'len_, though..."

"I'm not a dwarf—or at least not anymore. Yet I need to know if that is true, instead of simply believing."

"So you want me to help you, I take it?" Lenya looked up to her, eyes narrowing. "How?"

"I remembered..." Shale was still for a moment. "Yes, after what Caridin told me I do believe to know where the Cadash thaig is. I don't know why, but I'm sure. It would be most helpful for me, if we could travel there soon."

"Travel? To the thaig?" Lenya blinked, trying to comprehend what the golem implied. "You mean down into the Deep Roads again... back in Orzammar?" Everything in her posture gave away how much she loathed the idea alone.

"Yes." She made a nodding motion with her stony head. "I can mark it on Its map if It wants. I'm most curious what we are going to find there."

Unbidden, a laughter bubbled up her throat. "You know, _how ironic_, that I just made up my mind to not ever return to that place, and now you_ ask _me to do exactly that." The Dalish glared up to the golem, her tone suddenly sharp. "This couldn't you remember _while_ we were still in Orzammar?"

She mirrored Lenya's glaring expression, displeased with her answer. "Hmpf, I said that I just remembered, didn't I?"

"Well, then it is a pity for you that you have incredibly bad timing, Shale... but we have a Blight to defeat. So don't expect me to run around and fix everyone's life while there is an Archdemon running around."

"Pigeon-crap. I should have stomped It." Shale huffed and stormed away, her behavior completely ignored by the Dalish while she was caught in her own thoughts.

It was somehow ironic that she took the Blight as an excuse now. After last night, fighting the Blight was the last thing on her mind, especially with the prospect of having to succumb to the taint either way. What was the sense to fight then? Why was she even here? Not only that shem had asked her these questions but Lenya herself, numerous times even within the last hours, yet she hadn't found a sufficient answer until now. Biting her lip, she sunk down to the ground and sighed, her heart still feeling all too heavy for her chest.

Staring out in the slowly falling night, she lingered in the darkness, using it as a shield against the world and everything else. It didn't stop her thoughts that wandered off to the unwanted place that perpetually followed her.

"Deep Roads, _Elgar'nan_..." It was only whispered quietly as a lament of her own and yet was caught by another person.

Zevran.

"What are the Deep Roads? It must be a terrible place if it can make you look so somber, I'm sure."

Lenya didn't regard him first. The wind blew harsh from the direction of the lake, its cutting cold made her shiver. "It is..." she only said and fell silent again. Then after another moment, she added, her tone somewhere between a warning and resignation.

"You know the last person that tried to sneak up behind me—"

His chuckling interrupted her words. "Sneaking? Oh, perish the thought, my lady." He demonstratively took a few steps forward to appear in front of her. "See, no sneaking here. No. I was just exploring the area and guess what, my dear Warden? There is a marvelous tavern not far from here."

She rolled her eyes. "How interesting."

Zevran squatted down beside the Dalish, completely disregarding her annoyance with his presence. Tilting his head, he studied her features that appeared even more grim within the shadows of the night. "You know, I can't help to be curious if this wonderful face of yours is able to laugh, actually."

"We are fighting a Blight... there is no reason to laugh." It came out harsher than Lenya intended, but was hopefully enough to drive her point home.

"Yes, yes, the big, stoic friend of yours is living this philosophy quite impressively, I must say. Still the Blight will be there tomorrow too, no?"

Blinking, Lenya glanced up to him. "What?"

Stretching his limbs, Zevran sighed lazily. "Don't get me wrong, I'm quite impressed with your sense of determination, my dear Warden, but ic I learned one thing in my time as assassin, it is to make the best out whatever situation I find myself in, stealing moments to enjoy while I can. It served me well until now and you might learn to do the same, no?"

Lenya let out a scoff. Hearing his reasoning after the news of her impending death was borderline cynical to her. "So what do you expect of me now? Jump up and dance with you to rejoice over life being wonderful?"

"Not quite." He laughed. "Although, there is an interesting Antivan dance I could teach you, if you want. You seem nimble enough—" At her glare, he quickly corrected himself. "I mean saving the world from the Blight must be a tough job on your shoulders, a heavy one too. So you might want to stop at times and take a breath. It often helps. That... or a copious amount of alcohol...which, I might add, brings me back to the marvelous tavern I have seen nearby. Such coincidence!"

Shaking her head in disbelief, Lenya drove a hand through her hair and huddled her cloak tighter against the cold. "You have planned that all along, haven't you?"

Zevran flinched over-dramatically back in mock-appall. "Oh, now you're accusing me of such horrid things. I'm shocked, my lady. I'm just trying to divert your grim mind."

"With alcohol?"

Well, there_ are_ other methods to divert one's mind. I could offer you the service of one of my most famous Antivan massage." Lips curved up to an impish, slightly suggestive smile, before he let out a long sigh at her scowl. "Ah, alcohol it is then. Unfortunately, the brew here taste like stale Mabari piss and nothing like the glorious Antivan brandy, but it will be suffice for this rather dire situation of sadness, I suppose."

One eyebrow raised in a sarcastic fashion. "How intriguing."

"Hah. I knew you would like it. I would love to offer you something more to your refined taste, but I fear our possibilities are limited right now. I could also try to steal Oghren's stash, If you pre –

"Ugh. Creators, _no!" _There was a ghost of a wistful smile in her face, yet quickly as it came it veiled again. "I miss Dalish wine, though..."

"Ah, homesick, my dear Warden?" He watched her frowning, how her lips pressed into a thin line. "What do you miss. exactly?"

Lenya stared out into the darkness, momentarily listening to the howling noise the wind made. "Everything and nothing, I guess. It is still so weird to be away from my clan, to live a life I didn't want. Speaking a language that is not my own. Being a Grey Warden and pressed into the role of leadership, demanded to fix everyone's life at their will, while I can hardly—" Sighing, she stopped the stream of words coming out of her mouth, wondering about herself at that.

She barely even knew him, the elf assassin who sat at her side and couldn't even fathom less why she was telling him all this. Maybe this distance, this strangeness that lay between him and herself made it easier.

He only nodded briefly, his expression sympathetic. "I know what you mean. You know what is odd? For all the wonderful things Antiva stands for, I miss leather the most."

"Leather?"

"I mean the smell. For years, I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else."

Lenya looked at him incredulously, before instinctively inching away. "You miss sniffing... _leather?_ Why did I let you live again?"

Zevran chuckled. "Ah, not quite in that way, my Dalish minx. It reminds me more of all the idle pleasures I got up to in that little apartment. Good times. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly."

"I... uh... see. Still... weird."

"Maybe." He laughed. "What I wanted to say it that one simply never knows what is to come next. How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a beautiful Grey Warden, a woman who then spares my life? I could not. So if that is not worth a drink in the tavern, I don't know what is."

Sighing, Lenya rolled her eyes. "If you finally shut up then..."

Pleased, Zevran clasped his hands together. "Marvelous." Without moving from his place, he suddenly turned around to a distant source of noise, his tone amused. "Ah, speaking of Wardens. Hello. It's a wonderful night, no?"

Lenya not only heard the approaching steps, she felt his presence also deep inside, inevitably linked to each other as they were. This time, however, it was strangely comforting.

Upon seeing Zevran, his face fell, and his posture stiffened at the same time. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Enjoying the view, life, the company. Take your pick, my friend." The elf smiled at Alistair, all too obviously content with his place at Lenya's side, which seemed to irritate the Warden even more.

Alistair narrowed his eyes, silently glaring down on his smaller companion.

Zevran sighed and rolled his eyes with great exaggeration. "My, such unneeded hostility, my dear Alistair. You look at me as if I have tried to kill her. Again." His lips twisted into a smile, already knowing how predictably he would react. "If this soothes you, I haven't. Not this time."

Alistair struggled to keep his temper—much to his own surprise—but managed to stay calm somehow, pressing only one word out under his breath. "Go."

He mock-bowed to him. "As you wish, my dear Warden." In one movement, Zevran was on his feet and turned with a wink one final time to Lenya. "I will see you later then, my lady, no?"

Without an answer, Lenya waited until the elf disappeared into the camp's direction, and then let out a sigh. "You always find me, huh? How annoying."

"I... well. Yes, I guess. But I don't mean to..." Alistair sighed. "I can go again, if that is better. But you'll miss dinner then. Anyway... what was_ he_ doing here?"

It bothered him too much to not mention it.

She only shrugged. "Nothing."

Alistair stepped closer to her, yet he still not dared to come_ too_ near and meet her eyes. "You are too trustworthy what concerns that assassin—"

"I'm not. Creators, I can take care of myself, puppy. "

Lenya almost bit her tongue after those words, regretting them. After last night, they sounded somewhat hollow. Silence followed, one that stretched uncomfortably, only interrupted by the noise the chilling breeze made as it hit the water and few trees nearby.

Her thoughts circled, unwanted, around her breakdown and all the bothering emotions that had surfaced with it. With last night, Lenya had even broken the last oath she had made to herself: never to cry in front of a human. Now, where she had disregarded her own rule, she didn't know how to face him, how to handle what had happened. If his stillness was any indication, he didn't know either. There should have been anger with him still lingering inside of her, a remaining resentment for him daring to keep such a gruesome fact secret from her for so long, but all that she found was utter exhaustion. She was tired of the pain and loss she had experienced, tired of lamenting her fate she could not change. Yet she was not ready to accept it as a whole.

At least not now.

Lenya caught a glimpse of his face; his expression was distant, somehow lost in thoughts. Settling for something trivial to say, she finally raised her voice as the silence became too unbearable. "You have cooked?"

Blinking at the unexpected sound, his gaze flung to her figure on the ground. "Err, so to speak, yes."

"I see." Nodding, a ghost of a smile washed over her face. "Then it _is_ possibly better to miss dinner."

Alistair needed a moment to grasp that she was mocking him. And this time it was welcomed, because it made it easier to actually speak with her. "Ow. Now that is... " He paused with an only half-serious sigh. "Okay... _justified_. I'm better at killing things with a pointy stick instead of roasting them impaled on one. But to save what little grace I have left, Leliana helped me. So it _is, _in fact, edible."

Lenya still avoided looking at him, yet felt more at ease already. "Good to know. Because I was just poisoned... or still am, more like." She stiffened at her last, unthinking, blurted out words almost in an instant, feeling the tension prior dissolved through his words returning.

"I… uh... look Lenya—"

Her raised hand silenced him. "Don't. Just.._. don't_. I'm okay." The blatant lie let her even laugh herself. "Creators, who am I kidding... I am _not_. Or else I wouldn't have agreed to have a drink in a human tavern with that weird, leather-loving elf who is talking even more than you, puppy. And this says something."

"You did_ what?"_

Shrugging, she turned to him with a slight smirk. "You can come too, you know."

Now Alistair was fully confused. "You want me to come... with you?"

"Yes. Last time you were complaining that we weren't drinking together. So I figure I won't hear the end of it, if I leave you behind this time."

He stepped a bit closer still and squatted down to meet her eyes now. "I did _what?_ I can't remember having said that."

Her tone was sardonic as she glowered at him. "Oh, of course you didn't. Idiot. I still hate you for that."

"Riiight. You are one confusing woman, you know that?" He shook his head in bewilderment, not knowing where to put these words of hers. "Anyway... why are you going with Zevran, of all people?"

"His idea." She shrugged. "Well, I think for all his weirdness, he is right. I simply need a break from all_ that_... I guess. So the Blight can kiss my ass for tonight. It will be there tomorrow, too. Unfortunately."

He actually chuckled now. "Well, maybe we can ask the archdemon to simply _leave_. Worth the try, at least. In any case, I'll gladly accompany you." It wasn't a lie in the slightest. The thought of her being alone with that elf was irreconcilable within his mind. The smile suddenly faded and he became serious again, his gaze sincere. "For what is worth, I'm sorry for blurting that out like that. It was a bit... unthinking and tactless of me."

Lenya needed a moment to catch what he meant and she scowled as she did. "A bit?"

"Okay... _a lot_. I deserved the slap and all the things you yelled at me, I guess. I should have told you... I don't know..._ earlier_. Or in a better way." He looked away from her, out into the darkness. "But I fear there is no better way for such... news. It was... _Duncan_ who told me that, only a few days after my own Joining. I felt betrayed and, Maker, was I angry at him. I think I broke two chairs in his study and screamed at him for a long while."

Alistair smiled wistfully and used the pause to wait to see if she would say something about it, but there was only silence. So he continued instead, "And he just stood there in the middle of the room and let me vent my anger, my hatred I had in this moment at the world and waited, _simply waited,_ until I was done. Then he looked at me and said, _'Alistair. Any one of us could fall in battle against the darkspawn. It doesn't matter who we are—death is assured either way, Grey Warden or not. It isn't important how you die, but how you live.'_" He shook his head at the memory, the smile growing sad. "It didn't make me hate him less in that moment, but now with some distance I can see truth in his words, especially now while we fight a Blight."

Lenya didn't answer, was momentarily even unable to. How she hated him for always saying the right or wrong things so unexpectedly, which gave her no possibility to brace herself for the impact of his words. And he had done it once again.

_Stupid human._

She took a deep breath, noticing that it slightly quivered. "I see," was all she managed after the long stillness. Shuffling on the cold ground, the Dalish looked up to him, her tone sardonic. "So, short life-span, everlasting darkspawn nightmares, raving hunger... is there anything else cheery you have to tell me about the _wonderful_ life as a Grey Warden?" She narrowed her eyes, glowering up to him. "You better spit it out _now_ or else..."

"Well, there is one more thing," he started with a sigh and saw how Lenya stiffened, almost as if ready to spring at his neck. "The taint..." Alistair hesitated, feeling embarrassed to continue." ...lowers the fertility rate drastically. It is not impossible to... but very, very difficult for a Grey Warden to have a child."

She blinked, having expected more grave news. "That's it?"

Alistair nodded, slightly confused. "Err, yes?"

"Good. I hate kids."

"What?"

"Children are not unlike demons. They are annoying, demanding and sucking the life out of oneself. But demons I'm allowed to kill, at least. Also," she said, and her lips twisted into a smirk, "I can barely look out for Arai. I even forget to feed him most the time. Fortunately he is intelligent enough to find his own food, or else he would have perished long ago."

Her fellow Warden momentarily gawked at her, until he remembered to speak. "Wow. That is one cheery view."

She got to her feet in an instant and shrugged, unimpressed by his bewilderment. "I rather call it pragmatic... and _healthy_. Anyway, where is dinner? I'm hungry. _Again._" With that, she took steps toward their camp in a quick stride, leaving him no choice but to follow.

.

.

* * *

.

The tavern at Lake Calenhad was bustling and nearly packed with humans.

With the help of Zevran's charm and coin they had managed to snatch the last available table in the far left corner. Though now that they were seated there, Lenya was unsure if she really wanted to stay within this gritty, dimly lit place. Doing her best not to scowl permanently, she observed the mass of humans in front of her with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination, their loud tangle of voices piercing her ears and mind alike. Aside from Ostagar, her experience with humans outside her group was rather non-existent. Seeing how some of them herded like cattle in a corner just to get a drink or a bit of food, the Dalish couldn't say that she was sorry about that fact.

And then there was the stench.

She wrinkled her nose. Creators, one could say the same about the dwarven tavern, Tapsters, but at least the _durgen'len_ had the decency to wash themselves once in a while. Whereas the humans present tonight obviously preferred to omit this bothering act of hygiene and went straight to the drinking. Sitting in a constant odor of stale sweat awoke in Lenya the wish to drown them all in Lake Calenhad until they would finally stop smelling worse than Arai ever did. Unfortunately, tonight she lacked the weapons and armor to drive this point home, having taken Alistair's advice of '_keeping a low profile.' _She would make sure not to make the same mistake the next time.

Lenya's head snapped up at the loud, tinny noise of a mug hitting the ground, along with the disdained laughter of a small group of smarmy men at the table in front of them. Those men easily stood out in the human mass, while most of them seemed to be simple farm people, they were dressed in standard steel chain armor with their weapons splayed on the table in front of them, clear for anyone to see.

Their scornful laughter was addressed at the skinny, dark-haired elven waitress who looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but here right now. "You dropped my mug, knifed-eared wench. Look my armor, it got all wet. What are you going to do about it now?" one of them asked, his blond, ruffled beard twitched up as he grinned.

"I... uh, sorry," she stammered. "I'll get you a new one. On the house."

"Good girl. That is the least you can do, really. But first you will have to get the mug back, right?" Under the cheering of his men, he kicked the tankard further under the table, just as the female elf bent down to pick it up. Now she had to crawl under the table to reach it, which they seized as an opportunity to place some smacks onto her bottom.

Lenya's scowl only deepened at that.

"Well, you can say what you want about this place, but it is_ heartwarming_ how the Blight brings people together."

Alistair's voice shifted her focus back at him, seeing that he was just as bewildered at the tavern's commotion as she was.

They had heard rumors of Lothering's fall, scattered snippets of words in the tavern telling how darkspawn have burned down the village in less than one day, killing everyone in a cold frenzy who were not fast enough to flee. Most of the people seemed to be from the south and the village, seeking shelter for the night before moving on, or simply drowning their sorrows with alcohol. The majority preferred to do the latter, so the atmosphere in the tavern was agitated and tensed.

Lenya jerked a thumb toward the group and scoffed. "So _this_ is how flat-ears get treated by humans? _Interesting_. And one might wonder why we prefer to be homeless wanderers."

"Ah, yes the life of the Dalish. Quite better indeed," Zevran mused. "Living in the woods is not a life for me, because I'm too much Antivan for that, but quite romantic to others, I imagine."

She glared at him with a furious intensity. "_Romantic? _What do you think we do? Frolick around trees?"

"Oh, not at all, my dear Warden. I even happened to run off to a clan as they drew near Antiva City once, so I saw it firsthand. Alas, it turned out to be a bad idea, such as it was. I prefer the comfort and idle pleasures a city offers too much to live in the forest with the demanded devotion, it seemed."

Her eyes narrowed. "And I happen to prefer freedom over subjugation, idiot. Better hardship and danger than slavery like... _that_. "

Within the months of knowing Lenya, Alistair had learned that it was better not to answer about that, because it was such an emotional topic for her. So he stayed quiet. All the more, he enjoyed how the normally eloquent elf risked his neck with this careless talk, falling lower and lower in her grace by the minute. It was oddly satisfying.

"This isn't sla—" Zevran appeared to notice her sudden tension as well, so he halted his words. "Ah, well, but why fight over some drunken fools who don't know how to treat a woman?" With that, he waved the elven waitress nearer, motioned her to come closer and whispered something in her pointed ears. Leaning back with a smirk, he enjoyed the blush and the giggle his words conjured. He winked at her one final time before she turned to continue her work.

Alistair arched an eyebrow at the scene. "Right... and what exactly makes this action you better than those idiots over there?"

"Oh? "Zevran blinked, slightly offended. "I thought you have seen the difference just now. I chose my words respectfully and I'm proud to be able to say that I know what women want, spoken quite frankly. It is a sensual interplay of give and take." He smirked. "And I offered _much_ just now. Although the taking is quite pleasu—"

"All right... that is _too much_ information for me." Alistair cut him off, blushing. "I was raised in a Chantry, but even I know... oh, Maker... just_ stop _talking."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, so finicky again, my dear Alistair. So you prefer another technique, I take it?"

His eyes darted to Lenya and back to the elf, feeling all too uncomfortable. "Technique?"

Zevran couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Oh ho ho. Wait, my dear friend. So let me get this straight. You have... never wooed? Not once? You are woo-less, as it were?"

Oh, how Alistair hated that elf right now. Zevran seemingly enjoyed pointing out his utter inexperience with women in front of Lenya, who fortunately appeared bored by the conversation. Nonetheless, it was beyond awkward. He tried to keep it light. "I was raised in a Chantry, remember?"

"Ah, yes. My condolences, then. If you ever need advice or are curious about certain techniques, I can show—"

His blush deepened. "Maker's breath, _no!_ I'm fine!"

"You know," Lenya piped up all the sudden, "you were right, the ale does taste like stale Mabari piss." She pointedly looked at both of them. "Done with the awkward stuff now?"

"Well, well, look what we have here? Another knifed-eared bitch, eh?" Suddenly the man with the fuzzy, ruffled beard ascended beside the Dalish and eyed her with great interest. "Why are you not working and serving me drinks like you should?"

Unperturbed, she didn't even turn to the human, completely ignoring him. "Funny, I could swear I heard a filthy shem talking crap right now. Must be the ale, I suppose. It is really _that _bad."

"Oh, and a _funny_ knife-ear, even. Why don't you come over and play a bit with us? We don't bite. Mostly." His men at the other table laughed at that, its sound rumbling through the tavern. Where there had been a tangle of laughter and voices before, there now was utter tranquility, everyone watching the scene unfolding with a mixture of great interest and horror.

"Ugh. _Shem'alas nuvenin din, sulevin._" Glancing over to that human, Lenya noticed a dagger loosely sheathed within his belt and smirked slightly. He just needed to come a bit closer...

"Never mind, then we come to you and... play, bitch." He gestured over to the other table and his group walked over in an instant.

Alistair tensed and glared up to the three approaching, armed men, feeling the anger seething up his system. They could insult him and he couldn't care less, but that was a whole different story with Lenya.

"I suggest you all leave this table. Now."

Their leader was nothing but amused by his threat. "Or you will do _what_, boy? We are the mighty White Falcons mercenaries, and when we see something we want then we_ take_ it." He laughed roughly. "And right now I want your little blond knife-ear. Don't worry, we won't damage her.._. much."_

Alistair glared at him for a moment more, then launched to his feet, heedless of the sword pointed at him. The man was older, he noticed, his face weathered and partly scarred, scruffy in a whole with his ruffled beard and oily hair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair discerned that Zevran had disappeared from his place, seemingly had slipped out of their sight before the men were circling their table. He scoffed. How fitting that the elf abandoned them at the first sign of danger.

Almost instantly as he stood, two of the men stepped closer to the Warden and pointed their blades at him as well. It made it nearly impossible for Alistair to move without impaling himself and, watching their grinning faces, he ralized that this was what they had intended.

"If you touch her," Alistair growled, "I'll kill you!"

Oh..." Their leader chuckled. "It seems as if you are unable to hinder me doing so. Pity." Still grinning, he turned to Lenya, stepped closer and reached out to touch her. Before his hand could even make contact, she had moved and pulled the dagger off his belt. Using the quick momentum to grab his hand, she pulled it down and impaled it with the blade on the wooden table. Blood splattered from his hand and the man's cry of pain was deafening, leaving his group and the onlookers in a state of utter shock.

"_Shem'alas, ma tu'lin. _Before you could touch me, even," she said, her voice full of disdain, and then whacked her heavy mug over his skull to make him shut up. Alistair seized the group's confusion aside him to punch one of the men into the face and snatched away his sword as he tumbled backward at the force and hit the ground. Whirling around to the other, haggard man, the Warden pointed the tip of the sword at his neck. "I give you this one chance. Leave."

"Pah, I won't never—" The rest of his words were cut off by a series of whooping coughs, each one bringing up a mouthful of blood.

"Oh, have I interrupted your conversation with him, dear Alistair?" Zevran blinked innocently and freed his dagger from the man's back as he sank to the ground, profoundly bleeding. "Tsk, where are my manners, I'm so sorry. Also, for my rather late re-entrance, I apologize, as well. I was quite fascinated by the marvelous display of our dear Warden."

Turning, Alistair witnessed how the third man was trying to draw closer to Lenya, who stood in front of him in a wary stance, a weapon in each hand. It was also obvious due to the mocking tone in his voice that the human wasn't taking her seriously in the slightest.

"Now, put the sword down... or someone could lose an eye if you keep waving it around like that." He laughed at his own joke. "Stupid elven wench."

"Or his head..." she muttered, unblinking, and hauled out to decapitate the human in one stroke. The guests of the tavern gasped in shock as his head and body hit the ground with a wet thud, leaving the elf spattered with his blood. She looked down at the corpse. "See?"

Alistair blinked, surprised by her action, while Zevran simply smirked. "Well, there is nothing like gratuitous violence, is there? Now that the warm and fuzzy part of the night is over, I suggest we should probably leave, Lenya. That's enough gore and blood for one night, don't you think?"

She only shrugged. "They started it."

"M-m-maker just _who_ are you?" stammered the man Alistair had hit, as he got up and saw the gory mess around him. He found it hard to believe that this tiny elven woman managed to do this on her own... then again, was she covered in blood from head to toe.

Lenya smiled at him in a cold fashion, the white of her teeth a stark contrast to the red of the blood on her. "I'm a Dalish, _shem'alas_... and a Grey Warden," she added, still smirking.

Alistair found his gaze transfixed at her bloodied frame, the proud, unyielding stance of hers. He _knew_ he shouldn't find this _attractive,_ and yet couldn't help to think so.

"A G-g-grey Warden?" His eyes grew wide in utter shock. "I... had I known... I…. ahhh." Instantly, he whirled and fled out the tavern as fast as he could, heedless of his leader still unconscious on the ground... or anything.

"That was quite a riveting evening, no?" Zevran mused with a grin and started to collect the dagger and any useful loot from the ground, before following Lenya who was about to leave as well.

.

.

* * *

.

"That was fun!" Lenya exclaimed when they were outside the Tavern again and on their way back to camp. The night hung heavy over the place, the light of the moon reflected in the water of the lake as they walked forward.

Zevran chuckled. "My, my. Would I had known that violence excites you so much, I'd have arranged something more refined for your taste. Those humans were rather... _ungraceful_."

"Oh, it sufficed." Her lips twisted into a smirk. "Thanks, Zevran."

"Always a pleasure. Alas, my dear Wardens…" The elf sighed and stopped his steps. "I won't follow you into camp. At least not now."

"What?" Her brows drew low. "Why?"

"I made a promise, an appointment with a beautiful elven lady I have to keep, of course." He sighed again, this time for purely dramatic reasons. "Sometimes, it is hard work to be such an handsome, sultry elf. "

Lenya stared at him in bewilderment for a moment before shrugging. "Err... whatever."

Alistair smiled, pleased that she was unimpressed by his antics. "My thoughts, exactly." Turning to Lenya, he asked, "Shall we return to camp, then? Unless you have more people to behead, of course."

She shrugged, passing him by. "No, I guess it's enough for now."

"That's... good to know."

Together, they threaded the short way back to camp in silence. This time, however, it was a pleasant one.

.

~V~

.

"You know, there are times when I'm ashamed for the behavior of... humans, and this evening is one of them."

His voice startled her as it suddenly rang through the stillness of camp. They have sat at the fire for a while in silence and she had nearly forgotten his company, but now his words made her painfully aware of it again. Wrapped in her cloak, she still shivered, and drops of water dripped down her skin as she heaved her head up to meet his eyes.

Despite the freezing cold, Lenya found the urge to clean herself up at their return, since she simply couldn't let the blood of the filthy shem remain on her skin. Now she was seizing the heat of the fire to get warm again, but it was a slow, tedious process.

"It is okay..."

"No it is _not,_" he objected with a frown and winced at the motion.

"I mean the _shem'alas_ got what they deserved." She sighed, exasperated, standing up from her seat. "And now let me see this cut of yours."

"I-it's n-nothing, really," he stammered, instinctively flinching back as she came closer and observed the little cut across his left eyebrow with a scowl.

"_Elger'nan. Shem'alas..."_

"You keep saying that, but what does it mean, exactly?"

She turned to the fire, wetting a little cloth in the leftover the boiled water. "Nothing to concern yourself with."

"Right, I..." The words died in his throat all the sudden as he felt her fingers on his face, the pain of the hot cloth, and the burn of his cut a welcomed distraction.

"Creators, hold still. You are worse than a _da'len_."

Alistair felt the warmth rising in his cheeks and tried to reason it with the heat of the cloth cleaning his cut, but in truth it was her proximity that caused it, he realized. And she _was _close now. He could see every freckle on her face and how the light of the fire cast flickering shadows over the edges of the tattoo on her forehead. The intervals of her calm breathing brushed his skin ever so slightly, the mixed scent of soap, smoke, and something more that was so distinctively _her _claimed his senses, all unbidden.

He tried to look at something else, something that weren't her lips or her green eyes squinted in concentration, while cursing his heart that did _not_ stop beating so fast, no matter how much he wished for it.

"So, he is not coming back so soon, huh?" Alistair blurted, feeling the need to say anything to cover his unbearable nervousness within.

She stopped, looking confused. "Who?"

"Zevran," he replied and felt stupid doing so. Why, by Andraste, was he actually talking about _him,_ anyway? It wasn't that he cared in the slightest for that elf.

Lenya shrugged as she cast the cloth aside. "Who cares?"

And yet it made him incredibly content that she didn't_ either_.

"You... didn't have to do that, you know. It is just a scratch anyway."

One corner of her mouth went up. "I know. But I don't have the nerves to endure your whining should the cut become infected and fester. So it is better to clean it right away. "

"Right. Thanks." Alistair sighed. "This I got from riding to your rescue, so to speak... which you totally didn't need, by the way. It was quite impressive how you handled that ass on your own. Okay, the beheading of the other one was a bit too much of a drama for my taste, but I think you made your point loud and clear with it."

Lenya sat aside him again, furrowing her brows. "Which is?"

"Well, basically, a reminder for me to never touch you. It could end badly and I like my head where it is, thank you."

She glanced away, picking up the cloth to throw it into the fire and observed how it flared in the flames. "I would never hurt you..."

He felt how his heart skipped a beat at those words before it sped up again, betraying his intent to stay calm. Despite the freezing chill of the weather, there was a strange, comfortable warmness that engulfed him and settled in the base of his stomach with a burn.

"...unless you _deserve_ it. Like yesterday." Lenya finished her sentence with a slight grin.

He laughed nervously. "Yeah. I think I _did_ deserve that, huh?" Alistair nearly had forgotten that she was a little smartass that loved to mock him... or was it teasing? How could one differentiate those two things and why did he care so much for it anyway? Letting out a breath he couldn't remember holding, he looked up to her. "Nor would I hurt you. Ever."

Lenya blinked confused at sincere warmness in his voice, but tried to shrug it off. "Well, you are too busy getting yourself hurt anyway. Why did you do that tonight, idiot? You could have gotten yourself killed from your tantrum and I would be the only remaining Warden here. Suffice to say that I don't need that, right?"

Alistair felt a bit offended at that, his voice becoming louder than intended. "What did you expect me to do? Simply watch how those bastards—" Sighing, he stopped himself, rubbing his face with both of his hands to calm down. "Look, I was angry. Much. I couldn't stand how they treated that woman, how they treated... _you._ You know, the one good thing, aside the training, that they taught me in the Chantry was how to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of a beautiful woman such as yourself."

One amused eyebrow shot up. "_Beautiful,_ huh?"

Blinking rashly, he felt the heat rising in his cheeks again, if it was ever gone in the first place. "I... err... well..."

_Maker, please open the earth to swallow me whole. I would appreciate it. Thanks, Alistair._

He swallowed hard, his throat felt suddenly too dry, as he wished to make those words _undone_. Knowing well that he couldn't, he forced himself to continue. "I have said that, right? Do you... have... any opinion on me... saying... that?"

After finishing his sentence, Alistair had to fight the nonsensical urge to cover his ears or to observe the pattern of his boots. It became even harder to resist this need as the silence stretched seemingly endlessly on, torturing him.

Eventually, Lenya did not answer with words but with a simple smile that left him puzzled. Standing up from her seat, the Dalish slowly started to saunter over to her tent, but turned around once more. "You know, you are not too bad... for a human. Good night, Alistair."

And those words put a silly grin onto his face that did not cease for the rest of the night.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair groaned as he opened his eyes, feeling as if he was being squeezed to a pulp by an ogre.

He hadn't slept much, aside from the little hours that had been left for it anyway, it was_ her_ that made it nearly impossible. After Lenya left him behind to vanish into her tent, thoughts of her had circulated within his mind more than ever and made it very hard to find any rest. He slowly rose, shaking off the last lingering remnants of a dream that had been dominated by her appearance as well. Maybe he was just going insane, it had taken long enough for him to reach that point, anyway.

_Oh, Maker..._

From outside his tent, he could hear voices, laughter, even, and the distinct sound of blades clashing. Although the morning air was crisp and cool as ever, the sun shone through the cracks of his canvas, indicating a beautiful day to come.

_Beautiful..._ Alistair started at the word in his mind as it reminded him about the prior events in the night.

When had he started to think about her that way?

Granted, objectively seen Lenya was all that, although not in the classical lady-like sense and rather in a wild, unyielding and proud way. Which only made her more_ interesting_ to him... but oh, Maker, this was his _fellow_ Warden he was thinking about here... and_ shouldn't_ think at all, more like. Groaning again, Alistair finished the last button on his thick leather breeches and slipped out of his tent, opting to buckle his armor later the day. He needed to sort out his confusing thoughts first.

Heading for the middle of camp and the nearly extinct bonfire, he sat down in front of its remaining blaze and warmed his hands at its heat. Behind him he could hear _her_ laughing and had to force himself not to turn around to find out what amused her so. Instead, Alistair bent over to pick up a mug of heated stew and slowly took a sip, as the cold feeling of steel grazed his skin all the sudden.

"M-m-maker!" Alistair startled, nearly fell over at his second of fright, the hot stew spilling over his boots. An all-too-familiar snickering reverberated behind him, causing his heart to keep the frantic beat it had adapted. Taking a second or two to calm himself down again, Alistair looked over his shoulder and blinked up to her appearance. Noticing that he was actually staring at her face, he cleared his throat and willed the words out. "You gave me a heart attack there. What was that for?"

Lenya smirked. "Well, you have promised me to train with me. So?"

"N-now?"

She shrugged. "Why not? It is early enough and we still have time. Also... I'm bored sparring with Zevran, our fighting style is too alike." Her lips twisted into an impish smirk. "Aside from the fact that I'm much better, of course."

"Ah, such cruel jabs to my pride, my dear Warden," the elf piped up while sheathing his daggers again. "I had a hard ,but pleasurable night, after all. Normally, I'm not fighting fair either, so you are clearly at an advantage today." He winked at her and smirked. "There are many moves I still can show you, however."

"Whatever," she only replied with a roll of her eyes and turned to Alistair again. "So?"

"All right, all right, let's do it." He stood up with a sigh and took the blunt sword she offered him. Heading to the side of camp, Alistair tried not to notice how the light of the sun shimmered in her blond hair or how she was already breathing heavy from the prior exertion. He failed. Being around her had suddenly lost a lot of its implicitness and was replaced by a nervousness that he couldn't exactly pinpoint. He only was aware that it had become hard to focus at all for him in her near.

"_Don't fall for her. You will regret it, believe me._"

Blinking at Duncan's sudden voice in his mind, Alistair shook his head vehemently. "No, no. I'm not!"

Lenya arched an eyebrow, staring at him as if he had gone mad. He probably had. "Done now?"

"Y-yes, sorry," he stammered, blushing.

"Good." The Dalish straightened her posture and rolled her shoulders, grinning. "Because I'm going to kick your human ass now."

"I surely hope so, Lenya," Morrigan threw in from beside the scene while finishing her herbal potions. "'Twould would be very disappointing if that tool could beat you." She smirked. "So don't hold back."

Ugh, Morrigan. It was the distraction he needed, her voice was like a cold shower for his mind that never missed its effect. Taking a deep breath, he was finally able to focus at the task at hand. "I think I should teach you?"

"Well." She took her fighting stance and whirled the two training daggers around. "Let us first see if_ there is_ something you can teach me at all." Lenya motioned at him to come closer. "Come attack me normally, I want to try parrying your blows."

Alistair needed a moment to grasp her words, of what she expected and then nodded, grounding himself to get ready to fight. He was distantly aware of their companions gathering around them, heard how Oghren even was placing a bet... _against _him. But that all dissolved in a blur as he forced his mind to focus on Lenya and _Lenya_ only. With one last breath, the Warden started to lung forward... but his blow got easily parried by her blades. He blinked, dumbfounded, at her.

Maker, had she always moved so quickly and so... _gracefully?_

He found it somehow hard to keep his gaze away from her and was acutely aware that focus had nothing to do with it. After another moment, Alistair shook himself and forced his eyes to drop.

_No... not in love. Couldn't be. Shouldn't be._

"You are holding back. That is disappointing, puppy." Lenya sighed, exasperated. "I'm no delicate flower like the _shem'ashar_, so stop that." To emphasize her words, she rushed forward, placing a few quick jabs against him that he was barely able to block.

Alistair felt the blood rushing through his veins as adrenaline kicked in, and with it a bit of frustration at the confident display of her skills. She smirked at his scowl, was clearly taunting and demanding him to stop holding back with her posture. Maybe he should just do that. It would at least distract him from the unwanted thought of finding her incredible alluring doing so, right?

Once more he cursed his brain. _Alluring_. Andraste's flaming knickers, she was his _fellow_ Warden.

Heat flared in his cheeks and settled with anger and something else in his innards. Using this emotion to his advantage, Alistair leaped forward, the steel singing in unison as their blades met.

_Not in love._

Alistair was breathing heavy as he arched back for another strike. While he ceased to hold back now, his knees felt too weak to use his whole strength. Still, Lenya struggled to parry the thrust of his sword, which was oddly satisfying.

_No. Impossible..._

And then another, more angry now.

_I'm not allowed to._

Lenya was thrown back by it and let out a frustrated snarl that he managed to make her lose her stance. Gritting her teeth, she glowered at him, her breathing came out in ragged intervals. His eyes locked with hers almost automatically, even against his will. Alistair could help but love the fire, the passion sparking within her gaze, feeling that he was about to lose this fight and meant not the sparring in the slightest.

He was in trouble... in big, _big_ trouble.

Frustrated at this epiphany, Alistair charged once more but it had lost its prior force, so that it was all too easy for the elf to evade his strike. With one single subterfuge, she pivoted to her left and whirled around, even bringing him to his knees as he lunged into thin air. Lenya smiled and kicked his sword aside, the light of the sun above hitting her features as she turned. And he could nothing but to stare enraptured at the wonder that she was to him, eventually giving up his inner struggle like he did with this sword fight.

"_You will regret it." _He most likely would. And yet was he helpless against those feelings, this unbelievable warmth that flooding him amidst winter, leaving him breathless.

Pointing with her dagger at his neck, Lenya smirked down at him, amused. "So what now, puppy?" Alistair did not answer at first, found himself unable to as he looked at her face, captivated by her fair features. How could he have ceased to see the most obvious fact until today?

She was beautiful. Always had been.

"I surrender."

.

* * *

_**Elvish notes:**_

_Elgar'nan-_ A Dalish god of vengeance, also used as an equivalent term to "Oh no" or "Damn it"

_Shem'alas- _dirty/filthy human

_Shem'ashar - _human woman/women

_Shem'alas nuvenin din, sulevin- _The dirty human wants to die, it seems.

_Shem'alas, ma tu'lin- _Filthy human, I have made you bleed.


	44. Acceptance

_A/N: Wow, I'm blown away by the feedback for this FF of mine atm...no matter if reviews, stats or faves. Seriously guys, THANKS. Very much appreciated. This adds of course to my motivation to keep this word monster rocking :D This time we have a more quieter chapter once more (before getting back on track with the Mage Tower) with lots of character...errr ...thingies. Have fun._

_Special thanks to** Mackilian** for the once again superb beta-work and your enthusiasm for my story in a whole *hugs* I need to credit you more. Seriously._

* * *

_**And I don't want the world to see me  
Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am **_

- Go Go Dolls - Iris~*

* * *

**Chapter 43: Acceptance**

Love was, by all means, a_ funny_ feeling.

Not that Alistair had been able to wrap his mind around the fact of actually _being in love_, even hours after the sparring it still seemed surreal to him. And… it probably would stay that way for a long time.

Alistair felt... _overwhelmed_ by something that had been completely alien to him until a few hours ago, and was now even_ more_ alien _after_ his realization. He didn't know how to handle all these feelings now raving through him, and since they were no longer restrained within, wasn't even sure if he wanted all of that. In fact, he had never expected it to happen to _him_, the unwanted bastard son of a king. And now, where it was undeniably _there, _he didn't know what to make of it or where to go from here.

Love was maddening... and utterly confusing on top of that.

Alistair had done many stupid things in his life before, yet falling in love with his fellow Warden who, as a Dalish, clearly didn't like humans much, easily topped them all. And all he could do was to helplessly watch the unfolding disaster, with him, the sudden lovestruck fool, as the main character. Looking at her was not the same anymore. It had gained a new, complicated weight of entrancement he felt at her view, so he tried to avoid staring at her like the idiot he felt like.

Not that it would stop those feelings, oh _no_, they were a delirious rapture, a distractive force that made it nearly impossible to focus on other things that were not _Lenya. _Thoughts other than about her were practically non-existent in his head right now, and if someone would put him in a corner where he could just _be_ and think about her for hours, he would be a happy man.

Which was scary, in a way. Even more appalling was how love took his little world, turned it upside down and made _her_ the center of it. How could that happen all the sudden? It wasn't that there something had changed, since _everything_ was still the same. Well, everyone _but_ him.

There were no bards popping out from somewhere and singing serenades about love or rainbows filling the sky all the sudden. In fact, it was nothing like Alistair had _expected_ it to be, remembering those cheesy books hidden in the corners of the Chantry's library that he had... _found._ Life was going on as it did, just threaded with a whole lot more... _intricacies _that hadn't been there before_._

Complications that he didn't need while fighting a Blight, objectively seen. Duncan had always warned him, told him that duty always comes first for a Grey Warden. That there was no room for personal feelings, and those would only hinder a Grey Warden in fulfilling said important duty. Alistair valued those words of his mentor highly, of course, and saw the truth in them, because love made everything only needlessly _difficult_. And yet, having _those_ feelings, while maddening and frustratingly confusing, was an experience he already didn't want to _miss_ anymore.

He was in love. In _love_. Alone, this fact was astonishing enough to keep him in a state of awe for a long time. Hopefully long _enough, _though, so that he'd have the needed time to figure out where to go from here.

"Alistair? Alistair!"

He blinked at the sound of his name, noticing that he had been staring into his bowl of oat porridge for Maker-knew how long.

_Great._

Finally heaving his head up, he gazed into Leliana's face, who looked back at him with a concerned expression. "Are you okay?"

Alistair needed a moment to remember how to actually speak. "Huh?"

"You are not getting sick, are you?"

_No. I'm just on the brink of insanity... but thanks for asking._

"I'm... okay. Why?"

She knitted her brows in confusion. "Well, your face is all red, and you haven't even touched your meal, after all."

He was..._ what?_ Slightly panicking, Alistair touched his face with his fingers and could feel the burn in his cheeks or rather how it coursed through his whole being.

_Brilliant._

"Oh, no, no. No." Alistair laughed weakly as he demonstratively took the wooden spoon to eat. "See. Totally eating now."

Oghren snorted. "Hah, I bet you are still upset that Missy handed yer ass back to ya, boy. Heh, serves ya right. But thanks to your losing, I have some silver now." The dwarf slipped his flask from his belt to take a long pull and grinned at the Warden as he finished.

"Wow." He arched an eyebrow, and then blinked. "Glad I could help."

Leliana turned to Oghren, incredulous. "You have placed a bet on who would win their sparring?"

"Heh, it was a sodding good idea, I think." The dwarf looked over to him, still grinning. "Lemme know when you both spar again. I can always use some coin."

"Uh-huh." Distracted by laughter that was so clearly _her_, Alistair's focus shifted from the dwarf to what was Lenya's frame almost in an instant. She sat with her back turned to the rest of the group, and was laughing about something Zevran told her. Then, much to his horror and delight, she started to stretch lazily. Her back arched like a bow and lean muscles rolled and flexed under the movement. Shaking her head, her blond hair seemed to shimmer like golden threads in the weak winter sun and he was capable of none but one thought:

_Beautiful._

Not that these things really mattered, she could have a hunched back and buck teeth and she would still be the most beautiful person to him, because it was... _Lenya_. And he could watch her for hours and do little else, which he found kind of creepy as well. He didn't want to gawk into her direction like a drooling lecher, not to mention that it was possibly written on his face now how _much_ her sight thrilled him all the sudden. Alistair blinked and forced his eyes away from her and back to his meal, because it was_ safer _this way.

_Right, oat porridge it is._

But what about when she would decide to come over all the sudden and talk with him? Before his revelation, that thought had been so normal and not threaded with implicitness, and was now absolutely terrifying to him, because she could notice that something had changed,_ smart_ and _witty_ and _wonderful_ like she was. Alistair didn't want that, was too busy figuring out for himself what these feelings meant now and what to do with them, to let her become aware of it.

Or, as in,_ ever_.

Eventually, he would have to talk with her again, being her fellow Warden and all that, but right now he would rather attempt to strangle the archdemon with his bare hands than to try getting anything that resembled coherent words out of his mouth when she was near. It had become confusing enough looking at her when she was _not_ near. And then, much to his horror, Lenya stood up and turned into their, _his_ direction, slowly coming closer, and all he could do is to think how he needed to run away. So Alistair jumped up from his seat, faintly aware of the pair of eyebrows arched at him at that, so he mumbled the first explanation available in his mind, before stalking away.

"I... uh... need a bath. Yes, totally."

_A bath in winter? Right. Thanks, brain. For nothing._

And while he fled away from what was her company, Alistair felt the urge to hit himself for his obvious... _obviousness_. Could he have handled it any worse just now? Well maybe with a sign attached to his forehead with the written letters of "fool in love" and pointing at it while grinning like one at Lenya, but otherwise possibly... not so much.

Maybe he just should dig himself a hole and hide inside of it to wait until this delirious state of insanity called love was over. Or conveniently use the end of this path he currently walked which was the shores of Lake Calenhad and drown himself within its icy water.

Both options would be definitely preferred and easier for him than to deal with the frightening fact of what it actually meant to _be_ in love.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya saw him passing by from the corner of her eye, as she arrived in the middle of camp where most of her companions sat. "What is his problem? This time?"

"He is an utter moron?" Morrigan offered and rolled her eyes. "Who cares, anyway. May I have a word, Lenya?"

The Dalish only shrugged apathetically, but eventually directed her gaze at the witch. "Sure."

Morrigan glared at the others and motioned her to follow. "Alone."

"How thrilling," Lenya said, more or less annoyed, and went after the already-leaving Morrigan.

The mixed scent of herbs, fire, and smoke was the first thing Lenya discerned as she came closer to Morrigan's secluded tent. Odd as it was, it reminded her of _home_, within the Dalish camp often lay the same fragrance in the air that now wafted at her, as the wind turned.

Under the thin crust of frosted grass, the ground was damp and muddy. Lenya had to keep her mind focused on her feet, instead of drifting off to the long gone feeling of _belonging_. This, being a Grey Warden, was her life now, as reluctant she had been in accepting it and somehow still was. She could no longer deny this part of her, of what she had become, and was even growing more and more tired doing so.

Sighing, her gaze fell on Morrigan's curved back. She was, other than most of the humans Lenya had seen so far, a graceful person, who was always moving forward with such an elegance and a pride that had something haughty, an almost... otherworldly, ethereal aura. This made the witch fascinating to her and was probably the reason why she never thought of her as _annoying shemlen_, even not in the very beginning. As someone who had grown up in the wilderness, Morrigan valued independence and freedom above anything else, which was not so different to the view the Dalish elves, her people, had. This view was like a mutual understanding that made it so easy for Lenya to feel comfortable around the witch and had the impression that Morrigan thought the same.

Arriving at the clutter of patched leather and several furs that was her tent, the witch gestured Lenya to take a seat near the fire. Lenya gladly took the offer and alighted herself down on a fur that lay on the ground, momentarily basking in the warmth the flames offered against the cold. Doing so reminded the Warden that it had been indeed some time where she had last shared a place at the fire with Morrigan and talked. She had missed it.

"You know, I think I never did thank you for helping cure my poisoned state."

Morrigan's amber eyes flickered with surprise, but they quickly veiled again, her words cool as she spoke. "No, you haven't. But don't concern yourself with such trivialities. I did what I must. Don't read more into it than needed." She hesitated a fraction, as if weighing her words. "Yet, I'm content at not being left behind with only that fool of a Warden and losing the far more capable one."

Lenya arched an eyebrow, amused at that. "Far more capable Warden, huh? I think you give me too much credit."

Striding around the bonfire, Morrigan took a deep breath and let it out as an exasperated sigh. "We'll see. I haven't invited you here to exchange pleasantries, however." She halted her steps, and looked down at the elf. "You are planning to venture into that prison for those pathetic excuses of mages soon, right?"

Lenya blinked, confused of her question. "Yes, we need their help. You know, Blight, archdemon and all that."

Morrigan snorted, her tone derisive. "Sure. Uncaging the cattle will be helpful for that. You may be able to land a hit on the Archdemon, while 'tis occupied with chewing on a Circle Mage. Though the thought is entertaining, I must admit." Shaking her head, she focused on her initial request again. "It occurred to my mind that my mother was once divested of a particular grimoire by a most annoying templar hunter, long before I was born. But even today, Flemeth speaks of the loss with great rage. Venturing into the abhorrence that gets called "Circle" might be the perfect time to recover the tome from their possession, for surely it eventually ended up in their hands."

She sighed, felt a bit disappointed by Morrigan's obvious intent. "So you want something. _Everyone_ does. Why is it so important?"

"_Why?"_ She scoffed. "'Tis a book of spells, of the sort that Flemeth has dabbled with throughout her long life. Not to mention a powerful tool that would make _me_ more powerful and hence more useful to you. Isn't that reason enough to look for it?"

Lenya slitted her eyes and glowered up to her. "I understand this fact well enough, and it is surely nice for you but why are asking _me_ for it? You know best about _Asha'belannar's_ tome, so look out for it _yourself_ while we are there_. _How about that for a change?"

Her posture stiffened, easily giving away how repulsive the witch must have found the thought. "I would rather stay in camp."

"Oh?" Lenya tilted her head, feeling her temper rising. "So let me get this straight. You truly want that tome, but aren't picky about it enough to claim it _yourself?_ You let others do the work instead, because you would _rather not?_"

She jumped up, meeting Morrigan's eyes as she drew closer to her, vexed. "You know, there are things I would _rather not_ do myself, and yet I'm doing them anyway. And this is taken for granted and expected of me, because I'm a Grey Warden and the leader here. Which is beyond infuriating at times, but this is something I can't change. Consequently, don't expect _me_ to leave you behind in camp only because you've _not a mind_ for it." She put her chin up and the next words under her breath were tinged with a warning tone. "You are coming with me, Morrigan."

The witch crossed her arms and mirrored her furious glare. "So you _command_ me to follow? You cannot, no one can. Deprive me of the knowledge of Mother's grimoire then. I care not."

Lenya's gaze fell and she turned away with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. A moment of silence passed, before she found herself able to speak again in a calmer tone. "No, I'm not. I'm _asking_ you to come with me, because we are going to enter a tower of _magic, _and you are the only wielder of magic here. I know a bit of magic too... from my clan, but it is only _theoretical,_ and far from that what you are able to do _practically._ Unlike Alistair, I do believe that it is not going to be as easy as he thinks it will, so I don't know what to expect there, and would feel better with you at my side." She sighed anew. "The thing is, I only react very badly to people telling me to '_do this'_ and '_do that'_ and I have the feeling that you do as well."

Morrigan remained still. Even her face was an unreadable mask as she took those words in. Only her eyes narrowed a fraction. "I can't say I agree, but I can't argue with your logic."

"Good to know." Lenya smirked, feeling the anger fading away. "We will find your book, I promise. What does it look like, by the way?"

A small smile appeared on her face, but it disappeared as soon as it came. "'Tis bound in leather, and has a leafless tree on its cover. The grimoire itself is protected with wards, but I know the way around those." Morrigan sighed and bent down to her collection of potions and dried herbs in front of her tent. "Now leave. I have matters to attend to that I need to finish before I have to venture into that... disgusting prison with you."

Lenya smiled as she turned on her heels. "Already gone."

~V~

On her way back, Lenya witnessed Sten about to leave camp.

"Where are you going?"

The Qunari did not even stop his fast stride, so the elf had no choice but to quicken her own pace in order to follow. "Sten, I have asked you something."

"And I have chosen not to answer. Obviously." He marched toward Lake Calenhad's shore, which was only a short distance to tread from their camp. Normally, she would leave him be, as annoyed she was of his dismissive way now, it was not his _normal_ dismissive behavior. Something was amiss and the Dalish wanted to know what, so she went after him.

All the sudden, he stopped, causing Lenya to bump into his massive back. He turned around with a grunt. "Why are you following me?"

Lenya faked a smile, her tone caustic. "Well, I simply thought that we should get to know each other better after all these months. What is better suited for that than to go for a walk together, hmm?"

Sten snorted. "You may want to arm yourself with wit _before_ attempting to use it." Ignoring the Dalish again, he let his eyes roam over the ground of the shore's wide area. "It must be here. I… _know_ this place."

"You... have been here before?"

"Possibly." His sigh was heavy. "I have camped by Lake Calenhad before. I came to your lands with seven of the Beresaad—my brothers—to seek answers about the Blight."

Lenya blinked up to him. "Why do the Qunari care about the Blight anyway?"

"Why do you?"

"I'm a Grey Warden. So I guess this is what I have to do, huh?" she said without a spur of emotion or mirth.

Sten nodded, somewhat pleased with her answer. "Exactly. You don't ask, as it is your duty. Neither do I. The Arishok sent me and here I am."

"I didn't mean it_ that _way," Lenya muttered under her breath, nearly inaudible. "What happened to your... brothers?"

Sten looked away, his gaze lasting in the endlessness of the lake's water. "They were killed... here at these very shores, I'm sure."

"Killed?"

The Qunari let out a growl. "Darkspawn. At night, they came from everywhere: The earth beneath our feet, the air above us, our own shadows harbored them. I saw the last of the creatures cut down, too late. I fell."

Lenya looked up to the giant man, startled at seeing actual emotion in his face, albeit only briefly. "I'm... sorry." She slanted her head. "I was once overwhelmed by those bastards too, in Ostagar. Not an experience I want to repeat, I'm sure. "

"Thank...you." His expression grew hard again, the hint of emotion long gone and forgotten from his mind. "I heard about Ostagar. You made a stand where others fled the field. No one can do more."

"Hmm, I guess so." She nodded. "How did you survive the attack, Sten?"

"The farmers, those of the little village we have passed found me. How I do not know, nor how long I lay on the battlefield among the dead. I only know that when I woke, I was no longer among my brothers. And my sword was gone from my hand."

"Farmers...village?" Blinking, she needed a moment to put Sten's words together, to understand their meaning, and then it dawned her. "Oh... you mean the shemlen you killed in Lothering?"

"Yes." The Qunari nodded. "A weak mind is dangerous threat. This is why I caged myself."

"You caged.._. yourself?"_

Sten scowled. "It was needed. I have done something I regret. If you can't grasp that concept, then you are a pitiful creature."

Lenya shook her head, her gaze saddened. "No. There are many things I regret, believe me. But why did you kill them?"

Sten only sighed. "I'm no minstrel, and all this talk is wasting time. Time I could use to find—" Suddenly, he moved with unexpected speed, slipping aside the convoluted path and into a thicket, which was surrounded of what had been buildings once, but now were toppled columns and ruins the only remains left.

"Human!" In one movement, he grabbed the figure bending over loose, large pieces of armor up in the air. The man's feet were dangling helplessly over the ground as he tried to snap for air in Sten's iron grip, but the qunari couldn't care less. "_Ebost issala!_ Where did you get these things? These are not yours."

After overcoming the initial confusion, Lenya finally managed to follow him. With slow, leisurely steps, she drew closer to her companion, watching the scene, somewhat amused. "Sten, getting information requires for that shemlen actually to be able to sp –" Stopping, she blinked and came closer to the stocky man, observing his weathered face that was still bruised from Alistair's blow and smirked. "Mighty White Falcons, eh?"

The man's eyes grew wide as he recognized her. "It... is _you_ again. The Grey Warden elf!" He let out a gasp, whether due to the shock of realization or Sten's grasp, she couldn't say.

While holding the human still up, Sten turned his head to the Dalish, frowning. "You know this _bas dathrasi?"_

Lenya shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, I wouldn't call it that. Let's say the_ shem'alas_ dared to mess with me... or rather his... now _dead_ or_ injured_… friends." She turned to the man with a grin. "And today we meet again. Sucks to be you, huh?"

Sten snorted derisively and shook him by his collar. _"_Humans."

"P-please don't kill me!" he whimpered plaintively, but to Lenya's big surprise, not in Sten's direction. He was looking at _her._

"Kill you?" She found some morbid amusement to see the once arrogant human like that, so her grin widened. "No, I won't do that... but my big angry friend here will, if you don't cooperate."

"A-a-a-anything," he stammered, as far he was capable. "J-just release me."

Without a word or glance, Sten let the man fall to the ground like a wet sack, only to draw his two-hander in the next moment. It hissed with a sigh from its sheath and got immediately pointed at the human's neck. "Talk."

"Are these from your armor? Maker had I known...We have bought the looting spot from a man just days ago. Said the giants belonging these things were all dead, though. So, I went here to check."

"Obviously..._one_ survived." Lenya piped up, amused. "So Sten, is what you are looking for here?"

"No."

"You haven't even look – "

"I know it, elf," he interrupted her with a growl. "My sword is part of my soul and I would feel it if it were here."

"Your... soul? Oo-kaaay," she drawled and blinked, bewildered, before backing a bit away from the Qunari. Creators knew she loved swords_ too_, but this description sounded way too _obsessive_ for her taste.

Sten's eyes slitted as he glowered at her, though his the weapon did not leave the human's neck. "Do your people not have souls as we know them? Convenient for you. That sword was made for my hand alone. I have carried it from the day I was set into the Beresaad. I was to die wielding it for my people."

Relief washed over her at his explanation, seeing it was merely a cultural difference. "I... see. Maybe you should... _ask_ the _shem'alas_ where his ridiculous organization got this looting spot from."

"Parshaara, I was getting to that." Turning his head to the human, who remained frozen and wide-eyed in shock on the ground, he let out a growl. "You heard the question."

"A- a man." He seemed to shrink before his whisper. "Named Faryn. Said he wanted to return to the marketplace in front of Orzammar to sell his goods."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Orzammar? Ugh...we just went there."

The man already forgotten, Sten whirled toward the entrance and started to head for it with fast strides. "Then we return."

She stepped in his way and crossed her arms to glare up to him. "No."

"Can I... err... go now?" the mercenary asked meekly from behind them.

"You are still there? What are you waiting for? Pathetic_ shemlen_..." she said, and then merely glanced at him,before returning to stare at her giant companion. "There is no time for it. We have to fight the Blight, you said that often enough yourself."

Sten snorted. "I have seen how you have done _that _so far." He continued his steps. "And I need my sword. Even if I could cross Ferelden and Tevinter unarmed and alone to bring my report to the Arishok, I would be slain on sight by the Antaam. They would know me as soulless, a deserter. No soldier would cast aside his blade while he drew breath."

Lenya looked after him and let out a long, annoyed sigh, well aware of her words now. "We will find it... after the Mage Tower, but gaining allies is more important now. Leave if you want, but don't expect me to follow your giant ass back to Orzammar before having spoken with the mages. My duty lies here."

_Duty_... it was a word she was reluctant to use, because it tasted hollow in her mouth, nor was she particularly fond of its heavy meaning. And yet it was _the_ needed word to make the Qunari stop. He was a valuable companion that she didn't want to loose... and one she_ actually_ liked.

"After the Mage Tower?"

"Yes. I guess we need to restock anyway. Also," she said, and shuddered at the mere thought, "Shale has some business to attend there, too."

His heavy feet crunched on the crisp frost on the ground as he turned. "I see." He sighed. "Very well. I'll wait, then."

Lenya smiled. "Thanks, Sten."

"But I would be of more use with_ my_ sword in hand."

"I know what you mean." She nodded in agreement, a wistful smile on her lips. "I have an old dagger I love. It is heavily notched and blunt already, but I can't part myself from it."

His lips twisted into an almost smile. "That sounds... useless."

"It has value for me. Much, even. It belonged to my father."

"I see." He nodded, but it ended with a scoffing sound. "So. elf, are you going to continue wasting time, or are you going to stop the Blight?"

She stopped and looked upward to the sky, enjoying the weak light of the sun on her face. "I will. But not today."

It wasn't even a lie. For all her prior pressing on and hurry, she felt no haste now to return into a building of stone that the Mage Tower was. Despite the freezing cold and the looming threat of the Blight, Lenya actually enjoyed being outside with no walls confining her, especially after all those months in the Deep Roads.

Sten didn't share her enthusiasm and sped his steps up, grumbling under his breath. "Parshaara."

Lenya smiled while following him back to camp. Venturing to the Mage Tower could wait until tomorrow. The Blight would be still there then, anyway.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya sat in front of the fire, musing over the happenings of the day and of what would follow while twisting her father's dagger in her hands. Her mind wandered, thinking about so many things and none at the same time. Being so deep in thoughts, she even failed to notice how_ he_ approached her from behind.

"H-hey."

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice that had an unusual nervous tinge within. Still not turning around, she was all too aware of his presence now, the faint pulsing of her blood so very palpable. "Alistair."

"Yeah... that's me. Deliverer of unpleasant news and witty one liners." There was a pause. "I just don't have one now, I guess."

The Dalish looked down at the old dagger in her hands and smirked. "Better that way."

He stepped closer, somewhat hesitant to do so, and observed the object in her hands. "Wow, that blade has seen better days, huh?"

Lenya turned and scowled at that, causing him to literally flinch backward as their eyes met. Her hard expression faded into something more somber, her tone quiet and somewhat lost in memory. "All beauty is nothing but a fading moment. The shemlen are unable to see anything but _that_, fleeting as they are. We Dalish live longer. _Normally." _Lenya looked at her bandaged hand; the wound that she caused herself at that news had still not healed. "Never mind."

He sighed long at the sadness in her voice, and found it even harder to resist the urge to comfort her now with all these feelings attached. Alistair didn't want her to be so gloomy and lost as she appeared at her words. He simply wanted it to make it better. Well, maybe there was _one_ thing that would help. If only talking hadn't become so damn hard in her presence, or thinking straight for that matter. Alistair took another breath, trying to calm his nervous mind. It wasn't helping much, of course, but he had spent almost all day preparing it, so he wouldn't let the opportunity slip.

"C-can I talk to you for a moment?"

Her lips twisted into a smirk as she looked up to him, eyes glinting with amusement. "Well, you already are, Puppy."

He felt how his heart gave a start. _Maker... that smile of hers._

Alistair looked at the ground, shaking his head as he chuckled. "True. Okay, then, let me correct that. Can you _walk_ with me for a moment?"

_Another _request? She already had to find a book, venture back to Orzammar, not to mention into the Deep Roads again for her companions' sake. So what did he want now? Lenya sighed, totally not of a mind for that. Despite that, she stood up, turning to him with a shrug. "Why not?"

He led her away from the main camp and Lenya watched the slowly sinking sun in the distance as they moved forward in silence. The air was crisp and even more freezing now where it had started to grow dark, causing her to shiver under the thick, woolen coat she wore. She recognized first layer of ice glistening on the lake's water as the red-orange light of the sun grazed its surface. It was a cold winter, but she had experienced worse in her life.

Winters where her clan was barely able to hunt or find food due to perpetual snow storms with a cutting cold that bit into every fiber of her skin. Compared to that, this winter was rather... _mild._ Lenya looked over to Alistair, noticing the tense posture and the concentrated expression in his face as he put his feet forward. It wasn't a long distance they had walked, as she still could see the campfire from afar, but it seemed like an eternity due to the lingering stillness in between them. She did not mind much, and even found herself enjoying doing nothing but following him, because otherwise it was always expected of her to lead.

"I have been thinking," Alistair suddenly said, biting his lips.

"Oh?" Her eyebrow shot up at that. "What a rare occasion. I must write that down."

"Right, Miss Snarkypants, could you..." He sighed while suppressing a grin. "I don't know... listen for a minute?"

"Why? You haven't said anything... until now."

Alistair groaned. "You aren't making it easier..."

"Bad news, then?" She slowed her pace to roll her eyes, annoyed. "Okay, what is it this time?"

"Why do you think I only talk about doom and gloom when speaking with you?" Lenya pointedly only looked at him, which made him feel all flustered. "Riiight, _that_. But it is not this time, I swear." He took another breath, feeling how the cold air filled his lungs. It did little to calm his racing heart that seemed to be normal now with her near, yet he felt he was able to continue. "I figured... I haven't properly apologized for telling you the truth about the taint. I – "

"You _have_... yesterday, to be exact," Lenya interrupted him, a bit harsher than intended. "And stop apologizing a hundred times, it gets tedious within time. Creators, make and stand by your opinion for once."

He blinked, surprised by her sullen reply.

Instantly, she shook herself, and let out a sigh. "_Abelas_, puppy. It is just that the all day long people are demanding and expecting... stuff from me already and I'm getting tired of that."

He smiled. "I see. You are doing an excellent job, however. I mean we have already secured the aid of the dwarves. That is no small feat, Lenya."

"Yeah, tell me about it..." Still a bit annoyed, she defiantly put her chin up to look at him. "So what is it _you_ want? Any lost objects I should retrieve for you? That seems to be the newest trend, lately."

Her stare bore into him, while his mind screamed _"you"_ as answer at the first part of her question. Alistair mentally shook himself. He couldn't have her, couldn't let her know what he felt while there was a duty to attend to. Lenya was still his fellow Warden and they still had a Blight to defeat, these things haven't changed in those little hours in his awareness of his feeling for her. Better to leave things as they were, it was _easier_ to simply remain her fellow Warden instead a lovestruck, human idiot in her eyes. That didn't mean he couldn't care for her in his own way, and Maker knew, he _did._

"If you could find me some cheese, that would be great, thanks. I mean, I haven't have cheese in months." He laughed at her scowl. "No... actually... I want to give _you_ something."

Lenya was baffled. "Give me... something?"

Alistair ran a sheepish hand through his hair. "Well, I have thought about the things you have said... about the Deep Roads, I mean."

One eyebrow raised in suspicion. "And?"

"You never had the chance to properly say farewell to Nithius. I know you liked him."

Her heart nearly stopped at that and she felt a twinge of guilt, but she managed to keep a straight face somehow.

Alistair stared at the road before him, unable to look at her, yet well aware that they would reach their destination at any moment. "And then I remembered what you told me once... about the Dalish... your people."

He fumbled, feeling all awkward and nervous as he stepped in her way, urging her to stop walking. Lenya blinked, noticing they had arrived of what seemed to be a small clearing at the side of the lake. It was nothing like the glades she used to know and only a few leafless trees were surrounding the rather wide and sparse area behind it, yet found she herself marveling at this sight. It had been so long that she had been in a forest, in a real, endless one that she used to know and grew up in, so that these half a dozen trees awoke a delicate resonance of belonging within her, odd as it was. Lenya simply smiled at being here until she became aware of his presence again, that he was watching her.

She heard him swallowing hard, right before he cleared his throat and looked away, his eyes fixing the ground. "Burning people isn't how the Dalish honor their dead, right? Well... it is rather stupid, I guess, seeing it is winter but – " Her fellow Warden fell silent with a sigh, and then suddenly drew close and lay something, an object, into the palm of her hand. First hesitantly, and then quickly, Alistair backed away again from her frame, enjoying the display of confusion on her face, that little crease of her eyebrows he learned to love.

Looking down on her hands, Lenya recognized the object was a peach pit and the dirtiest and ugliest she had ever seen at that. It was weathered and shriveled already, as if it had been out in the harsh weather for months. Before she had the chance to frown or to ask if he had gone mad, Alistair raised his voice once more. "I found that, not far from here. And before you throw that at my head now, let me show you... this." He stepped aside, his massive form making way for the sight on a freshly scooped hole in the ground.

Suddenly it dawned her what he meant with his words, why he gave her this old peach pit, and the epiphany hit her hard and unprepared.

"New life springing from death..." Alistair halted, seeing how Lenya stared at the hole, not moving, nor blinking. He ducked his head to meet her eyes and frowned. "Have I done something wrong, now?"

_No... something incredibly _right_. Stupid human._

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend. I just thought that..." He sighed. "I'm no botanist, but even I know that – " The rest of his words died somewhere in the nothing that his mind had become as he felt her arms around him, crushed into a sudden embrace.

"It is perfect..." Lenya whispered, and he was barely aware of her words, lost and floating in the feeling and heat that was her presence. Before he could marvel at how perfect she fitted in his arms or become inebriated by her scent, she awkwardly backed away again, much to his dismay.

Alistair found it hard to speak or think for the next few moments, while her touch and scent still lingered, his heart and mind a rushing but sweet mess. He was keenly aware of the heat in his cheeks, hoping the red light of the sinking sun would cover it up.

"I... sorry." Lenya blinked, surprised at her own reaction.

Taking another breath to get hold on the onslaught of feelings inside, he shot her a sly grin. "If I had known that you would've liked that hole so much... I would have made a_ bigger_ one. Despite the frozen earth. It is just symbolic, anyway, due to winter and the cold where no trees will grow while the ground is frozen like that... and that old pit is not really suitable for it as well and... I'll totally stop talking now."

Lenya shook her head and smiled at him. "Stop apologizing, idiot. I said I liked it, right?"

"Right. Sorry. Oh, see I have done it _again_." Alistair was horrified that he couldn't hold onto his prior intent, as the words kept bubbling out of his mouth. "I should go now... and leave you to your Dalish... culture..._ stuff_, which I totally don't want to disrupt." Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to get out of there, away from her and all the confused mess she now tended to reduce him into.

"No. Stay..."

He only needed those two words from her and he stopped his steps, whirling around into her direction with a resigned sigh. "Are you sure? I'm not exactly Dalish, you know..."

"Hmm," Lenya hummed with a smirk. "I recognized that. I just think that Nithius would have liked it if you were here too."

"I see." Alistair drew in a deep breath, thinking on all the conversations he had with the elf in the Deep Roads, of his calm and sensible manners. "He was a good man."

"Hmm…" she hummed anew, biting her lip. "He could still be alive..."

Alistair stepped round to stand at her side, yet considerate enough of her to leave enough space. He looked at her. "It is not your fault, Lenya. Stop thinking that."

Lenya didn't answer, momentarily staring at the hole on the ground. _"Mythal'enaste_, how did you get all this frozen earth loose?"

He smirked. "Well... I had a lot of time today. So… does this ritual, so to speak, require me to do something?"

For a moment, Lenya was tempted to make him jump into the ice-cold lake and declare it as necessary part of the ritual, but she didn't want to deal with his complaining afterward, so she held her tongue. "No."

"Aw... and here I thought we would dance naked around the fi – " Becoming aware of his words, the young Warden blushed. "...I will go over there and shove my foot in my mouth. Like... now." As fast as possible, he descended from Lenya's immediate sight, cursing under his breath.

Lenya chose to ignore his idiotic antic with a shake of her head and kneeled down on the frosty ground. She placed the peach pit into the hole, her other hand gripping a bit of the cold soil, letting it trickle down on the stone. Her voice was quiet, nearly solemn at those words that sounded so foreign to Alistair and yet... _beautiful._

"_Hahren na melana sahlin."_

She repeated the same procedure, now only three times before speaking.

"_Emma ir abelas souver'inan isala hamin vhenan him dor'felas."_

Bowing over and down to the earth with her upper body, she pushed the remaining loose earth into the hole with both hands, closing it.

"_In uthenera na revas._"

Lenya held in that position for a moment, and then nodded slowly and deeply before coming back to her feet. _"Nithius, emma lethallin, dareth shiral in Falon'din ven an'din."_

Her eyes lasted a moment longer on the now closed ground, on what was a symbolic farewell for the first friend she had known outside her clan.

_You are not alone, lethallan._

He had said that to her once, and maybe she really _wasn't._

Glancing over to Alistair, who stood at a respectful distance and in silence, she smiled. It was not the smile she usually showed, that amused smirk with nothing more than curling the corner of her mouth up. No, this was the sort of smile she last had on her face as she ran through the woods, free like the wind and the cracking of dried leaves underneath her feet, without any boundaries and attachment to time and space.

For this precious fraction of a moment, Lenya was back in that forest and not a Grey Warden fighting the Blight. She was simply a Dalish woman who felt the extent of freedom again that she believed to have lost forever.

That kind of smile lingered on her face, heartfelt and _real_, her words hushed but equally sincere.

"Thank you."

Alistair could do nothing but look at her, once again amazed by the wonder that was Lenya. And with every second she smiled like that, he wondered more and more how it could have taken him so long to see, to _really_ see her. Now that he did, she wasn't the same anymore to him. She had grown in significance and size beyond being the other, fellow Warden to a beautiful, lovable woman in his eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to see her smile like she just did. If that was what love meant, to feel incredibly content simply when she was happy, then love was possibly not that bad at all.

"You know, I have been thinking. About..._ that._" Her voice broke into his thoughts, making him blink at her sudden words.

"That?"

Her eyes snapped back to the piece of earth. "I don't want to return to the Deep Roads... then. Even after knowing what will happen... with me. I don't want to die among them, buried under all the stone and filth, thrown together with rotting darkspawn on a pile of bones." Lenya's gaze shot up and past the trees in the background, lingering in the endlessness of the red-tinged horizon beyond. "I want to die how I was born. Free."

"Well... it is tradition... but not... mandatory, I guess." Alistair took a deep breath that quivered faintly. Maker, why was she talking about her death just like that? It was disconcerting.

"We Dalish... live longer than... you humans. We had been immortal once. All elves used to be, before humans showed up, that is. There's something quick about you – you grow quick, you die quick." Lenya sighed. "We do not. Keeping away from... _shemlen_ had let us regain some of the longevity. So thirty years – while long – seems barely more than a longer moment to me, compared to what span of life I'd have to expect. Normally."

Alistair furrowed his brows, confused. "So being among humans... kills you?"

She smiled faintly as she shook her head. "No. In my case, the taint does. And it would have done that much earlier if I hadn't become a Grey Warden... or worse. You know, I have never seen it as something that... actually.._. saved_ my life. Adding years instead of dying instantly of the taint, even if it is eventually only thirty years." She paused for a moment, reflecting her words. "Maybe... maybe being a Grey Warden isn't _that_ bad, after all."

"Sure, there is just an archdemon and an army of darkspawn we have to defeat on our own, but hey, we got spirit," he jested and shrugged nonchalantly, only to cover up how _very_ moved he was by her confession.

"Idiot. I'm trying to be optimistic here, so you aren't helpful."

"I know. Er, I know what you mean, I mean," Alistair quickly corrected, and then shook his head. "Mhm... that sounded better in my head."

His rambling was answered by a chuckle of hers. "You are a really, _really_ odd human, annoying and infuriating at times with your constant babbling and whimpering –"

"Err… thanks?"

"—but, I'm glad that you are the other Grey Warden," Lenya finished with a smile.

He felt the nervous fluttering in his stomach again. "Really?"

Her grin was wry. "Yes. Creators, I swear if it had been the annoying shemlen Jory or Daveth up there with me in the Tower, I would have killed them long before the darkspawn had the chance and left for my clan afterward."

Coming closer, he inclined his head to meet her eyes. "You know, I'm also glad... that you are _you_. And that I was lucky enough to survive with you. Really."

She was amazed by the warmth in his voice, more than she possibly should. Shaking her head, she turned around to go. "Idiot. Now let us return, we still have this weird tower left to visit... tomorrow."

Slowly following, he let his eyes linger on her back and smirked. "Aw, so you'll take me with you?"

Lenya rolled her eyes, yet smiled. "Of course. I'm not the only Grey Warden here, after all."

.

* * *

.

**Elvish notes:**

The ritual words are taken from *Merril* in DA2, so I have no translation for that. *hides*

_"Nithius, emma lethallin, dareth shiral in Falon'din ven an'din."_ - Nithius my friend, farewell. May falon'din guide you safely to the beyond.

_Mythal'enaste-_ "A term akin to a shocked "Oh my god"

**Review please :)**


	45. SNAFU

_**A/N:** And now we return to the Blight story line and kick some twisted abomination asses in the Tower. Or sort of. Nothing that special but a needed chapter for the built up, I suppose. SNAFU – Situation Normal, All Fucked Up. Lol. Don't worry the Mage Tower quest-line won't be nearly as long as the Deep Roads... but extended nonetheless. Hey you should know THAT by now :p Thank you all for your read, review, faves and exploding stats these days. Much appreciated, really. _

_Once more special thanks to **Mackilian** who week for week works her way through __extraordinarily walls of __text to kill the grammar mistakes like Lenya the darkspawn, so that you can read that. Heh. Thanks for your patience.  
_

* * *

.

**Chapter 44: S.N.A.F.U.**

.

Morrigan merely bestowed the looming tower in the distance with a sneer before looking away again. "How very fitting that they would build a prison for mages in the middle of a lake and make it look like a giant phallus."

Lenya whirled around, blinking. "What is a _phallus?_ I don't know such a word in the human tongue." Arai looked up to her and whined, confused.

Zevran chuckled. "Oh, my dear Warden, so very innocent. That is admirable. I could explain this word to you... or _show_ you."

"Maker, _no_!" Alistair said, louder than intended.

The assassin raised a curious eyebrow at his stark reaction, and smirked. "Oh, my dear Alistair, feeling protective today, no? I'm quite amazed that you know its meaning."

Oghren snorted. "Phallus. _Erected_ in the middle. Hehehe."

Alistair let out a long sigh. "Can we _just_ go to the tower? _Please?_ Why do we need so many people for that anyway?"

It had snowed overnight and the ground was covered with a thin crust of white flakes that the icy wind whirled around his form. It made him shiver.

Lenya looked at him, a bit annoyed. "Morrigan is a mage, you can dispel magic, Oghren is... as good as resistant against magic." Lenya shrugged. "Compelling reasons, I say, when visiting a _Mage_ Tower." The Mabari agreed with his mistress with an excited bark.

Alistair still found it unnecessary to bring so many people for a simple treaty talk, but he couldn't argue with her logic. And he hated it when that happened.

"And what about me?" Zevran piped up, throwing Alistair out of his thoughts with his annoying voice.

"You are just here because I don't trust you to stay alone in camp with the others. Simple as that," Lenya told him.

"Oh? So you want to keep a close eye on me? I'm honored, my dear Warden." He chuckled, amused. "But I think it is only fair to warn you that I'm doing the same, as it is a pleasure to look at such a beauty like you."

Lenya only scowled before turning away and walking toward the narrow docks of Lake Calenhad with Arai in tow. She saw chunks of floating ice on the water's surface, secretly wondering how the humans would reach the tower when the winter was more severe than now and the lake all frozen. The whole concept of locking mages up in a tower was utterly bewildering to the Dalish, but so was the shemlen world as a whole.

Her eyes snapping back on the way before her, she suddenly noticed how Morrigan was stalking away... in the opposite direction of where they were heading. "Where do you think you are going?"

The witch scoffed and didn't turn or stop her steps. "Away, of course. That templar fool there said we can't go over to the tower. Too bad, really."

"Morrigan!" Lenya's tone was exasperated, somewhat warning. "You promised."

"Leave her be, Lenya." Alistair's eyes narrowed as they followed the witch. "It really isn't a loss."

"Grimoire." It was _the_ one word that made Morrigan stop dead in her tracks. Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed heavily, but she still didn't turn around.

"A promise for a promise, " the Dalish added, in an admonishing voice lacking the prior sharpness.

It worked. Morrigan turned around with a groan, said, "Fine!" and then returned to the group.

Alistair glared at her. "Oh, that is_ too_ kind of you, really."

"Shut up, templar twit, " Morrigan growled into his direction then her lips curled up in a sneer. "Oh! By the way, are you two related by any chance? _That _templar-twit over there seems to have the same dim-witted intellect as you. So the both of you have much in common."

Before Alistair could retort, Zevran barged in and said, "Now, now such hostility. Tsk. We should rather concentrate on actually crossing this cold lake before going at each other throats. Save the fun part for later!"

"That's the first good thing I've heard from you today," Lenya groused in the elf's direction. Together, with her dog, she sped up her pace.

Morrigan only scoffed, but remained silent as she followed their leader to the side of the docks.

.

~V~

.

Lenya straightened herself before the templar in full armor and glared up to him. "I want to go to the tower, so let me."

The man blinked once, and then twice as he looked down on the little, demanding person before him with the huge wardog on her side. "No. I have the strict orders to let no one pass. And I'm the authority here and I say the tower is off-limits to all. Now leave."

"Authority?" Lenya scoffed. "You stand here in the cold for hours and hours, guarding a half-frozen lake, shem. That is hardly anything special. That is rather pathetic, in fact."

Behind her, Morrigan snickered.

Now the templar changed his stance as well to make himself taller than he actually was. "Oh? And what makes you so special that you think you can pass over my authority?"

She shrugged, her voice and bearing matter of fact. "I have official business in the tower. I'm a Grey Warden."

There was none of the scorn, none of the regret in her voice that had been blurred into those words before. It made Alistair proud to hear her talking like that, knowing how long it had taken her to actually accept her circumstance.

"Also, I have a huge, angry Mabari here. He hasn't been fed for hours, you know. Makes him kind of… twitchy," the Dalish added after a brief pause and smirked as Arai growled to emphasize her words.

"I might suggest that you don't make this lady angry, either," Zevran said, drawing closer to the man with a malicious grin. "She gets twitchy then, _too_. And this is something to behold, unless you are the _one_ on the receiving end."

"A-are you threatening me?" His eyes grew wide before he returned to his prior, sturdy stance. "No. I said _no_. No one is going to reach the tower. I have one task and one task only and Maker knows I will do this_ right._"

"That was helpful..." Alistair commented dryly in Zevran's direction.

The elf heaved his shoulders. "Just trying to help."

With a sigh, Alistair now turned to the man. "Look, I'm glad you are taking your job seriously and the Maker surely will approve of your... err... _dedication_ in guarding this vessel, but what don't you understand about the words 'Grey Warden' and 'official business?' I think my fellow Warden made that clear enough."

"You keep saying that you are Grey Wardens." The templar crossed his arms and looked challengingly at both of the Wardens. "Prove it."

"Prove it?" Lenya stormed forward and glared up to the human. "Are you serious, shem?"

Behind her, Oghren snorted. "Heh... did you hear that noise too?"

Zevran leaned in to him. "What noise?"

"The snapping of Missy's nerves, of course. That fellow is in for a nug-ride, I say."

He smirked in return. "Like I said, something to behold."

"Y-yes, quite," the templar said, but his unsure voice belied his words. Then after another moment, his chin raised up in defiance. "Let me see some righteous Grey Wardening."

Before Alistair could say anything, he heard the all-to-familiar sound of steel singing as it got freed from the sheath in one single movement. To his horror, Lenya was pointing the weapon on the man's neck. "Lenya, this isn't going to help our course, actually."

"Heh. About time, I say. Thought made all this tedious talking only me twitchy."

The Dalish ignored him and Oghren. Instead, she concentrated on the human before her, too much time had been wasted already, and her patience ran thin. It was not that she intended to kill this dim-witted shemlen, but if he wanted a show, he would get one. All what was needed to get over this Creators-damned, lake and out of the freezing cold.

Lowering her weapon again, her eyes locked with his, the tone in her voice rumbling with scorn and menace. "Have you ever encountered a darkspawn, shem? Ever stared into the hollow, milky eyes of one, felt and breathed the air when one was near? Smelled the odor of corruption and decay while they relentlessly murder everything in their cold frenzy?"

"N-no?" Blinking, the man backed away, each step backward led closer to the edge of the lake. Lenya followed him closely and let the tip of her sword slide lazily on the ground, so that the blade made a scraping sound onto the frozen soil.

"Well, I have. Your nightmare is my every day. I have killed dozens of these tainted bastards already." She smirked into his appalled face. "But, well, you surely will soon see them for yourself, when the Blight overruns your pathetic post here. Soon enough, this place will be crawling with darkspawn, all of Ferelden will. Because this will happen when the Blight runs unchecked, when I'm not allowed to attend to my official business in the Mage Tower."

Alistair watched this scene with enraptured fascination. Somewhere in his mind he _knew_ that what she was doing was wrong and incredibly scary, but the larger part of his brain was too occupied with finding her enormously..._. hot_ to actually pay heed to this saner part. Maker, this love thing was quickly turning him into a pile of drooling goo faster than expected.

_Great..._

Lenya shrugged. "Oh well, it is nice to know that _you_ are to blame then for all this." Instantly, she spun on her heels. "Come on, Alistair, we have to leave Ferelden to gather the other Grey Wardens in Orlais and wait on its border until Ferelden falls."

Her fellow Warden blinked as if awaking out of a reverie. Maybe he was. "Wh-what?" he managed to ask, still blinking.

Unperturbed by his confusion, she threaded further away from the dock again, her steps leisurely and slow.

"W-wait...maybe I can make an exception ..._this_ time."

At those words, Lenya stopped, but did not turn around.

Alistair shook his head, greatly amused. "You planned for that all along, hadn't you? You are a bad, baaad woman."

She whirled, showing him a mischievous smirk that sped his heart into a faster rate.

"Otherwise, I would have drowned him in the lake. That was plan B."

His eyebrow shot up. "How... comforting to know that you had one."

She walked past him and back to the templar. "Well. Can we go now?"

"Under one condition." Lenya tensed at these words. "You scratch my back, I scratch yours, right? That dark-eyed temptress over there... surely the tower would be far too dull for her. Because it gets a little lonely out here sometimes... and you know, you could just leave her with me –– "

Before Lenya could say anything, the witch sauntered forward to the templar and smirked. "Oh. Excellent. I have been hoping for new prey."

Suddenly his voice pitched higher than intended. "Prey?"

She looked over to Lenya, and motioned them to leave. She mustered the man with a gaze that was ready to devour him whole. "'Twill take but a moment. Perhaps you should go aboard the vessel to prepare while we are away. We must row ourselves across. I fear the lad will no longer have the use of his limbs... or his eyes, once I am done with him."

The templar was backing away, suddenly not so enraptured by this woman anymore. "Er... maybe I should – "

She clasped her hands together in glee. "Wonderful! I can sense his terror! Oh, that will make the loving all the sweeter."

Turning to Lenya, who struggled to not burst out in a fit of laughter, he nearly screamed, "So you said you wanted to get across? Maybe we should go now. Right now. _Now_." With that, he fled onto the relatively spacious boat and started to get it ready, his fingers still trembling. His actions were accompanied by the laughter that burst out of Lenya.

"Stupid... human... wow... did you see his... face? Oh... the terror..." She snorted, holding her belly that was rumbling with laughter. Even Morrigan couldn't hold back any longer.

"Heh. I think he just browned his trousers. Funny, that." Oghren grinned. "So, we are visiting a tower full of sparklefingers, eh? Hope they have something to kill... or good magical booze. Or both. Heh, _magical_ booze, get it?"

Zevran chuckled. "Certainly we will, my stout friend... once our lovely Warden has stopped laughing, that is." For a moment he looked into the direction of the still-agitated human. "Women can be so cruel indeed, I think he will never forget this humiliation." Shrugging, he turned to the ship and slipped on it within one movement. "Arr, pirate Zevran is aboard and reporting for duty."

Alistair watched both women laughing in unison as he passed them by to board the ship. "Actually... the resurrection of the evil witch club is beyond scary..."

The Mabari was dancing around them, barking excited until they finally stopped their laughing fit. "I know, Arai, don't worry, I won't leave you behind this time," Lenya said, straightened herself again and ruffled him behind his ear. Looking across the lake, she surveyed the tower looming in the distance and took a deep breath. "That was... amusing, but it is time to get this over with. So let's get going, Morrigan."

Following the Dalish, Morrigan sighed. "'Tis true. The sooner the better."

.

.

* * *

.

The water was still, except for the chunks of floating ice that thumped against the boat at times, which the templar pushed aside with his oars. It was not a long trip across, but one spent in silence, the rushing of the water underneath the only calming sound. Lenya enjoyed the stillness, observing how the light was reflected on the lake's surface, the steady, shaking movement of the boat not unlike the one of an aravel.

Ultimately, the man was able to maneuver the ship across the lake without any problems, leading the group from the boat on the tower's shore. The wooden platform was littered with all kind of crates, most likely supplies for the tower. The actual path to the tower was short, its black stone, close up, even more imposing. It indeed reached the sky, but it had something somber around it, a dark remembrance of despair. It was probably nothing, and yet Lenya couldn't shake off the feeling of wrongness. It tingled in all of her senses.

She shivered as she waited for the others to leave the vessel as well, and this time, the cold was not to blame.

"So we are here. I hope you are – " The templar's words died in his throat as suddenly a stone flew at the back of his head, knocking him out cold. All pair of eyes snapped into the direction from where the object came, seeing a blond-haired man in a blue robe standing there, heaving his hands up in innocence.

"Uh, I didn't do it."

"No..." Alistair's eyes narrowed as he spun to him. "Your stone did."

"True, that." He shrugged, the wooden staff secured at his back easily giving away that he was a mage. "No need in denying it, is there?" The mage came closer, bending over the unconscious templar and tsked. "Poor Carroll, won't be boarding that boat so soon again, will he? Well, it would be a waste to let this wonderful boat all alone, right?"

Alistair blinked, thoroughly baffled by such boldness. "You want to flee the tower? This makes you an apostate!"

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the Warden. "Such a harsh word for someone like me. Let's say I just prefer to have more space... and less abominations – " His words stopped and his lips twisted into a smirk when he saw Lenya behind Alistair. Completely ignoring the former templar now, he passed him by and bowed politely at her. "Hello, lovely lady. Name is Anders. What a wonderful coincidence to meet you here."

Lenya only scowled in response and walked past him without a single word.

Then the mage discovered Morrigan and turned to her. "Hello, lovely mage lady. My name is Anders. What a wonderful coincidence to meet you here."

Morrigan scoffed as she glared at him. "That is pathetic, mage. Do you believe I didn't hear the same words just seconds ago?"

Anders winked at her. "Just trying, my lady. No harm in that."

"I can harm you in more ways then you can imagine, idiot," the witch said with a snarl.

"Oh, that would be quite fascinating, I'm sure... but I have to leave. Pity."

Oghren snorted at the blond mage, mustering him from head to toe. "Another sparklefingers? Funny that you are all dress like little sissies."

"Oh, I kind of like him." Zevran grinned. "He is just not varied with his seduction methods, no?"

"I might appear ungrateful to not ask why you are here and all that... but, well, time is a-wasting. Gotta go, you know." With that, he bent down to pick up his little pack of supplies and went to the vessel.

"Wait... you said Anders was your name? "Lenya called him out, making him stop. She bit her lip, pausing for a moment. "Did you know a mage named Nithius?"

"Nithius... Nithius, that rings a bell, yeah." He stepped round to face her with a smile. "Good guy, he was quite the womanizer here in the tower. His frail elf look got the women weak in the knees every time... well except when I was around, of course." He sighed wistfully. "Good times in the tower, if one of the few. We even fled together years ago... heard he made it and the templars still haven't found him, while I had a rather unfortunate encounter as we parted. That lucky bastard. How is he?"

"He is dead," Alistair said flatly, glaring at him. Everything about this mage was making his templar senses tingle, which were buried underneath otherwise. Or it was just the pure dislike at first sight. He couldn't say for sure.

Blinking, Anders' shoulders sagged, if only for a short brink of a moment. "Oh,_ not_ so lucky then, I guess. Did you know him?"

Lenya sighed. "A friend, yes. We met him in Orzammar and he wanted to become a Grey Warden."

"A Grey Warden? That is... not for me, really. All the darkspawn and death? Way too gloomy. It didn't work out for him, I take it?"

Lenya rolled her eyes. "I'm a Grey Warden, too, you know." She lowered her gaze, looking down at the ground that was covered with white flakes. "And no... it didn't. Unfortunately."

Anders stepped closer to her, frowning. "Aw, I made you sad. Sorry." Looking down, he saw her bandaged hand. "As a compensation... let me fix that." Before Lenya could flinch away, he took her injured hand in both of his and murmured a few words. Instantly. a faint blue light poured from his fingertips and into the elf's hand, closing and healing the deep cut permanently.

Alistair felt something akin to anger at this sight, a heated rage that slid like fire inside and settled in his guts. It wasn't the healing of the wound that caused this alien feeling, but how the mage was touching her hand and looked at her that made him want to scream at him, drag her away or even... _punch_ him. Instead, he only balled his fists at his sides, gritted his teeth, and pressed a, "We have to move on," out. It was a totally nonsensical feeling, he knew, because she did not belong to him... or _anyone_ for that matter, and yet couldn't he help to feel so... _agitated_ at this. Was that jealousy? If so, he had just discovered another thing of love... that was _not_ helpful at all.

Lenya flexed her hand and observed her palm, a bit baffled that it got healed so thoroughly. "Thanks... I guess." Getting rid of the bandage, she was even more astonished that there was no scar to see, nothing, just her hand as it was before. He really was... good in the healing arts, annoying, _but_ good.

"Aw, anything for a nice lady such as yourself." Anders chuckled. "Scars are nothing that belong on your fair skin, really."

_Correction: very annoying. Like, Zevran annoying._

Alistair let out an exasperated groan. "Lenya... the tower."

The mage turned to him. "Wow... you really intend to go there? That is insane."

Alistair straightened himself before the mage, glowering at him. "I'm a Grey Warden, it's my job. I don't run away from it, you know."

Anders returned the glare. "How. Very. Nice. For. You."

Oghren was watching the argument with great interest, and leaned over to Zevran. "Heh, wanna bet on who will win?" Ten silver on Mr. Sparklefingers here."

"You bet again against Alistair? I heard he can smite mages... so if this isn't some sort of templar kink, I think he has a fair chance this time. Count me in."

"I might regret asking," Lenya said, disrupting their fight, "but the air is so... _thick_ here. Is there something going on in that tower?"

"So you noticed, hmm?" Anders tilted his head, looking into her direction. "What is going on? Nothing. Abominations running around, blood mages on the loose, and possessed templars. Just a normal Friday in the Circle, really. Too bad you didn't came yesterday on strip Diamondback Thursday, I bet you would've liked it." The Dalish showed no reaction to his joke but her angry stare, which made him sigh. "Seriously, I don't know what happened, it has simply become a more tedious... and deadly to be in the tower. Just one more reason for me to leave. And you should do the same, my lady."

Lenya let out a sigh. "I can't. Blight and all that."

"Right, Miss Grey Warden. So some have survived Ostagar after all?" Anders winked at her. "Good to know that _you _are one of them."

"Why don't you just leave, if you intend to flee either way?" Alistair asked in a sharp tone and barely contained anger. "Normally, I would return you to the tower, but we have other problems now, it seems."

Anders narrowed his eyes. "How very... _generous_ of you."

"Wait," Zevran said. "He is a healer... shouldn't we take him with us? He can be useful..."

"No!" both men yelled almost simultaneously, although for different reasons.

The Dalish furrowed her brows. She understood Zevran's reasoning, but not the strong objection of the both humans. "Why not?"

Stirred by heated emotions, Alistair's mouth worked faster than his brain. "Because it worked so _wonderfully_ the last time we brought a healer into Grey Warden's affa – " He stopped himself, but too late, the damage already done.

Lenya stared open-mouthed at him, her expression between hurt and a glare, momentarily speechless. "That was... _ugh._ You idiot!" She whirled around and stormed away, careless of anyone else. Arai whined, confused, and let out a growl in Alistair's direction before following his mistress.

Looking upward to the sky, a sigh escaped Alistair. "Great, really." His head snapping to the mage, he gritted his teeth, his muscles all tensed. "Leave.._. now_. Or else I promise I will smite your ass until you can hear – "

"Smite..." Anders' jaw clenched as he glared at him. "A templar, huh? No wonder I can't stand you."

"No, I'm a Grey Warden!" Alistair said, and then spun around to run after Lenya. He needed to apologize, to reduce the damage of his stupid tongue. If that was still possible, however.

"Farewell then, it was a pleasure to meet you... well _most_ of you." With a bow, Anders went boarded the boat and without glancing back, got it ready to depart. To the other companions, it looked like as if he far too familiar with these sort of things, somehow.

Morrigan looked after him and sighed. "Aw, too bad, I was starting to like him."

"You and... _liking _someone?" Zevran glanced at her, amused. "Perish the thought."

She rolled her eyes. "That was sarcasm, idiot."

"See? That is the wonderful Morrigan I know. You confused me there for a moment." Stretching his limbs, the elf smirked. "Well, shall we hunt some abominations then? Sound like fun."

"Heh, can bet your sissy elven ass on it," the dwarf said, way more exited than he should've been. "Finally, some action! I had already feared it would be all sissy talk with sparklefingers there." Speeding up his pace, Oghren followed the windy path up to the tower's entrance, the snow crunching under his heavy boots.

Being left behind, Morrigan halted for a final minute to glare up to the black-stoned, monumental building that was the tower. "Brillant." The witch groaned and finally started to move forward, although reluctantly. "'Tis getting better and better by the minute."

.

.

* * *

.

"...and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ser!"

Lenya didn't bother to wait for the others, especially not for that idiot that was her fellow Warden. No one noticed her or her dog as she walked further into the great lobby hall, not even the group of heavily-armored men passing her by, possibly because they were too busy running around like blind squirrels set out of the woods. It was the pure chaos, and it would have hit her by surprise if she hadn't met the odd mage before. Now it just elicited an annoyed sigh from her lips, suspecting that it would once again be her task to fix the mess others created. Somehow... Lenya was not surprised.

Looking toward the elder human issuing the loud orders amidst the chaos surrounding him, she muttered, "You know, just once I want to walk in somewhere and have a nice talk about treaties and the Blight, and then leave again. Just _once_."

The Knight-Commander didn't even notice her or the Mabari at her side. His weathered face was etched with a haunted and grim determination, the eyes set on the barred huge door that seemed to be the problem, or rather _part_ of the problems. If Lenya had learned one thing in her months as Grey Warden, it was that the tail of mess was never a short one. There were always new problems waiting to piss on her parade and ruin her day.

_Situation normal. All fucked up. Great._

No wonder it took so long for her to accept her new life as a Warden, and a part of her still wondered _why_ she had.

"You could have waited, you know?" an all-too-familiar and slightly out of breath voice said in her direction. Arai whirled with a growl that made Alistair flinch back an inch.

Lenya ignored Alistair, didn't even turn to him. Instead, she made herself taller than she was by straightening her posture, so that the humans couldn't ignore_ her_ at least anymore. "So who or what do I have to kill this time?" Arms crossed, her foot was impatiently tapping on the ground, its hollow echo swallowed by screams of pain some injured men sprawled on blankets let out from time to time.

Charming.

The elder human blinked, finally noticing the elven woman in front of him, only to scowl in the next moment. "Who are you? I explicitly told Carroll not to bring anyone across the lake!"

His face darkening with something akin to fury as he turned around to his men, he asked, "Who let this elf in here?"

Lenya felt the bile rising at the not-hidden tone of annoyance and contempt in his voice. Behind her, she heard Alistair letting out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

"I'm a Grey Warden, which is why I let myself in here," Lenya replied sharply, her foot still tapping the ground, in a faster pace now.

Instantly, the human's bearings changed, became less exasperated, less hostile, less... of _everything_ his stance showed before. He blinked. "Grey Warden?"

_Humans are such hypocrites._

"Yes, she is," Alistair said, his tone equally harsh. "Why is that so hard to believe for everyone?"

The Knight-Commander turned to him now. "And _who_ are you?"

"'Tis just a mere templar, fool. One of the, _ugh_, many here, it seems." It was Morrigan who sauntered up in between the white pillars at the side, together with the rest of the group.

Zevran looked around, arching an eyebrow at the chaos. "Nothing about the flair of bundled despair, no?"

Oghren did the same, although for different reasons. "Heh, so where is the magical booze?"

Alistair sighed anew, feeling the annoyance coming to another high at the antics of his companions. "I'm Alistair, ser, Grey Warden and..." He halted to swallow. "Survivor of Ostagar. We both are."

"Blight. Treaties. Troops," Lenya said, arms crossed and the ever-present glare in her eyes. Somehow, Alistair thought, had it an eerie resemblance to her behavior toward the dwarves before. "Just to make it clear," she added after a pause.

The man turned his head to the side, and pinched the bridge of his nose before returning with an even deeper scowl carved into his features. "I am weary of your order's ceaseless need for men to fight the darkspawn, whether it be your right or not! In any case, you'll find no allies here. The templars can spare no men, and the mages are… _indisposed_."

Morrigan looked at the barred doors and let out a sneer. "You don't say. Incompetent twits. Do we have to solve every problem in Ferelden ourselves?"

The Knight-Commander shot Morrigan a look, apparently disturbed by the bold demeanor of what was all too obviously an apostate mage. But he had other problems now and could not linger on the thought that the Warden's company was against the law. "Look." He sighed. "I will be frank, so it is clear to understand that there is nothing for you here, Wardens. The tower is no longer under our control."

"Oh?" Zevran tilted his head, looked up to the elder templar. "The barred doors gave that away somehow. Might I ask what happened?"

"As I recall, shutting the door and throwing away the key was definitely the templar 'plan B," Alistair muttered under his breath and not without disdain, feeling a shudder running down his spine at the well-known consequences that would follow. "When there are abominations and demons running around…" His eyes narrowed. "The next step is... _cleaning_ the tower, so to speak."

"Exactly." Greagoir nodded. "We have already sent word to Denerim for the Right of Annulment ten days ago. The Circle is lost."

"Wonderful plan!" Lenya said, all sarcastic. "So who is going to give me my troops now after you kill all possible survivors?"

The Knight-Commander frowned. "Not only mages, my men were in there too. There is no alternative—everything in the tower must be destroyed. It is the only way it can be made safe again. Denerim must have received our message—it cannot be much longer."

Her eyes narrowed. "And what will you do in the meantime? Sit on your ass and do nothing?" She scoffed. "How fitting."

Greagoir returned the icy stare to her, the weariness all too visible in his features. "We were prepared for one or two abominations, not the horde that fell upon us. They took us by surprise. We saw only demons, hunting templars and mages alike. I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee and shut the door." The templar sighed as he shook his head. "What was I to do? Leave the door open as the abominations poured out?"

"He... he's right." Alistair's voice was tiny, reluctant. "All the Circles have doors like these, to prevent abominations from... getting loose."

Lenya took a deep breath, trying to swallow the annoyance down that was coming up again, if it was ever gone in the first place. "However... I see that my trip here has been useless. Once again. Still have this treaty and need troops against the Blight. And you will have men once the reinforcements are here. I'm hope you can put at least two and two together."

"Ah, that arrogance hangs about you like some fell cloud, doesn't it?" Greagoir said wryly, his tone etched with judgment. "But, truth is, your treaties only apply to the mages here, not the templars. And as said before, we can't spare men, Warden, even once the reinforcements are here. We need them to clean the tower and make it safe again."

"Then we do it. Go in there, I mean," Alistair said.

Lenya glared at him with furious intensity.

"Are you mad?"

"Is that even a question?" Morrigan said before him, letting out a scoff.

Alistair ignored her, turning to Lenya instead.

"We need all the help we can get, and if the treaties only include the mages, then we need to see if there are any survivors left." He sighed, knowing that this was a near impossible case. "Or make sure... we get the templars' help instead."

Her head snapped to him, her voice etched with disdain and peevishness. "Just going over here to talk, huh? Those were your words. I_ hate _you so much right now!"

Although Alistair was aware that her words were said in the heat of the moment, they hit him more than expected. Blinking, his shoulders sagged, eyes cast to the side like a boy guilty of having done something bad. "I... uh... had no idea that would happen. Sorry."

It was nonsensical, because he naturally wasn't to blame for the tower's condition, nor the complications that ensued... and yet he felt the urge to apologize for that and... _everything else_. A part of him hated himself for being so vulnerable at her words, for them having such an impact on him now, where he wanted everything _but_ to be hated by her. Once again, was love to blame? Was it the reason why he had this irrational desire to make amends? The feelings inside him were more confusing than ever.

The witch rolled her eyes at him. "You... and clueless? What a big surprise."

"So you don't happen to live in this world threatened by the Blight? Templars..." Lenya scowled, actually angry now. "Bunch of hypocrites." Glaring up to the man as a demand for an answer, she heard Morrigan snicker beside her. It was no surprise that the witch had agreed, or more like _approved _of Lenya's words just now, given her overall opinion about templars. Somehow, the Dalish began to understand _why _Morrigan thought so.

"Surely destroying darkspawn is a worthy goal," the Knight-Commander stated with a nod, and Lenya thought she detected a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "If you succeed within the tower, I would owe you much, enough that I would pledge my templars to your cause."

"Hmm... sitting on our arses and waiting like sissies for their teaparty, or killing whatever waits on the other side..." Oghren feigned a thoughtful posture, before flashing a toothy grin. "Sodding nug-shit, Missy. Why are we _still_ talking?"

Zevran sighed as he looked at her. "Ah well, we _could_ wait for the problem to get solved itself... but you are not the most patient lady anyway, no? Also..." He smirked. "There are many valuable things we can loot from the Circle while it is… so _distracted,_ yes? So I'm with you, my dear Warden, whatever you decide."

Morrigan only shrugged, the gesture etched with apathy. "As long you keep your promise and we don't linger uselessly here any longer than needed, I don't care."

"Great..." Lenya let out an annoyed groan. "Once again I have to fix a mess that is not my own." Despite her words, she nodded, signaling her agreement to the deal while subsequently rolling her eyes.

"I'm not ungrateful for your help, Warden, but investigating the cause of this chaos will help you as well."

She sneered. "Funny... I feel like I have heard _that_ before."

Greagoir ignored her irritated comment and turned towards the far end of the hall, where two armored templars stood guard over the great doors, pointing at it its bars. "A word of caution. Once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe. And I will only believe it is over if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen... then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed."

Securing the straps on her leather armor and the sheaths with her blades on her back, Lenya started to move toward the huge doors as well. "Yeah... go in, kill everything evil, and come out again. It's not like I have no experience with that." Despite her confident words, Lenya's expression darkened to a sullen frown, lips pressed together in tension as she waited for the inevitable to come. Her companions were still, too, the intensity of their silence nearly palpable. Only Arai seemed to be the happy at being there, wagging his tail as he looked up to his mistress, contented to be with her.

"Open the doors, Devin and Ruan. They are allowed to pass." The two men in full templar armor guarding the heavy and high arching stone door looked at the mixed group for a moment, as if confused at such daring stupidity. Not a moment later, they nodded at the command and the scrape of locks being released resounded, a ghastly sound added to the agitated whispering and muttering around them. It was all too obvious that no one here believed the Wardens and their group could survive the madness lingering on the other side of the door. One templar even shook his head as the doors creaked slowly open.

"That's why they make them so big," Alistair said quietly, looking at her grimly. "To keep things in. Every Circle Tower has doors like these. Just in case." His eyes lingered a moment longer on her, observing the determination in her expression, before he sighed and looked away. Once again they had to fight for their lives, once again had to endure such danger to reach their goal without the certainty that they would even manage to stay alive until the end.

"Maker watch over you, I'm sure He needs to." The Knight-Commander's gruff voice put Alistair out of these bleak thoughts, letting him focus on whatever would await them, to assure that they actually would _survive._

"Let's go!" he said to his companions, and together they slipped through the narrowed opening of the door and toward the horror that was yet unknown.

* * *

** A/N:** _Yes, Greg Ellis' Anders here. I refuse to acknowledge the wimpy and creepy Justice version of him. Review? :D  
_


	46. Fallen

_**A/N:** Little change in plans. Originally this chapter here had been a single one, but seeing how it dragged on and became longer and longer within the minutes while writing, I have decided to part this one into two. Which consequently means an added week of Mage Tower and basic plothammer fun. Yeah, you can start hating me now :P _

_Once again thanks to you all for your lasting support and enthusiasm for this story, it never fails to amaze me. Special thanks to **Mackillian** for her speedy beta-ing deluxe. W00t. Now have fun.  
_

* * *

"_The less you have, the harder you fight for it. Especially if is freedom."_

**_-Zevran, Chapter 46_**

* * *

**Chapter 45: Fallen**

Trapped, once again.

Lenya tried not to jump at the sound of doors closing behind her, but it was hard with the memory of the Deep Roads still fresh in her mind. She couldn't help but to quaver slightly as the locks snapped closed, and she took a deep breath to calm her nerves again. As the overbearing stench of decay burned in her nostrils, making her gag before she could suppress the urge, she quickly decided had this been a regrettable mistake. Glancing over to Alistair, she saw the same bewilderment in his expression, how his jaw clenched as he averted his eyes to stare at the bloodied corpses littered on the stone floor.

Mages... all brutally _slaughtered._

He arched an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the various torches attached to the carved, high arching stone walls. "Well... at least the path is _lit_ this time."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "How very reassuring. You always try to find the silver lining, huh?"

"No darkspawn, too?" he offered as an addition, almost apologetic.

The Dalish tensed as she became aware that he thought of the Deep Roads as well. Arai noticed the change in her posture and rubbed his head at the side of her legs to appease her. She patted his head. "Yes, but we have abominations for that now. Whatever those are."

Alistair blinked. "You don't know?"

Lenya shrugged, observing how the light of the torches danced across the stone walls. "Call me ignorant, but I'm no mage, so I never bothered. I know it in a vague sense, but not enough to know what _exactly_ we will be facing. As long it bleeds, I can kill it. That is all I care about."

"Sodding right, Missy." Oghren snorted. "Heh, that's the spirit."

Morrigan sighed, its sound more than annoyed as she felt forced to enlighten the ignorance surrounding her. "Abominations are mostly tales of horror to frighten little mages into prisons like..." She made a face. "... _this _one_, _but sometimes when a mage is foolish enough to believe what a demon is offering, they will be possessed... and _change_. Given to the state of this place, you will soon enough see the meaning of it yourself."

Alistair shuddered. "I'm not looking forward to meet them. They are no less dangerous than darkspawn. In fact, they are _more _dangerous_._ Darkspawn I can sense, at least. But _this_ here—" He made a sweeping gesture toward the empty hall left in a state of disarray "—makes my skin crawl. We better move on. _Quickly_."

Lenya frowned in response, then nodded. "I know what you mean."

They slowly walked forward through the long hall that winded to a left, the doors to the mage quarters at the other side all open and vacant. It was too quiet here, _too_ void of life, the gloomy stillness lingered like a heavy curtain over the place.

"So only mages are prone to that change, I take it?" Zevran's sudden voice rang sharply through the quarters. Its sound fortunately drowned out the silence, if only momentarily. "And you have no fear of becoming one yourself?"

"No," Morrigan said with a confident certainty. "I was taught by my mother, not by an idiotic Circle that incites needless fear about the mere existence of magic."

"Oh?" The elf raised an eyebrow, before a chuckle came up his throat. "I thought so, my dear Morrigan. You are living wild and free, like our lovely leader. I like that."

The witch scoffed. "Keep your gratuitous, smarmy comments to yourself, elf. 'Tis wasted effort."

He only grinned at that. "Ah, this makes it only more interesting." All the sudden, Zevran halted, his posture tensing as he pointed at the end of the floor, and his voice dropped to a low warning. "Psst. There are voices at the other side of the door."

"Voices?" Lenya asked, at first with disbelief, but then she heard the noise echoing along the stones. "So... there are survivors?"

"Or possessed mages," Alistair answered grimly and drew his weapon, clearly feeling the sizzling of magic. "We can't be sure and must be prepared for everything here."

"Or it is simply a sodding talking nug," Oghren stated with a roll of his dark eyes. "Wanna stay here and continue your sodding guessing game, boy? Or go in and crash some heads?" The axe unsheathed in his hands, the dwarf rushed forward, grumbling under his breath. The others had no choice but to follow quickly as he kicked the door open and charged forward, screaming.

"Stop right there!" an authoritative, elder voice boomed at Oghren and froze him in place, much to his own surprise. "Or I swear, I'll take you down." Heaving his head, he saw an elder human glaring at him, her stance ready to fight. Around her palm glimmered a strange light. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to _not_ recognize that this white-haired woman was a mage... and not alone, at that. Left and right from her stood two mages each, building a protective cluster around the elder one, glaring at him as well. Unsure of what do, the dwarf remained still where he was, yet kept a wary stance. One false move from the sparklefingers and he would cut them down, though.

Lenya emerged through the door frame in a haste, her head shaking in disbelief at Oghren's incredibly stupid move. "So much for a sensible approach—" She stopped, blinking at the sight of the elder mage. "Wait..." She blinked again, while her mind tried to figure out why she felt a sense of recognition, a familiarity with that human in the middle.

"Andraste's flying ass, have you ever heard of _common__sense_?" Alistair asked under his breath, knowing that with Oghren this kind of question could only be _theoretical_. His eyes widened as he saw how his fellow Warden walked closer to the group of mages, her weapons lowered and bearings more relaxed than just seconds before. Unlike her, he saw no reason to relax, was even secretly concentrating on readying his templar abilities, just in case. "Lenya, I don't think—"

"I know her," she said, interrupting him, and tilted her head to the side to scrutinize the mage closely. Then it dawned her. It had been many months by now, almost like another life, and yet could Lenya connect the appearance of that human woman with one place.

Ostagar.

_She_ had been the one treating her fever and sickness, where all the other humans would have let her lie there on the cold, hard ground where the elf had collapsed. _She_ had been the one overlooking Lenya's obvious hostility and answered with kindness instead. _She_ was the one good memory Lenya still had while everything else was shrouded in bitterness and grief from the loss of her old life.

_She_... was no enemy.._. but_ a friend.

Before Lenya became aware of what she was doing, she was running toward her, a smile on her face. "Old hag!"

"Oh? Embracing the enemy?" Zevran commented, amused. "Now that is something we don't see every day, no?"

"I'm not sure anymore if they are enemies at all." Alistair pointed at the children cowering behind the mages. "Wait, what? _Embracing?"_ he asked, blinking at the unexpected development of this situation, a part of him even _envious_ that he wasn't the mage right now. For a moment, Alistair lost himself in the remembrance of her scent and warmness before he managed to shake it off, willing himself to stay focused. How, he couldn't even say.

Completely taken by surprise by this friendly onslaught, the elder mage gasped as Lenya hugged her. "Young lady, I... need... air." Instantly, the Dalish backed away, cursing herself for reacting on an impulse once again. Had the elder mage not signaled her group to hold their spells then her action could have even become _dangerous._ Smoothing a loose strand of her blonde hair behind the ear, she bent down to reclaim her weapons from the ground and sheathed them in an instant. There was no need for them, she decided.

Sharp blue eyes widened as the mage looked at the Dalish, its expression weary but also a hint of perception. "You are the young Grey Warden... from Ostagar. You... have survived!" The small smile tucked in the corner of her mouth veiled almost as quickly as it had appeared. Her face was worn with years, the eyes lit with a kindness and wisdom, but her expression grew suddenly hard and suspicious again. "What are you doing here? The templars have barred the door and let no one through."

Lenya crossed her arms, aware of the sudden change of mood. "I could ask you the same."

"I'm Wynne. Mage of the Circle, as you might remember, child."

"Oh.._. oh_!" Alistair said in realization, and subsequently wished he_ hadn't._

_"So will you finally pick her up or want you just continue staring at her?"_

How could he _ever _forget that night in Ostagar and how she had teased him for his bumbling, hesitating way to help Lenya and carry her—his mind stopped the thought, somewhat terrified of its meaning. Stealing another glance over to the mage to double-check, he felt the sudden urge to slap his forehead at the irony of fate.

Of _all_ the mages in Ferelden, he had the wonderful luck to meet_ this_ particular one again. The evil, old woman who had— all too obviously—enjoyed his misery back then.

_Great._

"W-we... are here to look for survivors, to ensure the Circles help against the Blight," he managed to say and nearly flinched as Wynne's gaze met his own. Within her eyes the hardness had not yielded as she looked at him, and yet was there a glint of... _amusement?_

"So you have survived _as well,_ I see. It is good to see that Loghain's treachery was not fully... successful." She sighed at the memory, growing serious. "I'm sorry for what happened to your comrades. It... was terrible to behold."

Now he flinched for real, shaken by the unwanted memory of that... _man_ and the loss that was still heavy after all these months, and probably always would be. "T-thank you." His voice was tiny, quavering. "I already feared that all mages have fallen, though."

Wynne laughed, the tone all mirthless, nearly bitter. "We are alive... yet. But as you can see, we are not exactly in the shape to help right now."

"Good." Morrigan walked up from her prior still position, too fed up to watch the loop of endless pleasantries. "'Tis not that we need their help."

"Err... Morrigan, I know you hate it to be here... but I figured you would have at least listened when we had the little talk about the _treaties_ and_ mages_? Guess not, huh?"

Her head snapped over to the female Warden, a glare visible in her amber eyes. "They are nothing but pathetic excuses for mages. They allow themselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. Now their masters have chosen death for them and I say let them have it."

"Death?" Wynne's eyes narrowed. "So it is true, they have invoked the Right of Annulment. I thought as much." The whisper of the other mages beside her became loud and anxious, and some children started to cry while holding each other.

Morrigan smirked scornfully, visibly enjoying their distress. "Oh... you didn't know yet? I'm so very sorry, where are my manners?"

"Shut up!" Alistair suddenly snarled and was internally even waging to smite her just for her distasteful behavior. Ultimately, he knew, however, that giving in to his anger wouldn't help and would rather hinder their cause. Morrigan was a bitch through and through, but when it came down to a battle, she was a force they couldn't miss, especially not in a situation like now.

Unfortunately.

Her voice was sardonic. "Oh, am I supposed to wince now at your words like the cattle of mages before my eyes, oh-mighty-templar?"

Alistair gritted his teeth, swallowing down the bile that rose dangerously in his throat. Sucking in a deep breath and ignoring Morrigan's sneer, he turned to Wynne. "They have send word to Denerim, but the reinforcements haven't come yet." He glanced at the frightened children, sighing mentally. "So there is still time."

The elder mage nodded. "I see. And we should seize it." Turning, she pointed toward the lightly blue flickering light that surrounded the wooden door like a steely curtain. "I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children. Conversely, you will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save the Circle."

Morrigan could not believe what she was hearing, and her eyes were still fixed on the Dalish. "You really want to assist this preachy schoolmistress? I will allow neither mind nor body be subjugated in such a dehumanizing fashion. I thought _you_ of all people would understand that!" The last part was even said with a hint of disappointment, making Lenya sigh in exasperation.

As much she normally liked the witch, assuming that she could get her way with simply sprinkling hefty words of _subjugation_ and _freedom_ in her sentence to appeal to her, then she was _wrong_. It would have still worked a few weeks ago, in times where she had stumbled blinded by bitterness through the world outside her clan. It was not that Lenya felt particularly _different_ or _enlightened_ now, nor was she embracing _what_ she was with _all _her heart, but she was finally coping and arranging herself with it. The inner tumult and confusion, while not completely gone, had been subdued and made way for a new clearance within her mind, a fraction of peace and calmness that she welcomed.

That, however, didn't change the fact that she_ loathed_ being manipulated into something that was clearly wrong in her eyes. "Enough, Morrigan!" Lenya said with an unexpected tone of authority that not only instantly caught Morrigan's attention, but also surprised herself. "If you find the idea of claiming the treaty by helping these mages too repulsive, _there_ is the door which leads out of here. ...Oh, wait."

Alistair couldn't help to grin at that.

Feeling she had the upper hand in this argument, Lenya smirked at her. It was oddly satisfying how the witch glowered at her, nearly sulked like a child, yet refrained from retorting in any form. Such was the _freedom_ she possessed as their leader. She had not _subjugated_ the others, not even Morrigan, who had clearly expected another outcome.

"Not to disturb your wonderful, yet forsaken battle for dominance, my dear sorceress," Zevran said, seizing her with his brown eyes. "But couldn't you have been a Circle mage, too, if things were different?"

Morrigan let out a derisive snort. "And you could have been _dead_ if things were different, elf. Such hypothetical bubbling is senseless. Although, the hot air will prove useful if the temperature drops even more."

"Ouch, you wound me with your words. Such a remarkable talent of yours, my dear." He laughed, if only for a short-lived moment before his eyes flung to the children in the room. "Just let us spare the mindless slaughter for the creatures _behind_ the barrier, no?"

With an exasperated whirl, the witch turned away from him and Lenya, signaling her surrender to their decision. "Do what you wish. I care not."

Alistair scoffed at her reaction. "Your generosity knows no bounds, really."

"Pah. I would be glad if we could finally advance to the slaughtering part," Oghren said, shifting from one foot to the other and shouldered his heavy axe. "I'm sodding bored of standing around when there are so many things just waiting to get _killed_. The prospect makes me all twitchy in my pants. Heh."

Lenya sighed, knowing well that she had the final word. She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Ca n we finally go?" Her gaze fell on the elder mage, scrutinizing the pinned back, grey hair and the many wrinkles in her face with a frown. "Though... I'm not sure if that is a good idea if you are coming with us. You are... _old._ "

"I know the tower, young lady, and will be able to guide you." Her hard and wary expression subsided, shifting into a warm and somewhat amused one. "And yes, I may be old, but there's fight left in me yet. At the very least, I should be able to bend them over my knee and give them a sound spanking."

"Ah..." Zevran chuckled and flashed a toothy grin. "Kinky."

Wynne raised one grey eyebrow as she looked at the elf. "And you may be the first, if you are going to talk like that, young man."

His grin broadened. "Well... such a marvelous offer. I might come back to it later, yes?"

"What _interesting _company... you keep," Wynne said to Lenya, caught somewhere between bewilderment and being amused. The Dalish only shrugged. "So your name was—" Wynne stopped, raking her mind for the elf's name.

Another roll of her eyes. "Lenya."

Her fellow Warden politely inclined his head to the mage. "And you may call me Alistair, ma'am."

"Ah yes, I do remember you," Wynne said, and then smirked. _"Both." _

Alistair had hoped that she wouldn't, but as bad as her memory for names was, she clearly remembered the other events that had happened. Unfortunately.

Turning, Wynne nodded to two of her fellow mages. "Petra, Kinnon... look after the others, especially the children. I will be back soon."

"Wynne... are you sure you are all right?" a slender, red-haired woman asked. "You were so badly hurt earlier. Maybe I should come along."

She shook her head. "The others need your protection more, Petra. I will be all right. Stay here with them... keep them safe and calm."

Lenya whistled briefly, and in an instant, Arai came running back from playing with the children. The dog dashed over to them as soon he heard them crying and had managed to distract them from their futile situation, if only for a moment. Arai bounced excitedly around his mistress with the tongue lolling out of his mouth, barking. She leaned over to him and patted his head, smirking. "You like these stupid kids, huh?" The Mabari watched up to her with attentive eyes, and then made a huffing sound, as if agreeing. "I can't comprehend _why, _but to me it seems you want to stay with them?"

He let out a low growl, which faded into a confused whine, rubbing his head on her hand.

Lenya's voice adapted a soothing tone as she gave in to his prompt to pet him, kneeling down to her dog. "It is okay, boy. We might need them later after we come back, so protect those mages in the case something comes through, yes?"

Arai tilted his head as he looked at his mistress, momentarily still as if waging the options. Then he barked one time and, albeit reluctantly, he turned to return to the bunch of children who were already awaiting him with a smile on their faces. They seemed to have completely forgotten their fear, instilled by the looming threat of annihilation through the Templars... or other creatures. For a few precious moments, they were allowed to be simply children again, thanks to the animal who had successfully distracted them from their dark thoughts.

She laughed as the huge Mabari ran off to the other corner of the hall, almost bouncing like an oversized bunny. "Have fun."

From a safe distance, Alistair looked at his fellow Warden with an undisguised admiration, momentarily uncaring if someone would notice his reverie. Although Lenya had disguised her action as a necessity to protect them by leaving Arai with them, it was clear to see that she had done that to take the anxiety of the situation away from the children. Or maybe he was just reading too much in it, he couldn't say for sure. Nonetheless the circumstance, it didn't change the fact that she had _amazed_ him once more. When had she started to do this on such a _regular_ basis, again and again?

_Stupid... wonderful woman._

"Ugh. Does anyone else feel the urge to vomit? No? 'Tis just me?" Morrigan's voice behind him startled him, and the heat rising in his cheeks was a good indication that he felt caught. He couldn't say for sure if her words were directed at him or at Lenya's unexpected act of compassion. And he wouldn't turn around to find out,_ no_. Alone, the thought of Morrigan... _noticing_ filled him with dread. He would never hear the end of that, not to mention that Lenya... _no_. He shook himself. _Focus._

Quickly, Alistair blinked, straightened his expression and posture, and took a deep breath to slow down his frantic heartbeat, which wasn't due to Morrigan's sudden words at all. Sighing, he stepped forward to Lenya's side, all too keenly aware of her presence and directed his words at Wynne. "Shall we go?"

Nodding, the mage turned, her gaze focused on the barrier clouding the door. "Here we are. I am somewhat amazed at myself for having kept it in place this long."

Lenya rolled her shoulders, almost subsequently to her eyes. "Open that... thing already, will you?"

A small laugh escaped Wynne at that as she glanced over to the Dalish. "It hasn't changed that you aren't the most patient person, has it? But you are right, time is pressing, and I need to see with my own eyes if the tower has fallen. Hopefully we can save what is left. Alone I would have been unable to do anything, but with your help, we can stop the madness within. Thank you for that, young lady."

Lenya glanced at her Mabari, and then back at the door before her and let out a grumbling noise. "I hope you are _worth_ it, old woman."

She smirked. "I'll do my best, then. But now be prepared for anything. I do not know what manner of beasts lurk beyond this barrier."

Zevran shrugged, not really impressed by her warning. "Do not fear, my good lady. Our lovely Warden is very good at fending off attackers. I'm speaking from experience here, of course."

"Ha! Excellent!" Oghren said, and quickly adapted his fighting stance, the axe ready in his hands. "I'll get them riled up with a few choice taunts, and then we'll whack 'em when you nix the barrier."

"Just like.._. earlier?_" Alistair asked, his tone bewildered. "You really want to get us killed, right?"

"No?" Then Oghren flashed a grin. "Maybe?"

Wynne smirked at that. "I suppose a berserk hammer-flinging dwarf would serve very well to distract our attackers..."

Hah, exactly." The dwarf snorted, somewhat impressed. "This one has a good head on her. I say we keep her."

Wynne ignored the scoff that seemed to come from the younger, somewhat hostile mage in their group and started to murmur the words that would dispel the barrier. It flickered only briefly before dissipating into nothing, opening the path to unknown danger. With a satisfied nod, her expression grew grim as she opened the door to go through first.

It was time to find out what had really happened.

.

.

* * *

.

"Ugh..."

Lenya grimaced as she pulled her blades out of the abomination, its swollen, contorted flesh hit the stone floor with a wet thud. It hadn't taken long until they had crossed ways with first of these... rotten creatures and their twisted presence was, admittedly, an all-too-disturbing experience. Lenya shook herself, remembering that she had stared into the hollow, milky eyes of darkspawn way too often that she would falter and whimper like a scared child at such a sight. This was her life now, draining the floor with the blood of whatever creature would make the foolish mistake to stand in her way. It was the simplest and most _pragmatic_ way for her to look at the constant, nearly _daily_ struggle to survive, all the battles and monsters and the responsibility weighing heavily on her tiny shoulders.

Also one that helped her to remain _sane._

Lenya smirked at the bloodied ground. Bleeding was good.

_Because if it bleeds, I can kill it._

Looking up, the Dalish wiped her face clean from at least a bit of the blood and took time to observe her surroundings, the rush of adrenaline still flooding inside of her. They had reached a huge hall what looked like a laboratory, passing other uncounted numbers of rooms before, led by Wynne, whose brisk speed belied her age. She couldn't blame her for her haste, the overall atmosphere here was disconcerting and thick with something that was _more_ than despair.

In fact, being here conjured an incessant shudder that was running up and down her spine, unbidden. The air brimmed and tingled with a magic that was so... _wrong,_ even now after the creatures were dead_._ While Lenya was, by all means, no user of magic herself, she still had a certain... _affinity_ to sense magic around her, due to her father, who, in fact, _was_ a mage. Or so she surmised, because she couldn't think of any _other_ explanation for her utter discomfort right now.

_Well, thanks, papae._

"You seemed to have adapted quite well to your duty as Grey Warden..." It was Wynne's warm voice that cracked through her deep thoughts, making her look up to the elder human. Doing so, the Dalish saw how she straightened the folds within her red mage robe in such a calm fashion as if she would have never done anything else than other than kill abominations.

Sighing, Lenya put her sword and dagger back in the scabbards secured at her back, shooting the mage an annoyed look. "I do what I must. And that isn't hosting a tea party, apparently."

Alistair grinned at her. "Well, I have the feeling that you would find that _incredibly_ boring, anyway." It came out more flirty than he had intended, or as in, _ever._ At that and only for a brief moment, Lenya looked at him, not cool or glaring, rather amused with a small smile on her lips. It was enough to send his head spinning with confusion and all the other scary feelings she awoke so easily in him these days. Had she noticed his... flirting? And if so, was her smile a signal—Maker, _why_ was he _even_ thinking about such things while standing in a pool of _blood?_

Blinking, he forced himself to tear his eyes away from her bloodied frame, only to look into another, even more amused face.

"You seem to have grown quite close since the day in Ostagar… when you carried her into the tent."

Lenya whirled around to him, and this time her expression was all _but_ friendly. "You..._ what?"_

Wynne blinked innocently. "Oh my... you didn't tell her?"

Alistair stared at the mage, battling with the unfitting and amoral thought to _strangle_ an old lady, while the other part of his mind flailed about by the mere idea of explaining Wynne's words to Lenya. Objectively seen, his dread was uncalled for. It had only been a harmless incident, in fact. Alistair had just helped to get a young, sick woman away from the hard ground. He hadn't even known her, or _who_ she would become at that point. Objectively seen.

Alas, he was all _but_ objective with what concerned Lenya these days.

Somewhere between feeling himself flushing and inwardly cursing the amusement of the evil old mage before him, he found his voice. "Well... I was... err... close by that night, nothing more. You were unconscious and sick with fever, despite Wynne's help and she couldn't carry you over to _her_ tent, so I did that." He shrugged apologetically, hoping she would believe him. "Couldn't have left you lying there on the ground, after all."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "So you... _helped_ me?"

"Yes, of course. But I didn't even know who you were at that time, actually." He laughed nervously. "Funny, huh?"

Lenya's frown disappeared, replaced by an earnest smile. "I see. Well then, thank you for that." And suddenly, upon seeing Lenya's reaction to what he had feared to tell her, Alistair felt not so angry with Wynne anymore. In fact, he was rather grinning like an idiot right now, but was completely powerless to stop it.

Alarmed by a loud clicking noise from glass on glass crashing together, he suddenly whirled around just in time to see Wynne bluster in a scary, Revered Mother way, hands stemmed into the side of her hips and glaring past the Warden. "What are you doing there?" For a brief moment, Alistair felt put back in years and into Chantry again at _that_ tone in her voice. Thankfully, she hadn't directed that furious prompt at him, but at Zevran.

Unperturbed by Wynne's antics, the elf continued to put the herbs and potions from a table into his pocket. "Collecting potions and ingredients, of course. These deathroots here will make an _excellent_ poison."

"Planning to kill us after all, are you?" Morrigan asked, fixing him with a glare. "'Tis needed to control the food more closely again. I will be on guard, elf."

He brushed her off nonchalantly. "Oh, yes, do that. You can never be sure if Alistair has been the one cooking, after all. As for the poison, well, there are many creatures here on which I could use it, yes?" Shrugging, he carried on to loot, and even searched the dead templar on the ground for something useful to take with him.

Wynne shook her head and fixed him with a condescending stare. "Have you no morality? These are supplies of the Circle you are stealing."

He laughed. "I have, in fact, a lot of morality, my dear Wynne, and my sense for it is telling me that there is nothing _amoral_ with taking things that will help me... or better said _us _survive."

"I see," she said, not completely convinced, but seeing reason in it. "But just how is the _jewelry_ helping you to survive?"

"...buying food for my lovely companions _after_ selling it?" Zevran said, slipping the golden pendant into his pocket nonetheless. "Starving to death is such a gruesome fate, I've heard."

Sighing, the mage turned away. "Do as you wish. It is better for me to turn a blind eye on it. For now."

Grinning, he followed her and the others of his group. "An excellent idea, my dear lady."

.

.

* * *

.

They were walking through the intricate corridors of the Circle's library, which was simply monumental in size. Shelves on shelves were lined together, its old, carved wood nearly as high as the vaulted ceiling above and filled with books of uncounted numbers. It would have been a most impressive sight, had it not been for the ever-present abominations here and the foul stench they left behind after killing them. Despite that, Lenya found herself marveling at the view, secretly asking herself if there were books of the Dalish history hidden in between here somewhere.

Alistair noticed her amazement and leaned over, smiling. "You like books?"

Tearing her eyes away from the shelves, Lenya sheathed her weapons again and moved on. "Yes, I can read."

He pouted. "Why do you _always_ translate my questions into something like_ that?_ Not fair."

Maybe it wasn't.

She sighed, giving in to his senseless need for trivial information. "I was taught... by the Keeper of my clan how to read when I was young. I like books, yes, but unfortunately we have next to none of such within our clan, just oral tales told from Hahren to Hahren. The books of our history all got, among other things, burned by humans, centuries ago." Her voice dropped to a lower, sadder volume. "There is nothing left of it."

"I'm... sorry."

Lenya shrugged the feeling off, rolling her eyes. "Yeah... I hear that a_ lot_ from you lately."

He chuckled. "Old habits die hard, it seems. So while we are at it: I'm also sorry for what I said earlier."

"Earlier?"

He blinked, slightly confused. _She had already forgotten it? _"Well... about Nithius, I mean. I think without him... we wouldn't have gone so far in the Deep Roads. So it was right that he was with us. We have to be grateful to him for a lot of things, I guess."

_Yes. And still he died there. _The thought lay on the tip of her tongue but Lenya swallowed it down, concentrating on moving forward instead. As soon she turned around the corner, biting smoke filled her nostrils, originating from a pile of books that burned in a corner across the room.

_How ironic, having just talked about burning books._

She pointed at the blaze. "I really hope for you that your tome wasn't one of those, Morrigan."

The witch only glanced at her, measuring Lenya with her amber eyes before looking away again, scoffing and moved on, wordlessly.

_So the child is still sulking in its corner, eh?_

It surprised Lenya that she though about Morrigan this way, and was disappointing all the more that she actually could. It was simply grating on her nerves that the witch was still upset about her decision to help these mages and was unable to see the greater picture in it. Not that it was a matter of heart to save them, not at all. Lenya couldn't comprehend the concept of locking themselves away just because they were users of magic, but it was a needed action to take for the treaty. Shaking her head, she averted her eyes from the witch, seeing how Alistair advanced to her side again.

"You know... I have been thinking— he started saying, but his fellow Warden interrupted him quickly, her tone amused.

"Again? Don't let it become a habit, puppy."

"I walked right in that one, huh?" He lowered his voice, chuckling. "Note to myself: must find another start for a conversation with my fellow Warden." Then to Lenya again, he said, "You once asked if there is a good thing about being a Warden and I had no answer. Well, now I have one, I think."

She sighed. "You seem to have an awful lot of time to reflect and think on the things I have said, lately."

_You have no idea how much._ Alistair bit on his lip to hinder this thought from bubbling out of his mouth. In between fighting for his life and sleeping, he indeed had way too much time to indulge in his thoughts, about the months spent together, the conversations they had. The camp only offered that much of a diversion, and even then there was her constant presence he felt so keenly. Suffice to say that he felt helpless enough already with the fact of being in love with her, even _without_ the complicated matter of literally feeling her presence. This ability was also not really helping his course to stay somewhat sane in this madness called love. Not at all.

"So? What is the answer?"

He blinked as he shook back to attention. "Err... well... as a Grey Warden, you can use the Right of Conscription, actually."

Having expected something... _else, _her brows furrowed to a scowl_._ "So I can rip people out of the only life they had ever known and doom them to fight darkspawn for the rest of their shortened life? _Fantastic_."

Alistair let out a groan, frustrated with himself and his stupidity. "Right. You were conscripted, how could I've forgotten? Sorry."

With a shake of her head, the frown disappeared and the smile came at last. "No. It's okay. _Now_. Duncan saved my life with it, in hindsight. Back then... well…" She sighed, knowing it was an understatement. "I wasn't too happy about it."

Alistair smiled, noticing that this was the first time she had called Duncan by his name. Before he could stop it, the words bubbled out of his mouth. "And are you… happy now?"

"_Happy?_" Lenya repeated the word with a disbelieving scoff, and then shrugged. "Well, let's say I have just decided to make the best out of the mess my life has become. I'm still alive, so it has to count for something, right?"

He nodded, eyes straying to the circular staircase in front of them as he smiled. "Definitely." _You are here with me._

Lenya fell silent then, too busy keeping up with the hasty pace Wynne had adapted. The elder human seemed to nearly _fly_ the steps upward, which was puzzling considering the mage's age. Maybe she was indeed not the frail, old lady Lenya took her for. In a strange way, Wynne reminded her of Ashalle, her foster mother who was always brimming with energy and never too tired to use the drive to fight for the things she loved... or to lecture Lenya. While she wasn't enthusiastic about lectures as a whole, Lenya had always respected Ashalle for standing up for what was right, even when it was against all odds or nearly hopeless.

Just like Wynne now.

The Dalish smiled at that, despite the pang of wistfulness rushing through her. She turned to her fellow Warden, noticing how he struggled to keep the pace, and his breath even. She had never envied him for having to wear such heavy plate armor and regarding the many, _many_ stairs this tower seem to have, she surely didn't plan on starting doing that. "So I can actually recruit _anyone_ I want with the Right of Conscription?"

Alistair gasped, and hadn't even the time to think about the background of her question as he took a deep breath to answer. "Y-yes, anyone."

Lenya smirked, murmuring more to herself than to her fellow Warden. "Huh, somehow that is..._. interesting."_

"We need to reach First Enchanter Irving's study, and see if he is there," Wynne said without stopping, and pointed at another winding staircase, motioning them to follow. "This way!"

Behind her, Oghren let out an exasperated grunt at the sight of the spiraling stairs. "Okay... just how_ far _up does this sodding tower go?"


	47. Desire

_**A/N:** Okay, have to rant a bit. I love reviews/feedback, they rock my author's world and are somewhat the income for my writings. I embrace all of them, even the (fortunately rare) negative ones, because they help me to get better. If they are written with concrit, that is. What I can't stand is unfounded, destructive bitching, ffs. If you have nothing **useful** to say, click the back button and search for the other bazillion DA-stories more to your taste. Just don't piss in my ears and tell me it is raining. Or I get really catty in response and snarkhammer you to death, just as it has happened recently. / /rant / /  
_

_Anyway, this was directed at the anon bitching from **"Marethari"** I've received and is in no way extended to my faithful readers whom I heart. You all are awesome *hugs* Especially **Mack** who never cease to be beta-licious. Have fun now. Yes, still the Tower. Oh well. Lol.  
_

* * *

_**What never moves, is never still, who has the final word  
It holds the world in a single pill, and all life rendered absurd  
Kill sweet desire, faith may numb the trial, but can you run all your life  
Kill sweet desire, truth will make a liar, you can run but not hide  
So run for your life **_

– _Poets of the Fall – Desire_

._  
_

* * *

**Chapter 46: Desire **

.**  
**

Wynne had suspected as much and, even more, _feared._

The study was empty and in a similar state of disarray like the countless rooms and chambers they have passed before. The flickering light of a nearly extinguished torch danced dimly across the documents and books littered on the ground. Some of the old wooden furniture that, prior to the chaos, stood tidily in place had been toppled and destroyed, smashed into thin, splintered pieces.

Nothing here gave away that this cluttered room had once been the study of the First Enchanter. Only his desk remained oddly untouched, the furniture neat and clean as ever, its picture jarring amidst the chaos surrounding it.

"It looks like signs of fighting," Morrigan said, vocalizing what everyone was thinking. "Your precious pet enchanter isn't here, old woman." She scoffed and let her golden eyes roam over the place once more, but now for entirely different reasons. She _felt_... that it was here, it was almost singing to her like a Siren's call with its premise of power. Just... _where?_

Wynne halted, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing herself this moment of weakness. Pain scored deep lines across her brow, and her mouth was drawn tight and thin as she thought about the things lost. Each of the corpses they saw with their faces turned up and wide-eyed in horror, some already swollen and blackening, had names for her. They had been people she had known, some had been friends, others only familiar faces, but each of them with a history and life within the Circle.

All _dead._

And now, the last straw of hope at finding the enchanter here unscathed shattered like thin glass dashed against a wall of stone. Another breath and the vulnerability faded from her expression, substituted for a adamant sternness, as if one defiant flicker of hope within found its way to the surface.

_I have to go on._

"We have to reach the Harrowing Chamber. Uldred is most likely there. And with him Irving, too," said Wynne.

Alistair was eager to leave this place, and yet paused in mid-turn. "How did it all start, Wynne?"

The elder mage sighed long and deep, shaking away every remnant of grief with it, turning it into a rage as she told them about Ostagar, Uldred, and the revolt of the mages he started at his return. Alistair tensed once again at her mentioning of Loghain and his possible involvement in this. He fought to keep the hot, unbridled hatred within. This was not the time, nor the place to let it _out_. The time to unleash it would come, to bring justice to the... _man_ who took _everything _from him_. _His eyes snapped over to his fellow Warden and the mere glance at her frame soothed his nerves and caged the beast called _rage_ again.

_Almost_ everything.

"Mind if I kill him?" Lenya only asked wryly as Wynne had finished her grim tale.

Zevran chuckled at that. "Ah, my dear Warden, always so practical. Makes me proud."

"If you must," Wynne answered, her voice devoid of emotion. "It is probably impolite to speak this way, but I never liked Uldred. He was a squirrelly, twitchy sort of person. Never mentored the apprentices, never _taught_…. I don't think he cared much for the Circle, only his own advancement." Her eyes narrowed, and her expression grew cool. "And _this _is the result." The words _he must pay_ remained unsaid, and yet they rang with great clarity through the room.

"Fascinating, really." Oghren groaned, rolling his eyes. "Can we go and sodding kill something, instead?" Turning, he geared toward the door, but nearly tripped over debris scattered on the ground. A long tirade of profanity followed as the dwarf kicked the offending object away.

"Such a shame you didn't break, you—"Morrigan stopped and her eyes grew wide as she stole a glance on the kicked object. It was a black book, and on its leather-bound cover was a leafless tree. "'Tis... Mother's grimoire."

Lenya looked at her in bewilderment. "Really?"

"Heh...I ...found it!" Oghren said, and then flashed a grin. "How about a kiss now?"

In an instant, Morrigan's gaze went positively frigid and full of disdain. "How about a kick in the manhood, dwarf?"

"Nah," the dwarf replied, and his grin broadened as Morrigan bowed down to the book, the motion revealing even more of her cleavage. "I'd rather stay with the classics. Leer and drool."

To Oghren's fortune, Morrigan was already too fascinated by the book to notice his unsubtle gawking. Brushing over its black, fibrous leather with her fingertips, she smiled, looking content. "Finally. I will not squander this opportunity to learn more than Flemeth intended me to know. This should be... _most_ interesting."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Happy now, are you? Remember there is still a task to fulfill."

Alistair gave Morrigan a strange look. "So the bitchy witch has found her creepy book, huh? _Great."_

Without waiting for the others, he headed for the door and stood at Wynne's side, trying to wash the _scary_ image of a _smiling_ Morrigan from his mind.

.

.

* * *

.

"Owain, what are you still doing here?"

Wynne blinked in disbelief at the man standing amidst the chaos of the vast storeroom that was littered with bodies of templars and mages alike, and the signs of the bloody struggle were all too obvious.

Dressed in a simple mage robe, the nearly bald man looked back at her, unblinking and without any sign of emotion upon seeing the apparently familiar mage. Then, finally, he nodded in recognition, but his face remained an unreadable mask.

"Greetings, Wynne."

Lenya's eyes snapped up to the human at the sound of his voice. It was monotonous—no hint of detectable emotion within... just _nothing _but the bare strings of words strung together.

"The Circle will be soon fighting the Blight," Owain said, "so I checked the supplies. I must make sure that nothing is missing."

Wynne shook her head, sighing. "Owain, you should have said something! I would have opened the door for you."

"The stockroom is familiar to me. I prefer to be here."

"What a cheery... fellow," Oghren said with a snort and turned to Alistair. "He's got an even bigger stick up his ass than you, boy."

Alistair frowned, more for seeing a Tranquil up close for the first time than Oghren's comment. He had heard and read about them before, as part of his templar training, yet standing before one was a whole _different_ story.

"'Tis a tranquil. A mage cut off from the Fade... and from _any _kind of emotion." Morrigan glared at the man, her voice dripping with acid. "The living example of the Circle's _glory. This_ is what they do to mages who don't obey to their rules like mindless cattle, turning them into their biddable pets." She whirled round to Lenya, the glowering, icy stare that had been on the tranquil now directed at the elf. "_This_ is the Circle you ought to_ save._"

Lenya's lips thinned, and a deep frown creased the lines of her forehead as her gaze wandered back and forth between Morrigan and the human. Wordlessly, her eyes fixed with a confused stare at the tranquil while her mind tried to grasp the _meaning_ of Morrigan's words.

Owain raised his hand, but without haste, the motion slow and detached. "Please stop fighting here in the stockroom. I'm not uncomfortable with my condition, for I have chosen it for myself. My capacity to feel differs from yours, but you also differ from all other beings. You are no more a person than others, and I am no less a person than you are."

"Enough!" Wynne said, glaring at Morrigan's back, who had turned away in exasperation. "This is not the time ––"

"Why?" Lenya's voice rang through the mage's irritation all the sudden; the _one_ word uttered so innocently, tinged with layer of earnest curiosity. Her expression darkened to a scowl as she looked up to the elder human, tone edging higher as she pointed toward Owain. "Why... do humans do _that_ to their mages?"

Wynne sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She really didn't want to discuss this, especially not now when many lives were hanging on such thin threads. Feeling Lenya's unrelenting, burning stare on herself, the mage guessed she would have no other choice _but_ to do exactly that. She sighed anew. "Sometimes, the Right of Tranquility is a needed process to undergo, if a mage is found too weak of will to survive the threat of demonic possession. Severed from the Fade, the Tranquil can't get possessed by demons and can still live out a peaceful and useful existence. Once a mage has passed the Harrowing, however, the Chantry—"

"_Fuck_ the Chantry!" Lenya burst out and cut Wynne off, her glare intensifying. She was unable to wrap her mind around the fact that shemlen were stealing someone's emotions, the very core of _what_ makes one a person and an individual... _just because_ they were not good enough mages. Not to feel anything _ever_ again? Death would have been the more merciful fate in her eyes.

Alistair was torn whether to applaud to or be shocked by her rough choice of words. He was just glad that they were locked up in a tower now and not out somewhere amidst a village while she had exclaimed her non-existing love for them. Awkward wouldn't even have _started _to cover it, then.

"Lenya..." he said, not sure what to say or why he had begun talking at all. A part of him understood _why_ it left her so shaken, seeing a Tranquil at first hand and not just reading any dusty textbooks about them was.._. disturbing_. He could barely imagine what it meant to have no emotions, to feel... _nothing._

Lenya looked straight at him, the wrath underneath already palpable, ready to burst out any moment. "_Why?__We_ have mages as well, but _we_ don't lock them away in a tower, nor do _we _steal away what makes them an individual." She stopped, her voice trembling with emotion, both confusion and hurt alike. Never she had felt herself more apart from the world of the humans than now, the foreignness jarring. Her gaze remained on Alistair, her eyes narrow slits as she lost control to contain the anger inside.

"You humans are.._. disgusting!_"

It stung.

It was irrational, but her insult burned down inside him for a few seconds, grasping his heart and giving it a firm squeeze. He closed his eyes, helpless to do anything else under these drowning emotions, despite his rational part trying to remind him that she didn't mean him _personally._ But emotions were a tricky thing and sometimes able to overpower the rational side easily. Just like now.

Alistair took a deep breath and suddenly felt the all too familiar tingling of magic encompassing the air. Alarmed, his eyes flew open, and he ran past Lenya and barely got his shield up before the gust of icy wind could hit her, unprotected. It was so cold that the handle iced over instantly and he was forced to drop it before he lost a few fingers. Putting his body in between her and the attackers, he glared up to the small group of blood mages and summoned a smite, giving her the needed time to draw her weapons.

His arm underneath the armor burned ferociously where the cold had hit him, but he couldn't bring up the time to _care_. Plunging forward, his sword slashed across the abdomen of a young woman before she could cast another spell. Her expression was etched with surprise as she clasped her unprotected front, blood flowing out from the gaping wound as she broke down, dead.

Alistair was on the move again, telling the friendly mages to stay behind him as his smite rolled like a tidal wave across the room, its simmering light hitting the group of blood mages like a crashing wall.

Able to finish the spell before the mana got drained out of his body, the blood mage summoned a searing ball of fire, its flaring heat nearly grazed Zevran as it exploded behind him. The elf shrugged off the effect, grinning at the picture of them lying on the ground, powerless and stunned now where all mana were taken from them. Zevran didn't even bother to look down at his attacker as he slashed him across the throat, a gurgling sound accompanying him to the next target. It was an easy kill like the last, the blade effortlessly driven home in his flesh.

Lenya rushed toward the young woman gasping on the ground, ready to kill her as she cried out, its pitiful sound halting her swing. "Don't kill me... _please_!"

"You were not so prissy toward me before, shem," she growled, the pressure of steel intensifying at her neck, drawing trickles of blood where the blade met her flesh. "So why, by the Creators, should I spare you?"

"I beg you.._. please!_" She looked up at the Dalish, her blue eyes pleading, and her fair, pale skin smeared with blood of her fallen comrades. Blood seeped through the fabric of her robe, her breath ragged and gasping as she struggled to hold herself up. She was so young, barely older than Lenya herself.

"Oh... this should be good..." Alistair's sarcastic remark put Lenya out of the thoughts and her face hardened again as she glared down at the young blood mage.

"You wouldn't have shown me mercy, so again why_ should_ I?"

"I just..." she faltered, coughing. "I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but I didn't mean for this death and destruction. None of us did!"

"You cannot expect mercy for what you have done," Wynne said icily. "You and these others… you sought to help Uldred overthrow the Circle, did you not? And now this—_blood _magic?"

Something stirred within her eyes, a flicker of recognition. "Wynne... Uldred... he promised us freedom, independence for the Circle if we would help him. I didn't want that to happen... I just wanted—" she coughed again "—to be... _free._"

"Foolish child," Wynne said and glowered down at the woman, "look what it has brought you. You have nearly doomed the Circle with your actions, a place you should consider home and not your enemy!"

Zevran exhaled, his breathing fast and ragged, and looked away, as if observing the bloodied mess they have created, the fire of the spell still burning behind his back. "The less you have, the harder you fight for it. Especially if is _freedom._" His tone was calm, nearly murmuring, as if lost in thought. The moment passed and his usual casual demeanor returned, but it was enough for Lenya to catch it, to loosen the pressure of the blade she held at the mage's neck.

The woman returned her glare to Wynne and shifted slightly on the ground to where the blade did not threaten her in the way it had before. "Whatever should I have done? Change doesn't happen just so. One has to fight for it. You don't simply write a_ strongly-worded_ letter. I just... it happened so fast, I didn't want to hurt someone, not like_ this._" Her gaze flung to Lenya, who stared at her, unblinking. "You don't know what it was like. The templars were watching… _always_ watching… The magic was a means to an end. It gave us—it gave_ me_ the power to fight for what I believed in."

Lenya didn't answer, but Alistair recognized the faint shifting in his fellow Warden's posture, the hesitation that was so unlike her. He bit his lip as he looked down at the woman, compassion and his templar side screaming_ 'blood mage, blood mage' _battling for dominance inside.

"Nothing is worth what you've done to this place. _Nothing_." Wynne's voice shook through to him and his head snapped to the elder mage, catching the flicker of pain in her face before it hardened again, an icy, angry mask shown toward the young woman.

"No. You're right." Her voice shook, as if on the brink of crying. "And it was all for nothing, wasn't it? Now Uldred's gone mad, and we are scattered, doomed to die at the hands of those who seek to right our wrongs…"

"Go."

It was uttered quietly and sounded unreal to Lenya's own ears, but it was really _her_ who had said it.

Confused, the young woman blinked up to her. "What?"

"Are you deaf in addition to dumb, shem?" she asked, her tone a low growl. "I said _go_. If you can find your way out of here, you deserve your freedom. But if you ever cross my way or do any harm again, I swear I will find you and _kill_ you!"

"What?" Wynne asked. "You can't let a _blood_ mage go. This is not right... look what she has—"

Lenya threw the elder mage a glare and her tone left no room for objections. "I can and I _will_. You want to strike her down? Go ahead." She offered Wynne her weapon, but the mage only stared at it, too reluctant to take the blade. "Good." Lenya let out a breath. "I thought so."

Gasping, the blood mage struggled to her feet, her eyes shimmering with tears as she looked at the Dalish. "Thank you, my lady,_ thank_ you! May the Maker smile upon your path and guard your way!"

Lenya did nothing but to stare back at her, her whole posture unmoving. She surely wanted this god to do neither, least of all _watching_. Whirling around all the sudden, Lenya didn't even wait until the woman disappeared like the rest of her companions, who were paralyzed with disbelief.

The Dalish headed for the door that led to the next floor. "Let's go."

Hesitating, Alistair glanced over his shoulder one final time, back to the burning corner where they last saw Owain and startled as he recognized how the Tranquil lay on the ground, unmoving. Owain's dark eyes were wide open and staring into nothing, his broken body buried under the debris of a fallen pillar that had loosened itself as the fireball exploded. Alistair took a deep breath and the stench of charred flesh burned in his nostrils, giving him the sad assurance of what he had guessed before. The Tranquil was dead.

He hadn't even _screamed._

.

.

* * *

.

"You are still mad..."

Alistair glanced over to Wynne who walked silently aside him, for the first time not leading but following Lenya across the long, straight-lined hallway of the Templar quarters. She was more than content to leave the young elven woman marching forward now, this way she had some space between the Dalish and herself, also it gave her the possibility to think about what to do once they reached the Harrowing Chamber.

"Oh, and you are not, young man? Weren't you once a Templar?" Her expression was still grim as she looked over to him, lips pressed to a thin line.

"I _should _be... according to what I was taught," he answered with a shrug. "But, I am _not._" This cognition made him blink briefly and astounded him more than he thought.

"So... you do understand why she spared a _blood_ mage?"

"Understand?" He shook his head, amused. "No, she is utterly baffling to me, really. She is... Lenya."

That even urged a small smile onto Wynne's face. "Oh, I see. _That_ explains everything."

Alistair let out a sigh, which then faded into a slight chuckle. "What I meant was she is the most unpredictable, infuriating woman I have ever met." His eyes strayed ahead, fixing at Lenya's curved backside with a detached smile. "But she is..." He stopped and searched for an appropriate word to describe her, one that would not scream _lovesick idiot_ in an instant."...not _that_ bad. Just give her time, and you will see."

Wynne noticed his gaze, the way he looked at her, and especially _where _his eyes lingered. "Just like you, hmm?" she noted, amused.

"What?" For one moment, he looked at Wynne, and then his eyes automatically fell back to where they had been. Watching Lenya walking had quickly become fascinating within the last few minutes.

"You seem to be... _fond_ of her."

"I am," he said. Feeling himself blushing at that, he quickly added, "I mean, she is my fellow Warden, the only one that is left. She's also our leader and guide for this rather monumental task. I... _respect_ her a lot." He bit his tongue, feeling that he had said too much.

"Certainly." She smirked. "And what guidance did you find in those swaying hips, hmm?"

"No… no, no! I haven't looked at her... hind... quarters." At that, his traitorous eyes flickered involuntary over her slender backside, resting just below her hips, before he became aware of what he was doing and quickly glanced away.

_Very smooth, Alistair—why don't you just drool all over her while you are at it?_

Her smile broadened, taking actual enjoyment in teasing him. "No, you haven't."

Alistair felt his blush deepen, and while he cursed his all too male-driven and obvious gaze, his mind reeled for an excuse that would save him from this embarrassing mess Wynne seemed to love to put him through. He was just glad that Lenya was out of earshot or she would skin him alive for sure.

_...Wait, don't have elves a better hearing than humans?_

Before his mind could flail with the many, _many_ gruesome scenarios of her having caught their conversation, Lenya suddenly stopped upon hearing a voice. Its sound from behind a door stood out from the all too silent corridor they had been marching through for a time now. There had been no abominations or blood mages looming around the corner like on the floors before, just the cold, dread feeling of wrongness that was so all-encompassing here.

With a frown, Lenya observed the fallen debris that barred the rest of the way, so that the door was the only possible way left.

She sighed. "Wonderful."

While Lenya went still, flexing and rolling her muscles to prepare herself for the inevitable, she heard the familiar sound of ringing steel behind her and attuned to it with drawing her blades as well.

_The children have gone to bed, my pet. You are warm and blissful and content._

Morrigan's amber eyes fixed on the door, grimacing. "It sounds like a demon. The atmosphere here is more off than in the rest of this..._ prison._" It was the first time she had spoken since the incident with the Tranquil, and yet had there been a distinctive change in her demeanor—toward Lenya, at least. Silently, the witch had walked side by side with her, sometimes glancing over to the Dalish only to look away again with a shake of her head and a small smile on the lips.

"A _demon?_ Someone you know, Morrigan? Distant family, perhaps?" The witch threw Alistair a glare for that. "No? Aw... well then, let's kill it, right?" Alistair barged into the room, but quickly stumbled to a stop at the sight.

The dimly lit room was empty, except for the expected demon in the center of it... and the more... _unexpected_ human standing close to its distinctively womanly form. A desire demon. Alistair remembered its appearance all too well from the encounter in Honnleath, the violet flickering flames around its head, the horns... and other more... _feminine_ features.

And yet something was different here than in Honnleath. The demon seemed entirely not bothered by their intrusion, and continued to walk leisurely around the tall human, its back turned to the companions. Not noticing the group, either, the dark-haired man in full templar armor had his expressionless eyes transfixed on the demon's form, his words sounding as if he was in trance, detached and dreamy.

"Perhaps it is time for us to retire then, my love."

"Of course, my darling. I am eager to fulfill my wifely duties," the demon answered, underneath its very female sounding voice was an audible otherworldly, demonic tone.

"Everything is just as you wanted, my knight. Our love and family is more than you hoped for."

The Templar nodded sluggishly at that, his expression distant but somehow... _content._

Alistair swallowed hard, blinking at the odd picture before him. It was all too obvious that the demon had this Templar ensorcelled and fully under its control, caging him in his own wishful thoughts.

Oghren snorted. "How sodding _precious_."

For the faintest of moment, the Templar looked up and in their direction. "Do you hear something, love?"

"It was nothing but the door, I will see to it, love. You go and tuck the children into bed. I will be back in a minute." The man nodded slowly but remained on the same spot, unmoving and completely still.

_Children?_ Alistair blinked._ But there is only... Maker's breath._

The demon turned, its voice harsh as it gazed at the Dalish with its wide, black pupils. "You are intruding upon a loving, intimate moment, and I _dislike _disruptions."

Lenya made a face. "Ugh. _Creepy_." Her hands tightened around the hilt of her blades but she held them still and low. For now.

Alistair ran a nervous hand through his hair, the tone of his voice unnerved, somehow freaked out, even. "A family where the wife and children are in reality the same person... _thing._ That there... that _defines_ creepy." He glanced over to Lenya, shaking his head. "_Why_ are we standing here and talking to that... thing? At all?"

"Oh? But I think it is somehow a rather fascinating, unique situation to behold, no?" Zevran glanced sidelong to his companions left and right, seeing nothing but bewildered faces. "Just me thinking so? Pity."

Alistair's voice pitched higher and more frantic than before, glaring back at the elf. "You can't be serious. It is using this man. It has bewitched him. His happiness is nothing but a lie. This is wrong."

Morrigan only scoffed. "Apparently you can get your desire and _still _suffer horribly. 'Tis truly a lesson for all who consider marriage."

The demon's eyes flickered over to the Warden, flashing him a nearly sly smile. "Happiness, desire, love, all these emotions _are_ bewitching. I saw his loneliness and longing for a family that loved him and gave him what he most _wanted_." It tilted its head, staring right into Alistair's face, its strange voice dimmed to a low murmur, as if whispering only to him. "And you _know_ what I'm talking about, mortal." Its gaze darted for nothing more than a blink of an eye to Lenya. "You... _want _to."

For a fraction of a moment, Alistair was drowned by the sheer force of _yearning,_ of all the things he always wanted, but never had. Unbidden, it came over him in a sudden rush, overpowering, before he finally managed to regain the power of himself again. "Back off, demon. I want nothing from you!" he shouted, and summoned a smite that hauled the desire demon back and stunned it for a moment.

Due to his missing focus, the effect of the smite was only short-lived. It laughed, its sound eerie, and strode away from him, toward the bewitched templar again. "How fitting. I have no interest in you, mortal, or in harming those following you. All I ask is to leave us alone."

Morrigan shrugged and turned to go. "Well... then, have fun eating his rotten brain. 'Tis nothing but a weak fool who brought that upon himself."

Oghren surveyed the odd couple and the apathetic demeanor of the man, somewhat fascinated. "And here I thought Branka had been the only life-sucking demon. Heh, guess I was wrong." With a last stare on the demon's all-too-feminine ass, he turned and let it go with a shrug. "Well, not my sodding business anyway."

"You know, I _should _kill you, being creepy and all that," Lenya said after the others spoke, observing the demon closely. "But considering the shit-storm that is yet to come, I can't work up the energy to actually _care. _Do what you want." With that, she sheathed her blades and started to head for the exit at the other side of the room, but Alistair grabbed her arm, making her stop.

"You would leave the demon _alive?_" Eyes narrowed as he stared at her, utter consternation and a hint of hurt detectable within his gaze. "You can't do that. This is _wrong_." Fixing her with a glare and pointing toward the templar, he shouted, "He _deserves _to make his own happiness."

"What happiness?" the demon answered instead, affectionately stroking the templar's cheek with its claws, before turning her view back to the angry Warden. "He has gone through life empty, resentful of his vows. You would return him to this?"

Shaking, Alistair struggled to control his voice over the tumult inside him and it came out in a growl. "Release him!"

"Release?" It laughed. "Our thoughts and spirits are already melded. If one perishes, so does the other. We are partners. I give him what no one else can, and through him, I experience what it is to be mortal. As said, I want nothing from you. Just leave us alone."

Alistair let go of Lenya to step into the demon's way, trembling, gloved hands pressed around the hilt of his sword as he raised it to the creature's neck. "No!"

The demon narrowed its eyes into slits, fixing him with a disapproving, angry glare. "Then you leave me no choice." It looked at the templar. "Help!" It intoned the words in a helpless, frightened voice that was so jarring to the tone it had before. "There are bandits on the door. They are threatening to murder the children."

Alistair blinked in realization of its words before his vision narrowed down to hot rage, his blood boiling. Distantly, he heard Lenya cursing beneath his urge to make it all go away, to distance himself from the blurred lines and the unwanted memories the demon had awoken in him. Leaping after the suddenly withdrawing creature, he slammed his shield into the demon's front before it had time to finish its spell, the air already sizzling with magical electricity. Stunned by the blow, it remained unmoving in place, the fraction of a moment used by Alistair to let his sword follow. Thrusting forward, the blade sunk into its bared abdomen, the skin oddly thick but no match to his steel and ferocity. Black blood spilled forth from the gash, splashing Alistair's face. Understandably furious with pain, the creature screeched, scratching his cheeks with its claws as it hurled back in the vain try to free itself from his blade. It did little to stop Alistair, again and again he sliced the demon's front, each wild swing picked up momentum, the rage inside and the need to rectify himself still not sated.

Slash.

_Get out of my head._

Slash.

_I'm not him._

Then, with a final screech, the desire demon sunk down in its own pool of blood as the last flicker of life escaped it. For a moment it looked as if Alistair would continue his furious swings, even hacking the remaining pieces of the demon into a bloodied mush in his frenzy. But somewhere in his mind he heard a voice, one that made him _stop._

"Alistair, Alistair! Creators-damned _idiot!_"

Blinking rashly, he became aware of his surroundings again and of all the blood, _everywhere_—on his gloved hands, on the floor, soaking his very being. Still unable to move, he simply stared at the ground, and then at his sword, still clawed in his hand, dripping with black blood. With a loud clatter, it suddenly fell to the reddened stone floor as he felt too powerless to hold onto it, trembling.

"Heh, boy, that was fine display of berserk," Oghren said, snorting. "Didn't know you had that in ya."

_Berserk?_ He blinked anew._ Impossible._

He had always been in control when fighting, always took heed to keep his moves well-thought out and precise, just how he had learned it in the long years of his Templar training.

_Templar._

This one word rang through his mind and shook him to the core, making him acutely aware of why he had reacted so strongly, to an extent that he even forgot everything around him in favor of _killing. _The thought was frightening, so much that he barely dared to let his gaze wander to the place where _he_ last stood. The bewitched Templar, beneath his foresworn duty, a simple man yearning for the things he never had and could never have.

Family._ Love._

And then he saw him, not standing there anymore or freed from the demon's spell in the end, but his massive body splayed out on the ground, the gashing wound on his neck an evidence of Lenya's swordsmanship. Nearly drowned in his own blood, the Templar stared back at him and his eyes had the same unchanged nothingness like when he was alive. He had been a Templar resentful of his vows, his mind tricked by idle, wishful fantasies of a home and a family.

_That could have been me._

Still transfixed on the corpse, Alistair frowned at the sudden thought, the motion causing him to wince at the cuts right and left on his cheeks. Now acutely aware of the pain, his head snapped up at the fiery burn, and gazed right into her blood-smeared, grimed face. Lenya's angry scowl softened into a frown at his quiet whimper, shaking her head in disapproval.

"Serves you right for that stupid, reckless action, idiot..."

Despite her dismissive words, her hand reached out to his face and pushed his head to the side with her gloved fingertips to observe the fairly deep scratches visible underneath the layer of blood.

Lenya let out an exasperated sigh, glancing over to Wynne, who already stood tensed and in place at their side, a spell ready on her thin lips.

It burned where her fingers grazed the wounds and yet he found himself leaning into her touch. It didn't stop burning as the wave of healing washed over him, as flesh mended again and the pain slowly subsided. But it was a good burn due to her hand that rested on his cheek until the effect waned, soothing like Wynne's spell itself, comfortable.

Home, family, love.

Lenya was all these things to him, and at the same time, nothing at all. She was his fellow Warden, the only one left in all Ferelden in the time of the Blight, and paradoxically, the woman he found himself falling for. It was not permissible for a Grey Warden. Love was a distracting force that contradicted with his strong sense of duty and his task of stopping the Blight. He was not allowed to, just like this templar... and yet he _wanted_ to. The demon had seen that in him, the long buried desire to love and be loved now slowly awakening and... _there,_ and even slashing the demon into bits did not make the fact go away that he_ wanted_ her. Inhaling deep, Alistair let the air in his lungs out in a sigh again and turned to reclaim his weapon from the ground.

Wynne shook her head, her tone chiding. "My, seeing you fight, I truly wonder how the both of you have survived without a healer until now."

"We are good at hacking things to pieces," Lenya said with a shrug, glancing over to what once had been a desire demon. "Apparently."

He even smiled a bit at that. "I'm... sorry?"

Lenya let out a grumpy noise. "Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. That big, stupid shemlen was charging at you all the sudden, but you were too busy hacking your sword into the demon like an idiot, so I had to kill him."

He only hummed distractedly, his eyes fixed on a crumbled parchment near the templar. Picking it up, he unfolded it and started to read.

_Notice of Censure_

_Templar Drass, your remarks in front of the recruits are only the latest in a series of troubling events. I am beginning to suspect that you may not be suited to the devotional requirements of training. Perhaps it is time for a personal evaluation of your career path within the templ –_

_.  
_

The rest wasn't readable anymore; the stains of blood covered the written words too much. It wasn't needed, however. Alistair knew what that meant without reading the rest. The unsuited templars, those not devoted enough to the Chantry, got always stationed in the farthest places of Thedas, where they could do no harm, nor give away any templar secrets they have learned during their time in the Chantry. He frowned, still staring at the smeared bloodstains mingling with the ink until Lenya's voice put him out of his thoughts.

"What is it?"

Sighing, he crumbled the note again and threw it over his shoulder. "Nothing. Let's move on."

.

.

* * *

.

"Great, _another_ demon."

Lenya had barely opened the wooden door as she caught sight of the huge creature within. It didn't look unlike the abominations they had encountered before, and yet it was much bigger... _worse_. Its twisted, ugly form was threaded together of raw sinews and foul, convoluted flesh, the bulbous, milky eyes directed at the group as they entered.

"Oh, look. Visitors. I'd entertain you, but… hmm… too much effort involved."

"And it talks, too," the Dalish added with a scoff, her hands wandering to her blades but something in its voice stopped her from drawing them, the drawl in the creature's words made it hard for her to remember _how_.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed as she observed the demon before them and leaned in to Lenya. "'Tis a powerful demon, not like the pet the idiot ripped in pieces before. Best be on your guard."

"Niall!" Wynne suddenly started forward toward a human, a dark-haired man splayed out on the filthy, blood-sodden ground as if dead, but his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. "What have you done to him?"

The demon heaved his twisted hand up, the movement slow and detached. "Come, now. He's just resting. Poor lad, he was so very, very weary."

Again, its voice hammered inside of Lenya's skull, the words weaving around her mind like a cobweb and made it nearly impossible to focus. She shook herself, but her knees felt weak, almost ready to give in, to sink onto the ground and rest, despite its layer of filth and grime.

"You want to join us, don't you?" the demon asked in a long drawl. "Wouldn't you like to just lay down and… forget about all this? Leave it all behind?"

Alistair shook his head. "Can't… keep eyes open. Someone… pinch… me…." A loud, tinny sound followed, as the human slumped along with his heavy plate mail to the ground, falling into a deep sleep.

"Resist," Wynne urged, swaying herself. "You must… resist, else we are all lost…"

"Y-yes," Lenya managed to say, her tongue feeling heavy and fuzzy at that single word, vision slowly blurring as the room seemed to draw closer. "...'s better... I sshust... kill... you." Stumbling, she reached for her weapons on her back and past the hilts into the thin air, unable to grab them. Distinctly, and as if through cotton wool, she heard how her companions left and right of her sank to the ground, mumbling their curses toward the creature before they went still in a deep slumber. Lenya was the last of them standing, her knees already trembling with the effort to keep her upright.

"Why do you fight? All the death and blood. Aren't you weary of it already?" The demon's voice had adapted an even more soothing, seducing tone and it reverberated into her very core, shattering every single bit of stubborn resolve she still had summoned. "Rest and forget about all the pain and hardship. You deserve it. The world will go on without you."

"Dammit..." Lenya mumbled dazed, before all power escaped out of her being and she hit the floor to _rest._

Just like the demon wanted.

* * *

_**A/N: **I'm kind of astounded that no Blight story (in my knowledge) has ever picked up on the bewitched Templar encounter and its obvious parallels to Alistair's longing for a family and love...or rather the big 'what if' ensuing. For me it is like a Creator's given gift for the things to come and his further development. It left a mark on him, that's for sure. So next stop will be the Fade and Lenya won't be a happy camper in it. Not at all. Heh. Review?  
_


	48. Vir Assan

_**A/N:** Vir Assan = Fly straight and do not waver. Thanks to all for such an awesome support, I was floored when reading all the feedback for the last chapter. Wow. Really. Special thanks once again to Mack for the beta-read. Now have fun with the latest chap and in the Fade ;)_

* * *

_**Angelus:**__ So that's everything, huh? No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away and what's left?_

_**Buffy**: Me._

**_- Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Becoming Part II_**

* * *

**Chapter 47: Vir Assan**

.

Sunshine poured through a little, rounded window and it fell warm and bright on Lenya's face, stirring her in her sleep.

Gingerly, she opened her eyes, taking a deep breath of the fresh air that had the faint scent of flowers and wet leaves, like after a summer rain. Stretching her limbs, she felt no pain, no ache in her muscles that had been there so constantly before due to the perpetual fight to survive.

Startled by this incoherent thought, she sat up, her blonde hair cascading freely over her shoulders at the motion, not quite covering her elven ears. Looking around, she noticed the familiar, rounded wooden walls of an aravel, decorated with the carved emblems of her clan. Wrapped in a white linen sheet, she sat on a comfortable bedroll sprawled out on the wooden ground and was momentarily amazed at how _warm_ the feel of the sun was. The glow even permeated through her light woolen dress, touching her bare skin. Lenya couldn't remember when she had last felt the sunshine in such intensity on her skin, where it had been winter—

She blinked. There it was again. The notion that something was amiss, that the perfect picture was somehow... _wrong._

"Ah, you are awake. Finally."

Her heart gave a firm squeeze at the sudden sound of _that_ voice, warm and wise in its tone, belonging to someone dear. Someone Lenya felt having not seen for ages and couldn't place..._why._ Her head snapped up to the elder Dalish, her green eyes blinking the bright light and the disbelief away.

"Ashalle..."

"Yes." She laughed. "You look as if you have seen a ghost, Lenya."

"I don't know," she mumbled, embracing her bare knees while being half lost in thoughts. "Maybe I have."

Ashalle arched an eyebrow as she put the tray of food beside the bedroll, near Lenya. "Bad dreams? Don't worry, this happens to everyone once in a while... but they are not real."

_Real..._

The word reverberated in her mind, leaving her puzzled. "Say, Ashalle…" She looked up to her, before her gaze drifted to the food. "Was there ever a Grey Warden here?" Somehow this held a significance to Lenya, although she didn't know _why_. Her mind still felt a bit fuzzy from the sleep. Maybe she really had some nightmares, or at least weird dreams.

"A Grey Warden?" Ashalle shook her head, amused. "No, never. You must have hit your head harder than we thought."

"I... did?" she asked, unsure. With her fingertips, Lenya drove through her hair, checking the back of her head for a bump, but there was none.

The elder Dalish sighed. "You don't remember at all? You ran off into the forest alone after a heated fight with Merrill." She shook her head. "I don't understand why you two can't get along for once."

"Because she is a bi—" Lenya started saying, but quickly stopped herself. "Never mind. Go on."

"We thought you would return soon after you cooled down, like you always did. But the hours passed and the day faded into dawn without your return. Creators, we were so worried about you, _da'len_. Thank Mythal that Tamlen found you when he did, unconscious and with a bleeding wound on your head. I think one of those big animals that were roaming our borders the past few days had attacked you, your armor was nearly shredded to bits, after all. Merrill had it all healed up within moments, and yet you didn't wake up... until now."

Lenya felt herself relaxing at this tale, the strange wariness finally disappearing from her system. Leaning over, she took a chunk of the bread, wolfing it down in one bite. It tasted sweet, the fruity texture of the berries within delicious on the tip of her tongue. "So... Tamlen found me?" she inquired further, the words feeling... _peculiar_ in her mouth.

"Yes, he was quite adamant and carried you all the way back to our camp, it was quite endearing. I know what you two are like siblings, but maybe you both should rethink—"

Lenya frowned and glared up to her foster mother. "Ugh... no way."

"Good, understood." Chuckling, she gestured toward the Dalish fruit bread on the plate. "Now, eat and get up. The Keeper want to see you as soon you are awake, and I bet Tamlen want to see you too, once he has returned from his hunt with Fenarel. We were all so worried, after all. I'm so relieved to see you are okay."

Lenya hummed, the sunlight momentarily flooding the aravel as Ashalle opened the little door to leave, making her blink. Closing her eyes, Lenya took another deep breath in a vain attempt to sort her thoughts.

Had all _this_ just been a dream while she had been unconscious due to an animal attack? It made sense to her... but at the same time, she could not shake off the nagging feeling deep inside that something was not right with all the familiarity surrounding her. Sighing, the Dalish got up, padding barefoot to the door to see what it all was about.

Maybe the Keeper could tell her more.

.

~V~

.

Lenya stepped out of the aravel, hesitatingly setting one foot before the other.

The soil was still damp and the grass soft underneath her bare feet, and the smell of wood seeped into every fiber of her senses. Crushed pine needles, wet earth and the multilayered odor of herbs mixed together in an accustomed scent that was home to her. The sun shone brightly and warm through the shelter of the huge trees, its leaves already tinged with the red-golden color of autumn.

Lenya sighed contently for a moment, feeling that it had been far too long since she had last seen a forest and enjoyed simply being there. Closing her eyes, she listened to the bustling sounds around herself that were so well known and so.._. missed_ by her. There was Hahren Paivel's voice chiding some chatty children to listen, the whizzing of arrows of the practicing hunters as they released the string to let it fly into the wooden target, and the cracking of the large campfire in the middle clearing. For a few moments, the sounds drowned all wrongness out and she felt free, _normal._

"Oh, there you are. I'm glad you are okay," a voice suddenly said, prompting Lenya to open her eyes again. Before her stood Merrill, bouncing excitedly on the tips of her toes. And if that motion Merrill's hadn't been too strange a thing to behold already, the normally so serious, reticent Dalish woman rambled on, her voice a cheery singsong.

"You know, I'm so sorry we argued, and I feel I'm totally to blame for that. You are a very talented hunter, Lenya, but going out in the woods alone is dangerous at the moment due to the big animals and all. Creators, I was so glad when Tamlen found you and I managed to heal your wound. I hope I'm forgiven now because I feel guilty that you ran off, somehow." She paused and her eyes widened. "Oh no, I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

Lenya only blinked. The person before her _looked_ like Merrill and _sounded_ like her fellow Dalish, but that was where the similarities ended. The Merrill she knew was quick with a derisive snort or comment and looked down on Lenya in a way that awoke in her the wish to shred her in pieces. Never had Merrill apologized to her, nor was she ever worried about her safety—quite the opposite, in fact. Merrill _hated_ Lenya, which was an all too mutual feeling. This young elf, however, looked at her with wide eyes, its expression friendly, even _smiling_ at her.

It was bewildering. Outright scary, even.

"Err... okay. Whatever," Lenya said in a muttering tone, still staring at her.

"Oh, oh, you are going to the Keeper, right? Let me come with you," Merrill said, suddenly more excited. "I need to ask something as well."

"Err...okay. Whatever," Lenya repeated with a shrug, not caring at all. Gearing toward the Keeper's aravel at the other side of the camp, Lenya and the all too chatty Merrill passed Master Ilen's workshop. Not noticing them, the elder smith bowed over a glowing piece of metal that lay on his anvil and worked on it with quick, precise pounding of his crowned hammer, the shape of a dagger already recognizable. It was not even the soon-to-be-weapon that fixated Lenya's eyes on his work, but the sound of steel meeting steel that awoke in her a sense of... _remembering? _She couldn't quite place why it shook her so, yet it was threaded with seemingly such an importance that it enhanced the ever-present nagging feeling inside.

Merrill craned her neck, looking at her. "Is something wrong?"

Lenya frowned. " I… don't know, actually."

She clasped her hands together, giggling. "Oh, I'm sure you will feel better once you have eaten something. I can't think with an empty stomach, either. Sometimes, I even study so much that I'm close to fainting with hunger. So you should eat when you are hungry. Much better, really."

Lenya bit on her tongue until it hurt, stopping a brusque _"shut up"_ from escaping. Instead, she merely glared at her fellow Dalish, already regretting having taken her along. If she was honest, she very much preferred bitchy, taciturn Merrill to this odd and very _annoying _version.

When had she changed that much?

Her frown deepened as she observed the young mage looking back at her with a quizzical expression. Lenya sighed. "Just let us go to the Keeper. Like, _now._"

She nodded, smiling, and nearly tripped over her feet as she overlooked a rock in her way. "Oops... I'm okay, I didn't fall this time!"

Lenya couldn't help but to roll her eyes at that.

.

~V~

.

Merrill stopped in front of a lean elf, his robed figure bent over a large, unfolded parchment. Fully concentrated on studying the document before him, he didn't notice their approach.

"Keeper... here we are," said Merrill.

Surprised at the voice, he looked up, and sharp green eyes softened as he recognized the person next to Merrill. "_Da'len_, I'm so glad that you are finally up and well again." He chuckled, the motion accenting the few wrinkles around his mouth and eyes on his otherwise still fair, angular face. "You gave me quite the scare. Well, as usual, I think." The Dalish man bowed down to fold the parchment, a few streaks of the cropped, dark-blond hair was already grayed. Looking up to Lenya, he added with a smile, "I was about to check on you once I was done, but the preparation of the coming _Arlathvhen_ took me longer than I thought, as you can see. So I sent Ashalle to you."

Lenya could only stare at him, befuddled. "Who _are _you?" Some voice inside tried to tell her that she knew him, that she could trust him, but it also enhanced the feeling of wrongness at the same time.

The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a slight frown. "This really isn't funny anymore, _da'len_. Did you hit your head so hard that you don't even recognize your own father?" He stepped closer to her, his hands reaching out for her head. "Let me see if everything is okay or if there is an injury we have overlooked."

"Oh, but I have healed her, like you taught me, Keeper. So I don't think this is—" He silenced Merrill with a stern look, still drawing closer to his daughter.

Instinctively, Lenya backed away from his touch, her expression somewhere between utter shock and consternation as she stared at him. "_Papae? _Keeper?" Her head shook violently in disbelief, putting even more space between herself and the man who claimed to be her father. Something was very wrong, and all of her instincts inside screamed in alarm. "No. Where is Marethari? Where is the _real_ Keeper?"

"Marethari?" His frown deepened. "I don't know this name. Are you sure you are all right?"

_Wrong._

"No, I'm not!" she yelled. "I never knew my father!" Gasping at the sudden realization, it was as if the picture swam, the forest before her eyes disappearing, if only for the blink of an eye.

_Wrong._

Merrill narrowed her eyes, suddenly not so perky at all anymore. "Don't be foolish, what are you talking about? We are your clan, your family." Then she shook herself, returning to her old, friendly tone. "I think you should rest a bit, it will do you good, _lethallan_. Forget about the sorrows in the arms of your clan. We can deal with them _later. _"

"No. I will not!" Lenya's breaths came out in ragged intervals, the tumult inside bursting out in a confused, angry growl. "What is going on here? _Who _are you? My father died _before_ I was born."

The 'Keeper' slanted his head and fixed her with his eyes, his tone soothing. "It doesn't have to be this way, _da'len_. You can be at peace here. With us, all together."

"No," she nearly whispered, still shaking. "This is wrong."

"_Vir Adahlen, _Lenya. _Who_ are you _without_ your clan?" Merrill's words ended in a scoff that was more like the Merrill she once knew. "You are a nobody, a mere elf. Alone in a world that hates our kind."

At that, Lenya went completely still, even her breath stopped for a moment before she defiantly met 'Merrill's' eyes, her voice filled with a confident certainty. "I'm... _me_. A Grey Warden."

_Grey Warden._

The word sputtered out of her mouth without any thinking, and it set off an avalanche of memories inside her mind.

The Ruins. The mirror. Tamlen's death. Ostagar. Her Joining. The Blight. Desperation. The overbearing feeling of loss and being lost in the world that was not her own.

"Do you want return to all that?" her so-called father asked, still trying to lull her back into complacency. "There is only war and death for you there. Here, you are safe and not alone."

Lenya closed her eyes. For the briefest of moments, she was wavering, even _considering _taking the offer.

_I can't do this on my own, Lenya. I need your help, so please don't leave me now."_

_His _voice flickered through her mind, albeit only for a moment. It was enough. Enough to know that she couldn't stay, couldn't give in to the illusion of her mind. It had taken her long enough to accept this fate, her new life. She wouldn't give that up now for a wishful dream, one that was wrong even with all its familiarity.

Her eyes snapped open, her voice secure in her words. "I'm not alone."

He had often said that to her. Told her that so often that she actually _believed_ it now. Shaking her head, Lenya laughed out loud.

_Alistair. You idiot._

Turning back, she observed the peaceful scenery of the forest around her, the picture perfection of the Dalish camp. How Master Ilen worked to bend ironbark, how Pol was chatting with Maren at the halla compound, children running around a muttering Paivel. It was the perfect semblance of all the things she had to give up, but only an _illusion,_ after all.

"I can't stay. There is something I need to do." She sighed wistfully, and her expression furrowed into a pained frown as she looked back at the creature imposing as her father. "And I can't live a lie."

_Even if a part of me wants to._

At that, the picture suddenly blurred, shifted. Just at the moment, what seemed to be Tamlen appeared, and the forest and camp dissipated into nothingness. Lenya fell on her knees onto the now dusty ground, closed her eyes and bit back the whimper coming up her throat, allowing herself a moment of weakness.

_I'm sorry._

The moment passed and the well-known resolution returned as she let out the trembling breath she was holding. Looking down at herself, Lenya noticed that she wasn't wearing the light woolen dress any longer, but her blood-smeared leather armor again, and her weapons were sheathed at her back. Back to her old self. Everything was like before she had fallen asleep due to the de—

Lenya shook herself, getting on her feet in one movement. Now that her mind was no longer hazed by false pretense, she remembered in all clarity what happened.

The tower. Abominations and demons. Her companions being lulled into sleep one by one, just like her. But where were the others? Why was she... _alone _here?

Peering around, she gazed into a twisted landscape with floating islands, some large and seemingly an arm's length away, others more distant. The sky was filled with an all-encompassing blackness with swirling ribbons of white flooding it in an arbitrary pattern. It felt like her vision was blurred, and all seemed unreal, as if she would be dreaming.

_Dreaming..._

The Beyond. Or Fade, as the shemlen called it.

Had the demon trapped her here? And if so, what happened to her body in the real world? Lenya let out a frustrated groan. She had heard some things about this place, mainly from Hahren Paivel and Ashalle. People came here when they were dreaming and only mages should be able to wander this place _consciously_. Except for the souls of the dead...

She grimaced, refusing to end that thought. She knew she _was_ alive when the demon had lulled her into sleep, but that meant that her companions must be trapped somewhere too, right? She started to move without knowing really where to go, and her body felt unnaturally light, as if she wasn't really there. It was comforting thought in all its absurdity somehow, showing her that she maybe had the chance to escape this place again, although she had no idea _how._

She only knew that she had to find her companions as well, or all of them would end up wandering aimlessly around in the Beyond for all eternity.

"Wonderful prospect," Lenya muttered as she set herself in motion, the choice of her direction as haphazard as the place itself.

.

.

* * *

.

"W-what?"

The sudden voice startled her. For what felt like a lifetime, Lenya hadn't encountered a single soul and nearly lost herself in the yellow-tinged fog and the ever-shifting, ragged environment of the fade. And suddenly a dark-haired man popped out of nowhere and stood before her, his appearance like a reflection in a fogged mirror before her eyes.

"Who are you? A demon?" he asked, leery and surprised at Lenya's presence like she was to his.

Lenya rolled her eyes, sighing. "Yes exactly, I'm a demon. Grr. Argh."

He shook his head. "No… no, I see that you're not. You're like me, aren't you? Well, congratulations on getting out of that trap."

"Trap? As in _demon-babbling-you-to-sleep-trap_? Then yes, we have something in common." She observed his colorful mage robe that seemed to swim before her eyes. "But there end the similarities, shemlen."

"Yes." He nodded. "The demon traps everything that comes here in a dream. It thinks they can't—or won't—try to leave. I thought I'd escaped, too, but I've been wandering these empty, grey spaces for a lifetime."

"Great, really. I don't have so much time, however. Blight and all that."

The mage blinked, his tone somewhat disbelieving. "The Blight? You are... a Grey Warden? How ironic that you got caught by the sloth demon too."

"Yes, I plan to wake up and laugh about it later, actually." She sighed, annoyed. "For now, I would be content to find my companions and shred this demon to pieces." Slanting her head, she smiled at him all too sweetly. "Mind helping me out?"

"You mean you didn't come here alone?"

Lenya shook her head.

"So your companions are caught in their dreams as well, I think. You might as well forget about to saving them or yourself. Even if you _can _get out of the trap, there are obstacles. Always something in your way, taunting you… crazy dream things. Rivers of flame, impassable doors. You might see the path but never be able to get there. It can drive you mad," he said, with a bit of hollow wistfulness.

Lenya narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'm not sitting here and waiting until my real body is rotten like you apparently prefer, shem. So I'll have to _try._"

"It is not..." He stopped, sighing. "This place drains you of everything... hope, feeling, life... I-I'm Niall, by the way. I was once like you, trying to escape here, wanting to protect the Circle and face Uldred and his blood mages with the Litany of Andralla." He laughed, dark and humorless. "Look what it brought me."

"The Litany of Andralla?"

"It's a spell, a... a chant that protects your mind from blood mages. They can get into your mind and take control of your body. You can't stop what they make you do... but the Litany protects against that."

"Lovely." Lenya shifted on her feet that still felt all too light. "So, I need that document, I take it?"

"If you ever escape here, yes. The demon keeping us here probably rules this entire section of the Fade. It'll not let us go easily, if at all." Niall chuckled grimly. "I tried to do something heroic in my life and got trapped by Sloth. Ironic, really." His mouth tightened, eyes growing sad. "I think you'll find the Litany with my body in the real world. I don't think I'm still alive... I'm already too…" he trailed off, eyes straying into the wideness of the twisted landscape.

Lenya frowned. "Why is that? You are only sleeping, just like us. I saw you in the room. You were still breathing."

"Huh?" He blinked, struggling to stay focused. "N-no, no I'm dead, as simple as that. The demon… it feeds off the dreamers it traps here. Makes a game out of it to amuse itself." He turned to point at a strange device behind him. "You see that pedestal there? I've studied the runes on it—runes that signify different islands of the sloth demon's domain. The sloth demon itself is on the center island, but you can't get there. The five islands around the center somehow form a protective ward. I... I think the sloth demon has placed lesser demons on each of the islands. I've seen them."

"Five islands. Kill the demons there. Free my companions." She nodded, pleased to finally have some somewhat useful information on where to start. "Sounds easy enough."

"It isn't!" Niall said in reprimand, his tone desperate rather than sharp. "The demons, they take different shapes, hiding behind the other dreamers there, in their dreams. Defeating them may be the only way to reach the sloth demon."

"Oookay, anything else I need to know before I make my way through this inane place?"

He sighed, somewhat defeated. "Well... something more basic, I suppose, since you are no mage. You are here and, then again, not really, if that makes sense. In the Fade, your body has not a definite form, as it is only your mind and soul walking here. It can change, _shift_. Look out for the many dreamers besides us here. Not all are in human form, some think they are mice, others wolves, nightingales... or octopuses. They can tell you more about how to reach the demons and overcome the obstacles."

"Oh great, I always wanted to communicate with animals," Lenya said dryly, rolling her eyes.

Niall suddenly fixed her with a pleading stare. "I have given up all hope already and am too afraid to face the demons myself, but you look like you could make it. So _please_ save the Circle from Uldred, take the Litany and use it..." His appearance began to flicker, growing even fuzzier, like the wavering reflection on a stream of water. "Uldred... he is... he... is—" Niall couldn't finish his sentence. Swallowed by the yellow-tinged fog, he was suddenly gone.

Lenya was alone again, and for a tiny moment, the weight and desperation gnawed at her consciousness, making her breathing grow shaky. Looking around, she saw several disembodied doorways with no structure at all, and every single one only seemed to lead to nowhere. She shook herself, focusing her gaze onto the device that human showed her. There was no time to wallow in self-pity, if she gave up, they were as good as dead, eaten alive by the dreaded demon.

So no matter how hopeless it seemed, she at least had to _try._

_._

.

* * *

_._

That human hadn't promised too much.

The Beyond was a place not only constantly shaping and shifting into something even more random, but also one where keeping one's own sanity was the hardest task of all. To overcome the obstacles, Lenya had to shift her own form into things otherworldly only mages should be normally able to: a ghost, a creature of fire, and even a golem. She had to fight spirits, demons, and even darkspawn had been following her, trying to destroy her spirit form. She had no time to wonder how those tainted, normally soulless creatures had gotten there. Clutching the cut on her arm, Lenya headed to a strange building before her.

She did not bleed, but wounds apparently hurt like in the real world. She could seemingly kill all her enemies, or at least make them dissolve into thin air, but she had to pay heed that their fate wouldn't become her own. Lenya gritted her teeth, the burn a distracting force from the all-encompassing solitude that threatened to swallow her. Not the demons or twisting landscapes was the worst for her at being here. No, it was the desolate loneliness that was slowly wearing her down and dampening her spirit.

Lenya had never been alone in her life, not in the arms of her clan, and even within the few months of being a Warden... there always had been... _Alistair._

_Ir su araval tu elvaral u na emma abelas._

Long journeys are made longer when alone within. Never had she seen more truth in this line of the ancient Dalish song than now, and she swore to herself that she would stop seeing his company—or the support of their other companions—while fighting the Blight as bothersome.

Not alone.

It was more than an empty catchphrase thrown at her in times of distress, and had now gained in weight and importance for her. It was a gift she had too long taken for granted and this place made her see that.

Finally, Lenya reached the patchwork building that seemed to be the end of the way and suddenly the picture shifted once more. She should cease being surprised about it by now, she knew, and yet she was when she gazed at the street forming before her eyes. It was a passage, plastered with white cobblestones, its way leading solely to a huge house. Its black walls stood out in the bright light of the sun that had appeared along with everything else. Lenya could faintly hear the laughter of children originating from the building, and additionally, a tangled mess of voices swarmed her ears, making her wonder where they actually came from.

Slowly, the place changed, forming a human city of its own with various shops and many people that were eying her suspiciously as they passed by the seemingly odd elf in leather armor. An illusion, sure, and yet so real that it left her momentarily in awe. As a Dalish, she had never seen a city like this and wondered briefly if she should marvel at its size or should be disgusted by its... _smell__._ The sun burned hotly down on the street stuffed with buildings and people, and reeking of garbage, sweat, and feces.

In all the commotion, it was still the blackened wooden house in the middle that drew her attention. Light red curtains fluttered in the mild breeze blowing through open windows, its door made of wood that was several shades lighter than the rest of the house, seemingly unbarred. Lenya moved toward the door and hesitantly pressed the handle. It opened with a slight screeching, giving way to the sight of the interior.

It wasn't really spacious, but the first thing Lenya noticed was the long, wooden table in the middle of the room, and the carved wooden chairs next to it. The table was set with white porcelain plates, fine silver cutlery and wine glasses, as if it had been made ready for dinner. The rest of the furniture was more ordinary, and it seemed almost as if the focus _should_ rest on the table. Reverberating laughter of a child distracted her from her thoughts, and before Lenya could react, a little girl with wild brown locks stood in front of her, curiously eying the unexpected guest.

Lenya looked back at the child, more surprised than anything, or she would have glared at her. If there was anything that she hated more than the plague called cats, it would be little, noisy _brats._

The girl canted her head, and the freckles around her nose seemed to dance in the light of the hearth-fire. "Who are you?"

The Dalish was a bit taken aback by her actually simple question, as if she hadn't expected her—_it_—to speak. The girl was like everything else here: just an illusion, a dream of someone, which was easy to forget in the rather lively and real environment that had been created.

"Kathie, how often have I told you—"

The man coming nearly stumbled into the room and paused mid-sentence, however, was _not _an illusion_._ Lenya's heart gave a start at the sight of him—completely dressed in civilian clothes and in no armor at all—before she found herself running toward him.

_Not alone._

She had found the_ one_ thing in this false construct of imagination that was _real_— her fellow Warden.

"Alistair!" Her arms flung around him, not quite able to fully encircle the massive form that he was. She did not care, since she was too overjoyed to see a friendly face in the confusing mess called Fade.

Startled by her sudden onslaught, he stiffened at first before a sense of recognition hit him. "L-Lenya," he managed to say, and then surrendered himself to her closeness. For a few precious moments, neither of them moved, simply enjoying each other's presence.

Lenya broke the contact first. Pulling back, she awkwardly fidgeted with a buckle on her arm, somewhat appalled by her impulsive reaction. There was a pause that stretched until she finally remembered how to speak.

"Creators, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad to see you."

Alistair smiled, his expression warm and appreciative on her. "I was about to say the same, you know. I was just thinking about you... and, wow,_ here_ you are."

"Who is _that_ and what is she doing here in my house?" A human woman glared at her, interrupting whatever stream of thoughts Lenya had. She didn't look unlike the little girl: her long hair had the same light brown color, her face sported similar features, albeit sterner.

"Oh, Goldanna," he said, looking up to her with a smile as he pointed at his fellow Warden. "This is Lenya, the one I told you about. Can she stay for supper? Pretty please?"

The woman called Goldanna fixed Lenya with a disfavoring stare before sighing. "All right, I just can't say no to my dear brother."

Lenya blinked. _"Brother?"_ she said dumbly, as if testing the word.

"Yes." He nodded, grinning. "This here is my dear sister, Goldanna. I think you already met her daughter, Kathie, and there are more of them somewhere in the house. We are all one happy family, at last."

She looked at him and frowned, as she saw how happy and content he appeared to be. Lenya had never seen him like that, so free and relaxed.

This, then, was _his_ dream, his wishful illusion.

"You have a... _sister?_" As soon Lenya had asked it, she noticed how little she really knew about the person she called her fellow Warden.

He beamed cheerfully. "It really is _wonderful_, you know. I always thought that being a Grey Warden would make me happy… but it doesn't. _This_ here does." He looked at Lenya. "What about you? I'm sure you want to settle down somewhere quiet, too, someday, Grey Warden or no."

"I don't think this is—"

Suddenly his gaze fell on the cut on Lenya's arm, his fingers carefully reaching out to her wound. "You are hurt!" There was a flicker within his eyes, something that made him completely forget about 'Goldanna' or his illusion in a whole. It was as if the old Alistair stood before her again, remembering, albeit only for a second. The flicker vanished as soon as 'Goldanna' raised her voice.

"We should treat the wound. I'll go and fetch some water to clean it."

"Isn't she a good soul? I'm so happy to live with my sister."

Slowly, Alistair's cheery behavior was grating on her nerves, for it was so unnatural, as if being under a spell of a dem—she staggered, feeling stupid for not having noticed it earlier. Unlike her own illusion, he was captured by one of the five demons she had to kill to reach the one trapping them all here. "Listen, Alistair, and listen _closely_." He looked at her, his expression somewhat puzzled but attentive. "_All_ of this here, the table, the brat, the very environment, is a lie. It is an illusion created by the demon that captured us in the Beyond—the Fade, as you would call it—and we need to leave. Now!"

She tried to drag him away by his hand, but Alistair didn't move, shaking his head. "N-no. I... don't think I'll be coming. I don't want to spend my life fighting, only to end up dead in a pit along with rotting darkspawn corpses."

Lenya frowned at his words, feeling somewhat sympathetic.

_I don't want to, either._

Before she could properly react to his words, the she-demon appeared again, interfering with Lenya's influence on her fellow Warden. "Here, I brought some water to clean the wound. So is your friend staying for supper?"

Alistair clasped his hands together, totally lost in his delight again. "Say you'll stay. Goldanna is a _fantastic_ cook. Her mince pie is sooo tasty. I truly _love_ pie."

At that, something in Lenya snapped.

Letting go of Alistair's sleeve, she stormed over to the she-demon and punched it with all her stored anger right in the face. It hauled back, momentarily wincing in pain. "Release him, creature! I have had enough of your silly games."

The demon quickly recovered from the blow and it knew that she _knew._ Nevertheless, it decided to keep up the charade, if only to daunt and mock the resisting mortal. With its human face, it smiled sweetly at the Dalish. "I don't know what you are talking about... I better get the pie."

"Yay!" Alistair said, painfully oblivious of Lenya's or his 'sister's' fight.

Fury beat in her veins and threatened to break out. Grabbing the creature by its collar, she made it stop, glaring up at it. "What part of punching you in the face did you not understand? I said _release_ him, _bitch!_"

It smirked. Not the smirk of the woman it faked to be, but the real, demonic one. "He is _ours_. _Nothing_ you will say or do will convince him otherwise. He only sees what we _want_ him to see." Even its voice was not concealed anymore, as the tone had turned evil and cold.

"Nothing, huh?" Lenya slowly drew her weapons, one by one, and gave it a pointedly look. "Wanna bet?"

The she-demon scowled and, as its confident sense of victory dwindled, it reverted to raw anger. "I'm not so easily disposed of, Grey Warden!"

"Yeah, I've heard _that_ before."

With that, the banter was finished and the demon let the facade of a woman go, shifting and mutating into its real form. It twisted, the flesh grey, raw, and growing in size until a something akin to an abomination loomed over her, claws almost as long as her dagger.

Already moving, she pivoted to the side to evade the demon's attack, shooting a frantic glance over to Alistair within the momentum and cursed. The now not-so-sweet-child had changed to its demonic form as well, and was about to charge at an oblivious and happily smiling Alistair. Lenya knew that she wouldn't reach the other demon in time to protect him, so all she could do is was draw the Goldanna-demon's attention toward herself... and trust his warrior instincts.

She could only hope that this wouldn't be a fatal mistake.

"Hey, Alistair, catch!" While throwing her sword in his direction, Lenya sent a quick prayer to Mythal that he wouldn't be clumsy for _once._

He surprised her.

Without thinking, he caught the weapon in mid-air, and whirled around his own axis to decapitate the smaller demon in one move. Blinking, Alistair stared at the sword, shocked by his instinctive reaction. "What... _is_... happening?" Looking up, he saw how a huge demon nearly cornered Lenya and, without hesitation, he ran toward it, the concern about her drowning out all the prior haze in his mind. "Lenya!"

"Sword?" The Dalish dodged an attack and deflected a hand of claws with her remaining dagger, heavily panting with the effort. "Sword! _Idiot!_"

Instead of giving it to her, Alistair rammed it into the demon's back with as much force as he could muster. Staggering with pain, it fell backward, screeching, and almost buried Alistair under its massive, convoluted body. Lenya used the moment of distraction to finish the creature off. Going for the heart—or where she guessed it would be—she jumped on it, plunged her blade into its flesh, and it twisted it around, not without a great deal of satisfaction.

The picture around them began to flicker and disappeared, leaving only the dreaded landscape of the Fade behind.

Lenya picked herself from the ground, calmly freeing her armor from the dust and reclaiming her weapons. "Well, that was not what I meant with giving me my sword back." She looked at him with a wry smile. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

Alistair stared out at the twisted, knotted paths and the hollow environment of this place, letting his head hang, somehow utterly dejected. He was now wearing full plate armor again... or at least it appeared so "The Fade—"

Lenya sighed, impulsively completing the sentence before he could. "Really sucks."

He shook himself, and his brows creased to an angry frown. "I can't believe it… how did I not see _this_ earlier?"

She smiled up at him in an attempt to reassure him, knowing how he felt right now. "I was fooled too, you know." Grabbing his gloved hand without feeling the metal at all, Lenya tried to drag him to move. "Come on, still four demons left until we can shred the ugly ass of the one capturing us here."

Alistair didn't move, stared down at her hand and sighed. "I... feel like such an idiot to fall for this. I... _thank_ you."

She shrugged matter-of-factly, but her voice gave away her relief. " It is... _okay. _Can't let the demon feed off from you, after all. Now, let us go on, before the demon eats us alive."

He nodded, now actually smiling. "Okay, let's—" Stopping, Alistair called out for her, his tone growing desperate. "Hey where are you going? Lenya? Heeeey!" His appearance flickered and was surrounded by the ominous, yellow-tinged fog that had already made the human mage vanish.

Lenya whirled around, just to watch, appalled, at how the fog swallowed him whole and he disappeared. It nearly seemed as if the Beyond was mocking her, watching every one of her steps.

_No, not again._

She was all alone again.

Lenya had never thought she would ever _miss_ Alistair, but right in this moment, she _did._

* * *

_**A/N:** The observant reader might have noticed that this are just Alistair's and Lenya's dream, so to speak. The others are still missing, I know but they didn't fit in here anymore, so they get their own chap. Lol, I know I was saying I won't do many chaps with the mage Tower but this story has a mind of its own, I swear. So no promises from now on anymore. Or better saying: it is done...when it is done. Heh. Yeah and a DA2 easter egg was in here too, you didn't read wrong about Merrill, this was fully intended by me :p Review and I love you forever ;)  
_


	49. Vir Adahlen

_**A/N:** Hello to this rather late update. Can't help it my story is giving me fits atm and I have the hardest time to keep up with the prior (publishing) pace. Sorry. On that regard, I have had a bit of a writers block and not fully recovered yet, so writing takes fooorever atm. However, good I had this chapter in store still, so you have something to read while I figure out the petulant chapter after this. Fun. However, here are the dreams of the other companions and Lenya's further journey through the Fade/Beyond. Fun. (I hope.)  
_

_Vir Adahlen= Way of the forest. Together we are stronger than the one._

* * *

**_~*With no-one wearing their real face_**  
**_It's a whiteout of emotion_**  
**_And I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall_**

**_So will you please show me your real face_**  
**_Draw the line in the horizon_**  
**_Cos I only need your name to call the reasons why I fought_**

**_When I thought that I fought this war alone_**  
**_You were there by my side on the frontline_**  
**_When I thought that I fought without a cause_**  
**_You gave me a reason to try~*_**

_-Poets of the Fall- War_

* * *

**Chapter 48: Vir Adahlen**

.**  
**

She had no choice but to move on.

For a moment, Lenya stared into the hollow wideness of the Beyond, on that place where Alistair had stood just a minute ago, and sighed.

_Always moving on._

There were still her other four companions waiting to be freed from the demon's dreams, and the matter of the sloth demon that she really wanted to shred in little pieces and burn its remains, and then Arai piss on the ashes. Too bad that she left her dog with the mages, so she had to omit the last part of her plan. Everything else, however, was very much feasible and _needed _to be done to quench her burning hatred inside.

Anger was a _good_ feeling right now; it helped her to keep going, and force herself into another part of madness in this arbitrary world.

Turning, she headed for the device, seeing on it that one of the five, glowing protecting runes were now broken. Apparently it had worked to get a step closer to the sloth demon, if only a little one. It was at least something, a start to escape here. Lenya took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of loneliness that _wanted_ to creep up her system and hinder her mission, as if summoned by the Fade that refused to let her go. Without knowing where it would lead her, she took the next path opening up before her.

.

~V~

.

Lenya was familiar with this place, albeit it seemed like a lifetime ago the last time she had seen it.

Around her was the sickly green of the Korcari Wilds, the deep swamps with the stifling, humid air. From afar, she could recognize a little wooden hut and tensed, knowing well to whom this created illusion belonged.

Morrigan.

The closer she got to the hut, the more memories of the last time being in the Wilds intruded her mind. This place not only marked the beginning of her journey of gathering armies against the Blight, but it was also threaded with a feeling of devastation and bitterness, which was now coming back to her tenfold.

It was a just recreation of the real Korcari Wilds, a trick of the Beyond, and yet it seemed so real that Lenya could almost hear Alistair's pleading words again.

"_You've seen all the death and destruction the darkspawn brought upon Ostagar. Do you really want this to happen to all of Ferelden? Don't you want your clan to have a home to return to?"_

It had been the argument that made her waver and eventually stay at his side, at first.

Her clan.

Yet if she thought about it now, without the prior bitterness clouding her mind, her clan was maybe the trigger of her staying, but not a _needed_ reason. Although Lenya was born and raised in Ferelden's woods, her clan was not bound to this land and could easily find shelter beyond Ferelden's border. Like her _real _clan probably was right now, fleeing away from the Blight and farther from her as well. So what had been the real reason for her not running away from this task, if not her clan? She had no answer for this and also no time to fathom this thought further when Morrigan was waiting to get saved from the claws of a demon.

Lenya marched on, her boots already damp from the slick, stinking puddles underneath and reached the building at last. Flemeth's hut seemed vacant, only some bones that hung from the veranda ceiling clacked together in the sweltering breeze. Just before Lenya could wonder if she should go inside and drag Morrigan out, said woman came storming out of the hut's door.

"Leave me be, you annoying—" Stopping in both words and motion, the witch glanced up to Lenya. Right behind her rushed a perfectly made copy of _Asha'belannar_.

The weathered face creased to a sorrowed frown, as 'she' looked at Morrigan.

"I'm your mother! Don't you love me?"

Lenya had found her demon.

"Look, Morrigan," she said, turning to her, "I know how glad you are to be home again, or something, but all this here is just—"

Morrigan's sneer interrupted her. "—an illusion? You don't say. Not to mention a pathetic one. Just look at it, one has to be blind, deaf, and stupid to believe this Fade spirit is my mother, despite its constant assertions."

Lenya blinked, stared and blinked some more. "You… _knew_?"

"It surprises you?_ Really?_" She snorted. "We are captives of a powerful demon in the Fade and the only thing real here is you and me. So will you help me to get rid off this spirit? I'm weary of being pestered by it. Its pretense is cheap and 'tis getting annoying."

"Well," Lenya muttered, impressed and surprised alike. "It makes things here certainly easier than I first thought."

Suddenly, the demon disguised as Flemeth stormed forward, raised its hand, and slapped Morrigan across the face. The sound reverberated through the emptiness of the Wilds. "How dare you to speak to your mother like that?"

Morrigan laughed scornfully while rubbing her cheek. "See now 'tis trying, but a little too late." Conjuring a fireball in her hand that steadily grew in size, she added with a dark glare, "Alas, I had to wait for your arrival or I would have killed it long ago."

The Flemeth-demon backed away, momentarily startled by the magical fire threatening it. As the creature before, it changed to its true form, giving up the pretense that had been from the start.

Lenya smirked, and her weapons sang as they slipped from their sheaths into her hands. "Have I mentioned before that I really like you, Morrigan?"

Morrigan was too concentrated finishing her arcane spell to answer, and then she motioned Lenya to stay behind and unleashed the fire in the demon's direction. The creature was quick and evaded most of the fire blast and yet not all. The flames hit it at its flanks, and a smell of charred, rotten flesh filled the air as it started to burn. The Fade demon did not care and, mad with pain and anger, it charged like a living torch toward Morrigan, intending to take her with it into death. The witch didn't back away, as if waiting for the demon to come for her. With a smirk, she let her following spell loose, and a gush of icy wind blew into the direction of the demon, the cold literally freezing it on the spot.

"Pathetic." She snorted and glared at the ice figure before Lenya hurled forward and shattered it in little, brittle pieces with a well-placed attack.

Freeing herself from the frozen pieces of what had once been a demon, the Dalish sheathed her weapons again and grinned. "I was about to say the same, you know." Then her grin shifted into a frown. "So will you now disappear into thin air as well?"

Morrigan threw her a strange look, crossing her arms. "I don't know what you are talking about. I think the demon's poor spell is now broken, so I'm going nowhere."

Lenya raised an eyebrow in a sarcastic fashion as the yellow fog started to gather around the witch. "Yeah, right..."

As soon Morrigan noticed the fog, she scowled. "Oh, no, not this again! I refuse to get drawn into the Fade's ridiculous games again. I won't disappear this ti—" Her words were swallowed by the substance enshrouding and taking her with it, leaving Lenya alone once more.

"This is getting old!" Lenya yelled out into the twisted wideness, her voice echoing at the edges of the Beyond's landscape. As if answering her frustrated shouting, the picture shifted, stone creaked under the transformation and created a new route that appeared to be the way out from her current place, the picture of the false Wilds already gone.

"Wow, thanks, that is too kind." Rolling her eyes, Lenya followed the new path, once more not knowing where it would lead. It was, however, a way leading _somewhere_ and Lenya was not exactly in the position where she could be _picky_.

.

.

* * *

.

The solitary, dimly lit path led to a door made out of heavy, carved stone that reminded her somehow of Orzammar. Not hesitating, Lenya pressed the handle down and wondered for a moment if she could even move the chiseled stone with her limited strength.

She felt tired, her spirit was drained, and she was constantly fighting against an odd wish to sit down and simply _rest_.

Shaking herself, she suppressed that thought and watched as the massive door opened in a swift and easy motion, almost as if someone was awaiting her. Like the Wilds before, the place now visible was not unfamiliar. Her first inkling had been right: this _was_ Orzammar.

Her familiarity with the place made it easier to know for _whom_ she had to search. Tapster's was darker, the edges filled with shadows that hadn't been there the last time she was in the tavern. She blinked several times, her eyes needing a moment to get used to the dizzying light, and her ears were pierced with a bustling volume that seemed to be even louder than Lenya could remember.

Several dwarves were passing her by and shoved her roughly aside without care, cursing under their breath about the foreign surfacer elf. The heavy stone tables were arranged differently from the real Tapster's as well, she noticed, and the sparse light of the torches flickered over its carved plates. Lenya let her gaze wander over the place, but the amount of people made it hard for her to find the one person she was searching for and probably would find here.

Oghren.

It was the most logical assumption. This was a _durgen'len_ place, after all, and one with lots of alcohol to boot. Somehow, it was unsurprising to her that his illusion included alcohol.

The Dalish passed a row of tables, each nearly stuffed with dwarves who were all talking and laughing in a loud, enthusiastic volume. A dwarven bard to the side was singing to the sound of the lute, but his song was nearly completely drowned out by the commotion around him. Although she knew it was just a recreation, the environment did not fail to impress her once more and awoke memories of the last time she _really_ had been there.

There was a table in the dimly lit corner that looked like the one she had sat at, eating piles of food and drinking honey mead with Alistair until she could barely remember anything at all. While so many things were threaded with pain and despair in Orzammar, this had been one of the few good experiences made there, despite the awkward singing in the streets and waking up in his arms afterward. It had been great to be carefree for a moment once more, which was a feeling Lenya nearly had forgotten under the weight of responsibility, at least _before_ that night of drinking.

Now, after what felt a lifetime that she was wandering through the Beyond, it had become harder to resist the urge to _stop_ caring, for her escape or for the task at hand. Voices in the back of her mind tried to lull her into complacency again, telling her to return to the state of sweet easygoingness that she so sorely missed at times. The uncertainty about Alistair's or Morrigan's fates _after_ they were freed and vanished into thin air did little to help her current situation, either. She could only hope that they were now safe from the demon's claws and that she would be too, once all the demons were killed.

The Dalish tiredly rubbed her face and shook herself in the attempt to force the voices out of her mind. She was aware that this was just a trick of the Beyond or one of the demons, and neither of them should have her attention. "_Vir Assan,_" Lenya murmured to herself to stay focused, and then squinted her eyes once more to search for Oghren. The dwarf, however, found her first. A strong arm yanked her toward his table as she was about to pass by, overlooking his presence completely.

"Heh, Missy. Nice to see ya. Pull up a seat and join me for a drink. It's the year's-end celebration—two bits off the lichen ale."

With a heavy sigh, Lenya acquiesced. "You know, I could really use a drink right now... but I think this is not the time for it."

Oghren snorted. "Heh, wadda ya talking about? There is _always_ time for a drink." He looked around, frowning. "Strange, that. I don't know why, but it feels like I haven't been here in ages. It's like coming home." He grinned, took a deep swig from his mug, and belched while he stretched.

There were two dwarves passing by their table, bestowing Oghren with a look that was beyond disgusted. "Ugh. Let's find another table. I don't want to sit near a fat, smelly Oghren!"

The bearded, skinny dwarf beside him nodded and sneered. "Yes, you are right. He's a disgrace to his caste and the good Paragon Branka, Ancestors keep her."

At that, Lenya arched an eyebrow at Oghren. "Coming home, eh?" Looking around, she noticed that his table and the ones in front and back of him were vacant despite the tavern bustling with people. It was as if even his own people were avoiding him. She frowned. "Why did you let this happen?"

Oghren only shrugged. "I'm used to it."

Lenya shook her head. "You are annoying, at times, but these people here are your_ own_ people, _Mythal'enaste._ They shouldn't treat you like that."

Sighing, he rolled his eyes. "Sodding farts. They've been after me all day. Can't even vomit in the privy anymore without someone saying something."

She sank back in her seat with a growl, couldn't understand his behavior. "And you never thought about defending yourself? _Maybe?_ You are annoyingly quick to swing your huge weapon otherwise, so why not now? So get up off your ass and do your big-mouth thing like usual."

"Weapon?" Oghren blinked before his eyes narrowed to an angry scowl. "Now you too, Missy? Come to mock old Oghren as well, huh?" Grumbling, he emptied his mug in a few gulps and, frustrated, slammed it onto the plate, glaring at the elf.

Glancing past him, Lenya finally noticed that his weapon and armor was gone. Instead, the dwarf wore a simple outfit that was stained with dirt and grime.

She sighed. "Look, this is just an ill—"

The skinny dwarf interrupted her, his eyes fixed, amused, on her companion and his voice a single scoff. "Ha! That Stone-forsaken idiot is a warrior forbidden to carry weapons. What a laugh! Who do you fight now, Oghren? Baby nugs?"

"Oh, _shut up_, you cheap _durgen'len_ illusion!" Lenya glared up to the one man, who looked back at her in surprise. He surely hadn't expected someone talking back. "He might be annoying and has bad taste._ Generally_. But that _durgen'len_ is..." Lenya searched for a fitting, non-insulting word in her mind and had trouble with coming up with one. She didn't like Oghren much, to be honest, but even _he_ deserved better than this.

It wasn't fair.

"He is a positively crazy and seasoned fighter. He helped me a lot in the Deep Roads, fighting darkspawn while the rest of you were sitting on your asses and waiting for the succession to get magically solved by itself." Lenya snorted. "But who am I to tell you that? You are just a pathetic recreation of reality and will fade into nothingness, anyway. Once that idiot figures out by himself that he is being tricked here, that is. So get lost—or I will _make_ you."

"Oh no, now you have little elven girls protecting you?" The dwarf beside him feigned shock, lips twisting to a sneer. "How terrifying! I'm shaking in fear."

There was a spark in Oghren's eyes all the sudden, a flicker of anger that made him jump up to his feet. "You think I'm going to let—"

"What will you do?" The man spared him a glance then, laughing disdainfully beneath narrowed eyes. "Arm yourself with a tankard and slosh your ale to show you are mad? Oh, no, Oghren, don't get me wet! I don't think I could stand up to your splashings!"

Oghren pressed his fists together and was shaking with the effort to stay calm as he glowered at the dwarf. Though, the fury only last a moment. and was quickly replaced with resignation. Plopping back into his seat, he sighed. "It's no use."

Lenya couldn't believe what she just saw. "And that's it? You are giving up? Just like that?"

His head snapped around, the anger now concentrated on her. "Whadda you know, Warden? _Nothing._" He shook his head, staring at the mug before him with hollow eyes, brows creased into a pained frown. "My family is dead, my honor as a warrior long gone. I've lost my caste, my house, and failed my wife. I have_ nothing_ anymore. So I don't know about you, Missy, but I need a drink now." Standing up, Oghren took his tankard and turned to leave, muttering under his breath. "Sodding nug-lovers can't leave me alone for once."

Lenya stared after him, momentarily too shocked to react at all. She had never expected that there was more to that drinking, vulgar dwarf that the eye could recognize, least of all feelings of regret and guilt. Taking a deep breath that came out as a sigh, she called after him. " W-wait!" Oghren stopped. "Y-you can come with me, you know? Helping to fight the Blight. Also, there is a demon we need to rip in pieces for trapping us in the Beyond." A ghost of a smile hushed over her face. "So are you in, Oghren?"

He did not so much as incline his head and, for a long moment, the dwarf did not move. He simply stood there amidst the cluster of his own people that had nothing left for him but scorn and derision. Then, out of nowhere, Oghren started to laugh, its snorting sound out of place considering his prior words. Stopping after a minute or two, he turned and looked up to the Dalish, his expression etched with resolve. "Heh. You know what, Missy? Sodding yes! There is nothing for me here anymore and..." He grinned broadly. "I'm actually _good_ at killing stuff. _Really_ good."

"You? Good at something?" The skinny dwarf was still there, snorting. "You are good for nothing, loser. Except for drinking."

Lenya rose to her feet and threw Oghren a pointed look whose meaning he immediately understood. With fast, confident strides, Oghren walked toward the dwarf that had mocked him the whole time and put his entire force behind a tankard to the other dwarf's skull. It resounded with a crack through the false tavern and the blow sent the creature to the floor, bleeding. "_Splash_. You sodding fart." Again the picture started to flicker like a restless reflection in a lake, making Oghren feel sick in the stomach. "Stone protect me... what's going on? I don't feel right."

Lenya sighed. "You are in the Bey—" Stopping, she whirled and within the momentum rammed her blades into the front of the now-unconcealed demon to finish it off. With the demon dead, the tavern and all its people disappeared, leaving behind once more only the bare lands of the Beyond.

Oghren blinked. "Did you... did you see that? They're not people. This place wasn't real. That's not right. _Not_ right. Would you mind terribly if I throw up?"

"Actually... yes." Lenya rolled her eyes, tired of explaining the same thing over and over again. "This is the Beyond, or Fade, how humans call it. The demon in the Tower trapped us here and I'm about to deal with it, once I have freed all of our group."

"Demon? You mean something set all that up? Just to tick me off?" Oghren asked incredulously, flexing his muscles. "Well, it worked. Point me at it." He reached for the weapon on his back, pleased to notice that it was there again, just like the dwarven plate armor cladding his body. He was a warrior again. At last.

"Someone is going to pay dearly for this headache." He grunted, all angry now. "Oh, yes, they'll pay."

"Well… yes," Lenya started saying with a shrug, knowing well what would happen now. "Hope you keep that spirit for later, because you will disappear soon. The Beyond apparently loves to piss me off by making you all vanish after saving you, so that I'm alone."

He frowned, not liking this news. "What'cha mean with _vanishing, _Missy? It is unnatural for a dwarf to be here at all, and I don't want to sodding disappear."

"I don't know _why_, but I have stopped wondering, actually." Turning, Lenya didn't even wait until the yellow-tinged fog reached the dwarf. Waving over her shoulder without a single backward glance or paying heed to his protest, she marched on. "See you later. I hope."

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya was in the Mage Tower again.

It was in a worse state than she remembered. Fallen debris lay in one corner, the smoke from a blazing fire across the hall bit in her nostrils and at eyes, and flames flickered eerily red-orange on the partly destroyed walls. She moved on, always careful to hold distance from its heat despite it being only an illusion. The long hallway was littered with bodies, adults and children alike, which were splayed out on the dusty ground. Reaching the end of it with cautious steps, Lenya saw the figure of an elder human woman standing amidst the dead, sounds of strangled sobs originating from her. She did not move or take notice of the approaching Dalish until she stood right next to her.

Lenya craned her neck and looked up to the mage, searching for her eyes. "Wynne?"

Still, she didn't react, only stared at a dead girl on the ground, barely older than seven. "Maker forgive me. I failed them all. They died and I did not stop it," she suddenly said, her voice thick with tears.

Lenya was a bit at a loss what to say to Wynne to wake her up from the grief that had her firm in its iron claws. "Err... this is not real, you know. We can still save the Tower. It is not too late."

The mage sniffled, finally glancing up at the unwanted intruder. Her face twisted into a disapproving scowl as Lenya's words sank in. "Your blatant disregard for the souls of the dead strikes me as being utterly inappropriate. They are all dead and death is all that's around us." Her anger subsided, making way for despair and regret. "I failed them, Warden, in a time when they needed me most. What use is my life now?"

Lenya sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she struggled to stay calm. "Kicking the ass of the demon who has trapped us here, perhaps? I say that would be a damn good use for your life at the moment." Wynne glanced down at her, eyes fixing her with a furious stare, but Lenya ignored her irritation and continued. "Look, we are in the Bey—Fade. You are a mage! Don't you see it isn't_real_?"

She was a bit bewildered at Wynne's strong reaction to the illusion. Shouldn't mages know better than to fall for it?

Wynne straightened with stiffened shoulders, her glare at the Dalish intensifying. "How can I disbelieve what I see, what I hear and smell and _feel_? Leave me to my grief, Warden. I shall bury their bones, scatter their ashes to the four winds, and mourn their passing until I, too, am dead."

Lenya gave in to the urge to roll her eyes. "Oh, Creators, now you're getting morbid. Morrigan was not so easily fooled like you." She made a mental note to thank the witch later for sparing her the same tedious drama.

"And where were you when this happened? I trusted you as an ally and you were nowhere to be found."

Lenya felt her temper flaring at that, and simply couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What?" Taking a deep breath, she clawed her fingers into the leather of her armor, just so that she wouldn't use them to hit an old, frail woman. Her eyes narrowed as she returned Wynne's glare. "Sorry, I was actually busy with running through the Bey—Fade—and rescuing my companions while you apparently developed suicidal tendencies and decided to indulge in false grief. So, for the last time and very slowly, so you can understand, human: We. Are. In. The. Fade. This. Is. Not. Real!"

"I do not know what you're trying to tell me. Why must you make this more painful?"

Whirling away from the human mage with an exasperated sigh, she added, a bit more composed now, "Use your mind, Wynne, and tell me what you remember from _before_. Or, I swear by the _Elvhenan,_ that I will drag you out of here, if I must."

"I do not know what this will accomplish, but I will do this, if it will satisfy you." Nodding, Wynne halted, trying to concentrate. Rubbing her forehead, she shook her head. "It is so difficult to focus. It feels as though something is… stopping me from concentrating. I have never had so much trouble before." The mage staggered and her knees were about to give in, but Lenya supported her, holding her upright.

"And yet... yes... I do remember _something_. We were entering the tower... and then... there was all this death about me." She frowned at the Dalish and loosed a tired, shallow sigh. "There was no sign of you, none at all. It was just me and... all this. I... I don't remember anything of them dying. I just know they are dead."

"They aren't, Wynne," Lenya said calmly. "But they _will_ be if we don't leave this place soon. And if we stay, we'll die, too, devoured by the demon trapping us here."

The mage blinked again but, when she looked up, the fog was lifting from her face, and her expression more clear than before. "Something in your speech rings true, although I don't know _why_."

She groaned, annoyed. "Because it _is_ true!"

After that, the dead girl suddenly rose from the ground, as if to prove Lenya's words. Her hollow eyes were fixed on the mage as she approached her. "Don't leave me, Wynne. I don't want to be alone here."

Wynne's eyes widened in shock, and she automatically fell into a defensive stance, her staff raised protectively before her. "Holy Maker! Stay away from me, foul creature!"

The weapons fell into Lenya's hands without thinking and, before attacking, she threw Wynne a pointed glance. "Told you!"

The undead girl was moving only sluggishly, her voice still human, although tinged with a unusual, slow drawl. "Stay, Wynne. Sleep soundly in the comforting embrace of the earth. Do not fight it. You belong here, with me. With.._. us._"

Just as Lenya sank her blades into the demon-girl's front, more bodies stirred up from the ground. Quickly, they drew closer to the both companions and encircled them from all sides.

"N-no. Not yet. My task is not yet done... it is not time yet," Wynne said belatedly, and then murmured a spell under her breath and, after what seemed an eternity, released it. All the surrounding undead were knocked back by a tidal wave of air that was hard as stone. Some of the bodies made a cracking sound as the spell hit them and they did not rise anymore, broken. The rest, a group of four dead male mages—now demonic minions—lunged at them with unexpected speed. They were, however, quickly taken out by the deadly combination of magic and skilled blades and were no match to the two companions.

After it was over, Wynne tried to regain some of the dignity she thought lost. So she straightened her back and lifted her chin to look up to the Dalish, despite the ruffled robe and sweat running down her forehead. "It is over. I... thank you, Warden."

"It is not over yet. Thank me later when the demon is dead, old woman. I need to find that annoying elf first."

Wynne nodded, before looking confused. "Wait... what do you mean? We just fought demons—hey, where are you going?"

Lenya didn't wait until Wynne vanished. Instead, she moved on toward the final floating island. It was the last one where it would be decided if she could reach the demon on the secluded, rune-protected island afterward.

And there was only one intact rune left.

.

.

* * *

.

She did not know this place.

It was dark, night apparently, and Lenya struggled to see anything at all in the surrounding blackness. The starless sky was obscured by thick clouds that loosened a torrential rain down on her.

She knew her body wasn't really _here,_ and yet she felt the water on her skin so clearly, running in cascades down her face and spine, soaking her being completely. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the flashes of light following illuminated the foreign place for a precious moment, at least. Raising an arm to shield her face from the weather, Lenya moved on without knowing where to head. She fixated on the light of a gleaming lantern distinctly visible from afar. It was her only point of orientation within the darkness, so she followed its shine, her steps hollow on the hard ground. Reaching it, the picture shifted, forming a city on its own once more. And yet, compared to Alistair's illusion, the city was different; the whole atmosphere was all too quiet and _dark _here.

The rain did not stop, rather, it seemed to have enhanced in intensity and was pouring down in fierce streams that echoed dully as it hit the pebbled streets. Lenya shivered despite herself, feeling more than uncomfortable in this unfriendly, strange environment. This appeared to be more than just an illusion created by the Beyond, this seemed like a... _nightmare._

There were only a few people on the streets. There was a merchant hastily packing his rolls of silken fabric in a wicker basket while cursing in a language Lenya didn't understand. Another citizen passed her by and stared, scandalized, first at her, and then at her armor and weapons. Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, the man walked on, leaving the elf on her own again. Looking up toward the more lighted parts of the city, her breath hitched, astonished by the sight of the strange architecture. Lenya had never seen buildings like these, it was different from _anything_ in Ferelden and yet... beautiful.

The houses here were built of bricks with strong stone corners and had heavy doors. Each of the multi-story, huge buildings had different window frames placed in dense rows against the flat neutral wall surface, which enhanced the sense of scale.

A gust of harsh wind put her out of her reverie, the rain lashing at her now mixed with the scent of flowers and salt, as if the city were close to a sea. Shaking herself, she noticed a dimly lit back alley beside one of these huge buildings, feeling nearly drawn to the place. Not knowing where else to go, Lenya followed the impulse, but her steps remained cautious, wary of what would follow. To her surprise, the back alley was vacant, the pulsing beat of the rain and the squeaking of some scurrying rats the only sound. She let out a breath she didn't remember holding, subsequently glad of no looming danger, but at a loss where to find this assassin now.

Before she could dwell on her thoughts for long, a shadowed figure rushed toward her and collapsed into a crumpled heap as it reached the Dalish, coughing.

"Help me!" a weak, heavily accented voice cried out, its arms clutched around Lenya's legs to hinder her from backing away.

Lenya squinted her eyes. As a trained hunter, she had learned to use every faint source of light to her advantage. It helped her now to see the person at her feet. It was a woman, elven like herself, with dark, long hair and fair features, as far the dusky light revealed. What was more obvious was that the elven woman was profusely bleeding, the rain colored in red where she kneeled.

"Help me! They are after me," she repeated, more urgently now, half of her words swallowed by strangled sobs that edged on disbelieve. Frowning, Lenya looked down at her for a moment, puzzled by her intent of seeking help. The woman wore leather armor and was armed with daggers, looking as if she could defend herself.

Without further thinking on it, she heaved herself up, ignoring her wincing within the movement. The elf stood up straight before Lenya now, so close that the Dalish could see the despair in her bright blue eyes.

Lenya blinked. "Who—"

"I have not betrayed them. I have not—"

The rest of her words were cut off by a series of whooping coughs, each one bringing up a mouthful of blood. Lenya's heart accelerated immediately to an alerted speed as she helplessly watched how the elf collapsed, an arrow piercing her from behind, straight through the left side of the woman's body. The red pooling with the rain down the cobblestones intensified in color as the now-still body continued to bleed.

Shocked by the event, Lenya reflexively pressed herself at the stone wall that offered shadow against the unknown, hidden archer. Her breath came out in frantic, scattered intervals, and her mind was still reeling in searching a solution for this messed up situation. She heard steps echoing upon the stone, coming closer. Lenya went completely still, enshrouded in the protective shadow, and decided to wait for the unknown person to become visible.

Two figures emerged from the darkness. Standing still, they surveyed the area for a moment before their gaze fell onto the body of the dead elven woman. Darting forward to the corpse, the shorter, lean man started to kick it with a force that was beyond anger, but it was his voice that startled Lenya. Hard and cold, he swore in a foreign language and spat on her body after he fell silent again. The human next to him found the whole situation utterly amusing and couldn't stop laughing, and its icy tone ran cruelly through the silence of the night.

For a moment, Lenya closed her eyes and wished to be wrong, that he wasn't the person who had released the string of the bow... and the one she searched for within this harsh illusion. His spoken words might have been alien to her ears, but it was the familiar tone of his voice that gave away his identity and proved her right, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

Zevran.

There was not much Lenya knew about the assassin and, right now, she felt as if intruding into a painful memory, well-hidden in the corner of his mind. Even though it was just a recreation by the Beyond and the demon, Lenya felt as if she didn't belong here, it felt wrong to witness a piece of his life that was so... _personal._

Her eyes fell on Zevran, catching a glimpse of hurt beneath the cold fury as he glanced at the elven woman on the ground. Lenya didn't know what to do, was only aware that she couldn't stay much longer in her hide-out and needed to confront him with this being an illusion. Feeling strangely uncomfortable with this thought, Lenya shifted on her feet, the wet leather of her armor faintly creaking.

Instantly, Zevran's stance shifted, head snapped up to search the area for the source of the sound, and then… he saw her. He stared at the Dalish, his eyes widened in shock. Neither of them moved and the silence between them rang loudly enough to drown out all other sounds, even the incessant pouring of the rain. For a moment, Lenya's world was narrowed down to the expression of utter consternation in Zevran's face, not knowing if it was the cold or his eyes that made her shiver.

He finally found his voice, drawing closer to her. "You..."

"Zevran, I—"

He silenced her with a raised hand, his emotions now under control again. "I wish not to talk about it. Let us go, there is a demon to kill." Without a single backward glance, the elf turned to leave, and behind him the picture was already blurring.

Lenya had no other choice than to follow his hasty pace.

"Zevran—" she said anew, but his words interrupted her.

"This wasn't real, none of it was. We are in the Fade, I know." He was still not looking at her, instead simply walking onward, just to be away, just_ away_ from the place that was slowly disappearing. Silence ensued and lasted until a chuckle came up his throat, its sound bitter. "Alas, I did not dream the rather colorful dream of a party with dark-haired beauties and Antivan wine like last night, or I would have trouble leaving now."

She frowned at his misplaced humor, didn't know what to say beyond a simple sorry, so she did just that. "_Emma__ir abelas. _I'm sorry."

"Ah, my dear Warden, don't be. You came for me, right? I feel honored, in fact."

Lenya didn't believe his words, but decided to leave it at that and nodded. "You will dissolve into thin air now," she informed him. "But I will now deal with the demon that has trapped us here."

He laughed. "Ah, so you are having all the fun without me? Perish the thought."

Lenya shrugged, observing the yellow-tinged fog encircling Zevran. "There is nothing you can do about it." Before the elf could answer, he was already swallowed by the ethereal substance.

Only this time, it took Lenya with it, as well.

.

.

* * *

.

"W-what?"

Lenya blinked, confused, as the fog spat her out mid-air, seemingly on an arbitrary place somewhere in the Beyond. Getting back to her feet, she caught a glance of the sloth demon in the distance and smirked. It was going to pay now. Direly so. Not only for capturing her in the Beyond in the first place, but even more for playing with her mind, for creating impostors of people she held dear. Lenya felt the anger rising within her as she strode down the passage leading to the demon in a hurry. She had wasted enough time in the Beyond—what felt a lifetime—and hence eager to leave it behind. Alive.

"_Emma revas, ma tu ar'din!" _Lenya yelled in a growl, glaring up at the much taller, skeleton-like demon with raised weapons.

"Well, now," said a familiar, laconic voice, not caring for the Dalish's fierce demeanor at all. "What do we have here? Escapees? My, my… you _do _have some gall. But playtime is over. You have to go back now."

"Fuck... no!"

Lenya was about to attack, but a familiar voice popping up behind her stopped the Dalish in her tracks.

"Hey, Lenya, there you are. You just disappeared... or I did. Huh. No matter now, I guess. Let's fight that..." He paused, peering up to the demon. "Ugh, Maker, it is even _uglier_ than I remembered."

Alistair.

"Heh, I'll make sure to make it even uglier when I hack an axe-sized hole into it. Sodding demon, sodding Fade, I'm a _dwarf_. I shouldn't even sodding be here."

Oghren.

"'Twas a fatal mistake to toy with my mind, demon. For you made a dangerous enemy with doing so. _Me_."

Morrigan.

"Ah, so I'm not missing out the shredding-the-demon-to-pieces-part? Marvelous."

Zevran.

"You will not hold us, demon. We found each other in this place and you cannot stand against us."

Wynne.

One by one they were appearing now, encircling Lenya in a protective cluster, their expressions heavy with grim determination. Looking at each of them, she smiled.

Not alone.

The demon tilted its head in a slight curious motion, surprised by so much resistance. "If you go back quietly, I'll do better this time. I'll make you much happier. _All_ of you," it said, but its offer was firmly cut off by the Dalish.

"I'll make my _own_ happiness, thank you. Now die, would you?"

At that, Lenya charged at the demon, closely followed by her companions.

_Vir Adahlen - together we are stronger than the one._

* * *

**Elvish note:** "_Emma revas, ma tu ar'din!"- _"I'm free and you will die now!"

**A/N:** _Thanks once again to all readers and reviewers. And Mackillian. Especially Mack. For being my comma fairy, grammar expert and ever-so-patient partner in crime in this never ending story *hugs you all* As said, next update might take a while, alas *shakes fist at the chapter* Le sigh. Review? :)  
_


	50. Vir Bor' Assan, Part I

_**A/N:** Three weeks. Wow. I guess this is a new negative record for writing one damn chapter, but I eventually made it ...after tearing out a bunch of hairs and endless squalls of swearing, that is. So here it finally is. I have switched the POV for some Leliana camp time and development. I heavily imply events from Leliana's song here, but I hope it is even understandable if you haven't played this DLC. Don't worry we will return to Lenya and Co soon enough this chapter. Also due to my trouble with that chapter, I have mostly forgotten to answer your reviews. Sorry for that, you will find my answers to it at the end of the chapter, Lakhiz-style ;p _

_Vir Bor'Assan ("Way of the Bow") - bend but never break. So obviously, the theme is pride here, in a good...or bad way. Have fun._

* * *

_**"Be yourself, don't take anyone's shit, and never let them take you alive."**_

_~Gerard Way_

* * *

.**  
**

**Chapter 49: Vir Bor'Assan, Part I  
**

.**  
**

_Shhh, my pretty thing, shhh. Don't be sorry... you were perfect._

Gasping, Leliana awoke with the start and reflexively clutched her right side with both of her hands, half expecting to find a dagger between her ribs again. Not finding one did little to calm her frantic heartbeat and breathing. The pictures of _her_ and that night in Denerim had been too vivid and disturbing, yet the ghosts of her past hadn't stirred for the longest time, until now. She thought she was finally away from _her_, had put enough time and distance between her old life and her present. The dream, which was more a remembrance of bitter memories, however, proved her wrong.

"_It is worse than losing them to death, isn't it? When the one closest to you is untrue."_

It still hurt.

Rubbing her face in a vain attempt to calm her agitated breathing and banish the nightmare from her mind, Leliana straightened, and then sighed.

"It shouldn't sleep during the watch."

Blinking, Leliana finally became aware of her surroundings and found herself in front of the campfire instead of in her tent like she'd expected. She pulled the thick, woolen hood over her head again, not only to warm herself against the cold of the night, but also to hide her face when she glanced up at the golem.

Shale towered over her with a disapproving expression in her glowing eyes. Her stone-skin was lightly covered with white, icy flakes, which were remnants of the snow that had fallen earlier this evening.

"I... think... I must have nodded off for a moment. Sorry."

"Certainly." The golem snorted. "It has been pawing its nose and mumbling incoherently for hours now."

Leliana frowned. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Shale shrugged, not caring. "Why should I? It was interesting to watch, at least. There is little else to do since the painted Warden elf and its other fleshy friends left." She muttered something inarticulately before falling silent.

With her hood still low over her head, Leliana stood up, took a log from the pile, and carefully placed it on the already dying fire. The tiny flames sputtered, threatened to suffocate under the new gnarled log of wood. She pulled her hood back and felt tiny flakes of snow on her skin as she bent low to blow into the remaining heat, trying to bring the flames back to life. The ground underneath her was frozen, and the cold of the snow seeping through the leather a welcoming distraction against her lingering thoughts.

It didn't surprise her that the golem hadn't taken care of the campfire and was partly even glad for the trivial task. After a long moment, she pulled back from the resurrected blaze, satisfied. Running fingers through her somewhat ruffled hair, Leliana returned to her place and sat down, feeling the stare of the golem still boring into her. Shale hadn't moved one bit.

"I figure you are still sulking that Lenya left you here?" Leliana asked calmly, blue eyes directed at Shale's stony form.

"That It didn't take me with It into a tower full of mages?" Shale asked in return, her voice bearing a hint of bewilderment, followed by a chuckle. "Oh yes, squishy, little mages, all there to crush. It robbed me of that wonderful opportunity."

A ghost of a smile hushed over the bard's face. "Maybe it is better that you remained here then."

"It thinks so?" The creature paused, letting her gleaming eyes roam over the all-too-silent camp. Only Sten's steps in the distance faintly creaked in the snow as he walked vigilant rounds around the camp's borders. "Bah, it is boring with nothing to kill here. All this standing around and waiting?" She snorted. "I could have done that in Honnleath."

"I'm sure they will be back soon," Leliana replied, but her eyes wandered to the direction of the tower in the blackened, moonless horizon. It was not visible now, and yet even the faintest remembrance of its presence made her wonder what was taking the others so long. It had been two days now, two days too long for simply asking for the mages' alliance against the Blight. Shale was right, the waiting and the uncertainty of their fate was once more becoming unbearable. It was nothing compared to the anxiety she felt when they were in the Deep Roads for several weeks, and yet the waiting and lingering in camp gave her mind enough time to conjure ghosts of her past. She saw pictures she never wanted to see again, even not in her dreams, and the taste of betrayal still bitter after all these years.

"_You bartered me to a brute. For what? A few coins?"_

"_I knew you would eventually turn on me one day, Leliana, because that is what I would do. So I did it... first."_

She shivered, not able to distinguish if the gust of freezing wind or the memories were to blame for her discomfort. Shaking herself, Leliana glanced up at the golem, searching for distraction with some idle talk. "Do you miss the life you once had, Shale? The centuries of memories you lost?"

Shale eyed her for a long moment, almost seeming surprised at the random question. "No. My memory stretches only so far, and what went before is now lost. And standing in the village, surrounded by boring peasants all those years, paralyzed, it made me... simply stop caring." Shuddering, the golem added, "I surely do not miss_ this_ part of my life. If I had the chance once more, I would have happily stomped them all into paste. And then ripped down their little houses and stomped on them, too. After thirty years of watching them, I would do it twice, in fact. Too bad the darkspawn came first. Pesky vermin, almost as nasty as the birds."

Leliana didn't reply. Instead, she searched for something to do other than just sitting in camp, something that would keep her mind occupied from wander back to _her_, even if only for a brief while. Her eyes fell on her wooden longbow leaning on a log beside her, together with the hard-leather quiver full of arrows. The bard reached for the bow then, observing the carving and the scratches within the yew wood. Standing up, she retrieved a polishing rag from her pack and started to clean the slender wooden limbs, kneeling down in the light snow.

Shale surveyed the bard, arching what would be a brow as Leliana started to hum a song. Noticing the creature's curious gaze, Leliana looked up and smiled. "The camp is too still when the others are gone. I hope you don't mind."

The golem heaved her massive shoulders to a shrug. "It sounds better than the screeching of the birds, at least."

The smile lingered, widening even. "I take that as a compliment. You know, it is kind of sad that you have no memories on your life before. I'm sorry." Leliana wasn't so sure of that, despite her words. Sometimes it was better not to know. "But weren't you once a female dwarf?" she asked as an afterthought. "I heard that you were."

Shale snorted. "So did I... from Caridin. I will never know for sure, as the painted Warden has decided it is more important to visit this tower full of mages than to help me finding the Cadash thaig in the Deep Roads, I remembered of." Another snort, its tone now peeved. "Hag."

Leliana sighed, folding the polishing rag to catch a clean corner to continue her work. "It probably _is _more important. We need those alliances to fight the Blight."

She narrowed her gleaming eyes. "And to what use? It is most likely you all will end up a stain underneath the darkspawn's trampling feet, anyway, squishy and fleshy as you are."

Leliana shrugged. "Probably, but there is no fault in trying, no? Also, wouldn't you be a pile of crushed rocks next to us, then?"

The creature huffed and glared down at the human. "The sister speaks some truths, alas. However, who I was is not so important any longer. I'm a golem now, a creature of stone, and a far superior form of life. That is all that counts."

Leliana was aware of the blatant lie within her words, given the golem's indignant behavior, but left it at that and changed the topic. "You know, Shale, another thing I do not understand is why you hate birds so much. They are just what they are."

Shale grimaced. "Exactly. Disgusting vermin with wings. Darkspawn must be exterminated for being what they are, as well. Not to mention—" she shuddered "—for thirty years, I had to endure their chirping, their perching, and most especially their constant sh—"

Leliana raised her hand to interrupt her sentence. "I understand the last part. But a bird is a creature of grace, and beauty! They open their mouths and they sing!"

"Typical." The golem sighed, annoyed. "The bard hears music. I hear the wail of banshees that boils my stone."

"I... uh... see. And what about a nightingale? Or a swan? Surely they aren't that bad."

"They are not pigeons, it is true. beasts of the sky." Shale paused, pointing at the bow in Leliana's hands. "If It wants to make Ferelden a better place, It should use Its weapon to shoot every single one out of the horizon."

Shaking her head, the woman surveyed her bow, satisfied to see the wood nearly gleaming in the firelight, polished as it now was. "Okay... I give up."

"The sister seems to have some remaining sense." She chuckled, almost as if humoring the human. "Good for It."

She smiled at that, if only briefly. Releasing the knife from her belt, the bard started to carve the piece of wood she held in her other hand. The scraping of blade on wood and her humming soon became the only sound in the still camp.

.

.

* * *

.

"We should build fortifications around the camp."

Startled, Leliana turned around as the tall shadow of the Qunari fell on her. "W-what?"

"It is irresponsible of the Wardens to leave their base so open." Sten wandered up and down at a steady pace, in his face a disapproving scowl. "It attracts bandits and—"

"Good," Shale said and rolled her shoulders, the stone making a creaking noise. "It has been too long since I squished some heads like overripe melons."

Sten snorted. "Why am I not surprised that you would glad if the camp were overrun, golem?"

"I kill, frequently and not without pleasure," she replied. "An overrun camp would mean many, many heads to crush. Fun."

He shook his head, sighing. "Forget I asked."

"I don't think it's needed, Sten," Leliana spoke up. "We are only waiting for them to return and will move on afterwards."

"Again, I am not surprised you don't see the necessity of a secured base, _basra_."

Leliana observed Sten, somewhat unnerved by his stoic behavior. He looked back at her, unblinking, the new brown parts of armor plate found at Lake Calenhad almost merging with his dark skin tone. "You don't like us humans much, I take it?"

"Obviously. Humans are silly creatures, easily amused by shiny things and quickly moving objects. You might as well ask me if dwarves are short."

Shale chortled. "It is clever of the Qunari to say that, for it is truth. They are rather ignorant, aren't they? And feeble. At the best of times."

"I know. Actually, we have creatures on Par Vollen that are similar. The humans call them 'monkeys.' They are dull, cowardly vermin. They cry out shrilly when threatened and throw their own feces."

"That is an excellent comparison from the Qunari." Her laughter rumbled through the night. "I wonder if they are related?"

Sten gave another snort. "Most likely."

Shale hesitated for a moment before asking. "I was wondering what the Qunari thinks about golems, though."

"You are no human. You are a vastly superior construct, kadan. A warrior to be feared."

The golem nodded, pleased. "It is kind of It to say that. I wish to say that it has been pleasant fighting at the Qunari's side as well."

"I feel the same. I smile each time you roar a battle cry, knowing our foes tremble."

Leliana arched an eyebrow, looking at them half-bewildered, half-amused. "Should I leave you two alone for a while?"

Sten's gaze fell on her, somewhat confused. "For what reason? We are already too few in securing the base. Although I'm sure it wouldn't make much difference without you, bard."

Leliana's eyes narrowed slightly at the indirect insult, but she kept her tone light. "That is really… kind, Sten."

He scoffed. "If you are looking for kindness, you might consider consulting the Warden for this. The other, weepy one, however, for the Warden elf seems to think the same as I do."

Jumping up, she whirled with a growl and glared up at the large man, suddenly not so calm anymore. "What is it you are implying?"

Sten returned the stare, seemingly unimpressed. "I'm merely stating the facts. You are here in camp and not with the Warden. Again."

It did hit Leliana in a sore spot. There had been enough days in Orzammar where she asked herself why she was the only one left behind and not allowed to venture into the Deep Roads with the rest of her companions. Sure, there was the letter in case of the Wardens' possible failure, but it seemed to her just like an excuse to not take her with them in the end.

It was the same again with the Tower. She once again was left behind, to watch the camp and wait for their return from the tower, doing nothing. It was unnerving and did little to reassure her current frail self-esteem in terms of her standing within the group, despite Alistair's kind words before. This wasn't how Leliana had imagined her helping fighting the Blight would happen. In fact, she wasn't sure if she was helping at all.

Her voice trembled with anger, as she held his gaze. "So you think I'm _expendable?_"

"No," Sten said with a scoff. "But apparently you think that yourself_._"

"N-no, I do not," she managed to say and lowered her gaze, well aware of her words being a lie.

"Certainly." Sten shook his head, not believing her at all. "The Arishok has sent me to these lands to find out about the Blight. So here I am. What is your reason, woman?"

Leliana gave in to the urge to blink. "Excuse me?"

"Obviously, you are no priestess. But shouldn't you be... running a shop, or a farm somewhere, rather than fighting? You were in the Chantry once, why didn't you stay as their house guest?"

Leliana took a deep breath, turning away from the Qunari. "I couldn't. I simply couldn't."

They had laughed, pointed and scoffed at her, after she told her fellow brothers and sisters from her vision, of what was destined for her to do. But it was more than just a dream. Had the gnarled rose bush not proven this? They were just not able to see it, blind to the obvious as they were. Her vision told her to help, no matter what. It was the Maker's will.

Lips pressed together, she faced him again, resolve playing on her features. "And I wanted to do some good and help people. That is why I'm here. I don't care if that means I have to watch the camp for the rest of the journey, because the Wardens are here to do good, to fight an nearly impossible war. For Ferelden and its people. They will need all help for that, as little and unimportant some might be."

Sten's lips almost twisted to a smirk, pleased. "Indeed."

Leliana was glad to see Sten turning away, wordless, after that, for she could do the same. In a way, it was good how little Sten and Shale cared for her motivation, so she didn't need to explain herself beyond the obvious reasons. It made it _easier._ Easier to forget, despite the dreams. Leliana had left that life long behind her and never wanted to return.

Never.

"_I don't do this anymore. I'm not your pretty thing any longer."_

She was someone different now. She had found peace within the Chantry and in the arms of the Maker. The bard Leliana, scheming and enjoying what she once called "The Game" was no longer. She was a better person now, helping others in need at the Maker's will, instead of deceiving them.

She wasn't like Marjolaine.

Stillness returned and Leliana reveled in the silence, contented that the ghosts of the past were slowly moving on and bothered her mind no longer. At least for now. Shivering, she wrapped herself into her woolen cloak. It was still freezing cold, although the snow had completely ceased falling. The clouds overhead had started to part and gave sight of the starred sky. Its light illuminated the camp a bit outside of the campfire, as it reflected in the myriad crystals of the snow on the ground.

Leliana had always loved the stars in the night when everything was still. It reminded her of her favorite story, of Alindra and her soldier. Of true love that would conquer all. There had been a time when she had believed that she was living such a tale herself. In Orlais. With Marjolaine. She never even doubted it until that one night in Ferelden, until _her_ betrayal.

"_You see your own distrust on every face. Did I ever know you?"_

"_Parshaara_, we are wasting time." Sten's sudden words shook the returning silence and Leliana out of her thoughts. Turning around, she saw how he stood at the edge of the firelight. Almost completely shrouded in shadows, he gazed in the direction of the Tower.

"This waiting is unnecessary. We should proceed to Orzammar. I need my sword and I won't wait for an elf's hollow promise to return there."

"It has promised the Qunari _that?_" Shale scoffed in disbelief. "It had told me we have no time to return there." Another scoff, more angry now. "Hag."

"You can come with me, kadan." Pleased, Shale walked over to the Qunari.

Bolting up from her seat, Leliana rushed toward them. "Wait, first you say the base isn't secured and now you want to _leave?_ You can't do th—" Stopping in mid-sentence, her look moved to the trees that had been rustled, the snow that had creaked underneath feet in a place where none of them stood. It had been only the slightest movement, and yet too loud for an animal. Something wasn't right; she could feel it in the air, and the tension around them was nearly palpable.

"_Vashedan_. I have told you!" Sten's hand reached for his two-hander, muscles tensed as the long blade slipped out of its sheath, his intent to leave long forgotten.

Shale, beside him, let her stone fists creak as she flexed them in happy anticipation.

"Excellent. My stone is all itchy to kill."

"M-maybe, Lenya is just coming back?" Leliana shot both of her companions an anxious glance as the sound returned, closer now.

Sten let his eyes roam to the source, fixing the blackened point in the distance with a scowl. "No."

"Well, I already thought so, alas." Rushing over to the campfire, she snatched her bow and quiver from the ground. Barely able to shoulder it in a quick, well-trained hurry, the undefined sound shifted into hushed steps within the snow, indicating someone... or _something_ approaching.

Leliana tried to steady her frantic breathing, knowing well she needed calmness for pinpoint aim. Drawing the string of her bow, she directed the point of her arrow out into the darkness. As the rounded moon broke through the thick clouds in the night sky, she caught the faintest glimpse of a darkened, moving figure. Aiming at it, she let the string loose and sent the arrow flying into its direction, a prayer on her lips.

"The righteous stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall guide their hand!"

She had no time to wait to see if she had hit something, as the figures stormed toward them, swarming the group from every side. She could see ten of them approaching, almost a dozen.

Bandits.

"Kill them!" one dark voice shouted, and all the bandits ran, charging and encircling them with a fierce war cry, as if fired up by the demand. Two figures stumbled into a stop as they reached the golem, blades shattering futilely on Shale's stony skin.

With a pleased smirk, the golem reached back to smash their bodies into a bloodied mush with her fists.

"Squish." Shale laughed as the blood splattered across her stone, already instantly turning to attack the next target. They surely hadn't expected to meet a golem here. She could see it in the anxious stare in their eyes when she was storming toward those worthless meatbags. For Shale, that fact made the killing all the sweeter.

Firing another arrow and already nocking the next one, Leliana heard a pained groan as one of her targets got knocked back with the force of the arrow, penetrating him. Underneath the man, the white of the snow slowly began to color red. Shouldering her bow on her back, Leliana rushed toward the shadow, drawing her daggers in the movement. Without stopping, she slashed across the wounded man's throat, only to parry the sword of another in the next moment.

Killing. Fighting. Leliana was not a stranger to these arts, although as a bard, it had always been the last solution for getting information from her target. She wasn't this person anymore, but the learned skills helped her to survive now.

The man was tall and muscled, and Leliana's blade rebounded hard off of his plate as she plunged forward. Cursing, she ducked under his counterstrike, trying to reach his back for a more precise stab. As solid the armor was, there were always weak points. Under the arm, the neck, the knees. Those were the points she attempted to penetrate, to either injure or kill the heavily armored opponent. She whirled in an arc, but the man had foreseen her intent and moved with her, only to strike her with his rounded shield. It hit Leliana in her mid-section, knocking all air out of her lungs as she crashed to the ground. His charging cry quickly made her regain her senses, and she barely roll to side in time to avoid his fatal strike. Instead, his blade scraped her skin and flesh within the movement, leaving a bloody wound in her side.

Crying out at the sharp stab of pain, Leliana somehow scampered to her feet, the man already moving and ready for the next jab. Instinctively, she drove her right dagger into the lower leg of the man, finding the gap in his armor. He fell to a knee, screaming in agony, bringing him to a height with her. She let her second dagger follow, but he raised his shield and blocked her attempt to stab his face. Gasping, she jumped to her feet, fortunately quick enough to miss his following thrust by an inch.

She felt the blood seeping into her leather armor and resisted the urge to press her hands on her wound. Willing her focus on the man again, she rushed to his back to jab her dagger down into the break in the shoulder plate. The blade split the shoulder clean, coming out through the armpit. She twisted back and forth while the man yelled in anguish, dropping the sword and reaching back with that hand in the attempt to grab her. Leliana didn't let him. Jerking the right blade free from his leg, she used the weapon to slit his throat. With a gurgling sound, the man sunk to the ground, dead.

Distantly, Leliana heard the sickening sound of flesh smashing and bones breaking, their screams of agony ringing through the stillness of night, which the golem answered with an amused chuckle. Reclaiming her other dagger from the massive, yet now dead man, she intended to run over to her companions, but another man charged at her, cutting off her path.

He was lean and smaller than the man before, his build more of a rogue than a warrior. With subterfuge, she evaded an attack of his dual blades, but the wound at her side limited her flexibility. So all she could do now was to put space between her and the shadowed figure and attack him with her bow. Leliana ran toward the campfire, its flames now low, but the embers still glowed in a red heat. The man followed her, inebriated by the hunt and the prospect of killing. Grinning at her, he circled around the fire's side, trying to reach the always-evading bard, who kept the distance between them.

It nearly looked like a dance.

"Why you make it so hard, sweetheart? Just come over. I want to have my fun with you!"

Leliana caught a glance at his face, now fully visible through the light of the fire, and startled.

"_You'll be worth a pretty sum... once we've had our fun, of course."_

_Raleigh?_

The man before her looked hauntingly similar to the sadistic Commander from her past. His face had been involuntarily burned into the back of her mind as he and his men tortured her, having done things to her too barbarous to mention.

Shaking herself to get rid of the gruesome pictures in her mind, Leliana straightened, glaring up at the man in front of her. This wasn't Raleigh. That man was dead, killed by her hand. With a scream, she kicked into the glowing embers and sent it flying into his face. She ignored the burning pain blooming in her feet, instead reveling in the agony of the man that looked so similar to him.

"_I remember the scared little girl in my cell."_

Drawing the string of her bow, she aimed at the man's head while he still was thrashing around in pain and released the arrow.

The thrashing stopped.

Gasping for air, Leliana noticed the well-crafted weapons and the finely-made leather armor of the bloodied corpse. All these were things that bandits usually didn't wear. Something wasn't right; it seemed to be more than just a random bandit attack, planned even. Another bunch of Loghain's headhunters, sent out to kill the Wardens? Leliana didn't know, and if she wanted to find out, she had to hurry. The fighting noises had almost all become silent, but she needed one alive to get more information about this attack. Rushing over, she saw how Sten was about to set the final blow against the crouching figure on the ground, the others around him long dead. She wouldn't reach them in time, so she screamed to make him stop.

"Don't kill him!"

Sten, being a soldier used to obeying orders, halted his blade only inches before the man's head. Instead, he kicked him with his boot, sending him hurtling on the frozen ground, face first.

His eyes narrowed and he scowled. "I hope you have a good reason, woman."

"This was not a normal ambush by common bandits. It was something more." She pointed at the man on the ground, who was wounded, but still alive. "Their armor and weapons are well made and they are well trained—"

"And?" Shale was unimpressed. "Their heads crushed in the same, funny way." She chuckled. "Squiiiiish."

Leliana gritted her teeth, holding her wounded side with one hand, gasping for air. "I might be wrong, but I need to know for sure. Let's ask the one person here who is still able to tell us this, no?"

Sten glanced at the man at his feet and snorted. "Be quick, then."

With a nod to the Qunari, Leliana moved over to the figure on the ground. "Wake up!" Her voice was hard, cold.

Groaning, the man stirred.

"Who are you?" Leliana asked.

He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "No one."

There was the flash of steel in the faint light, ringing as Leliana freed one of her daggers from its sheath again. Crouching to his level, she twisted the blade before his eyes. "That is not the answer I wanted." Leliana smiled sweetly at him. "Try again."

He let out a long sigh that ended in a strangled gasp. "Blast it, I'm not paid well enough to actually care to keep it secret. I'm dead either way, right?"

"Yes," Sten replied dryly, earning himself a glare of Leliana, who then looked back at the man, demanding.

"So who sent you to kill the Wardens? Loghain, I assume?"

"T-the Wardens? As in G-grey Wardens?" he stammered, bewildered. "Maker, n-no! We were sent here to kill a little, red-headed girl camping with her group near Lake Calenhad and got told it would be an easy job. Yeah, right." He laughed mirthlessly, coughing up more blood. "See what that brought me?"

Leliana was shocked and failed even to keep her voice calm. "You were sent to kill... _me?_ What? Why?"

Shale laughed, somewhat amused at the revelation. "The Sister is not so innocent as it always pretends, it seems. Shocking."

Leliana scowled in return, her mind still racing with the reasons why someone would attack her. She had been living a quiet life in Lothering's cloister for the past few years… so _who_? Her heart stopped, as one and the _only_ one name possible hit her mind like a crashing force, robbing her of the ability to breathe.

_Marjolaine?_

_No... impossible._

"Who?" she managed to ask, and then swallowed hard, desperate to hear a different name. Although, she couldn't think of one and it sent her mind reeling.

The man coughed hard and fought for air, breathing had become almost impossible for him, and could only gasp out a few words at a time, his speech slow and laborious. "I don't know. But I have some... directions written down to get to the one, who... wanted you dead. I should go there, when the job is done. Guess I don't need that anymore, huh?" He shifted with great exertion, grunting in pain as he brought forth a blood-smeared piece of parchment.

Leliana took it with shaking hands and started to read.

"No." With that, Sten drove his blade home, piercing the assassin's heart in one clean jab.

He gasped a final time and then went still.

Sten cursed under his breath in his language, surveying the chaos and blood within the now completely silent camp, before his gaze fell, scowling, on the human next to him. "Explain yourself."

Leliana didn't answer, only able to stare at the paper in her hand.

Denerim. The note said Denerim.

Whoever wanted her dead waited in a house in Ferelden's capital for the return of the assassins. For the message of her death.

"I don't know why…" _Marjolaine. _She closed her eyes as the memories flooded her mind, crashing into her with its weight.

"_We are the same."_

"_No."_

"_So you say... but here you stand, weapon in hand."_

"I'm not that woman anymore," Leliana whispered out into the night, nearly defiant.

And yet it seemed the past she tried so hard to escape was catching up to her.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N:** Sorry for the confusion, I have eventually parted for better readablitly. Click the next bottom, the rest is right there ;)_


	51. Vir Bor'Assan, Part II

**Chapter 50:** **Vir Bor'Assan, Part II**

.**  
**

They woke up.

Lenya groaned and made a face as she rose from the grimy floor, her eyes blinking in the need for orientation.

_Right... Mage Tower. Back in the real world._

The Dalish straightened and rolled her shoulders, feeling strangely... rested_._ "Creators, I hate the Beyond." Ignoring the commotion of her companions stirring in slight confusion, she walked over to the body of the sloth demon. Glancing coolly down on its corpse for a moment, she started to kick it. "Bastard, this is for capturing me." The kicks at its side repeated, increased to a frantic pace. "And this for playing with my mind, for creating—" Feeling the looks of the others burning in her back, she stopped herself. Turning around, she saw the grinning face of Alistair.

"Good to see you are already in such high spirits again, Lenya." His grin shifted to an earnest smile, the tone soft, as he added, "Thank you for rescuing me_—us._ Without you, we wouldn't have made it."

Blinking at the unexpected words, Lenya fidgeted with her armor before whirling around, muttering under her breath. "We should move on."

"Agreed," Zevran said, but still avoided looking at her, the events of the Fade still too fresh.

Wynne hurried over to Niall, who still didn't move despite the demon's death. Clawed in his stiff hands was an old scroll. "Niall?"

No answer.

Lenya frowned at the Mage's obvious grief. "We should take the Litany of Andralla from his body to use it against Uldred. Niall told me that."

Wynne swallowed and briefly closed her eyes before regaining the composure. "I... see." With a last glance to her dead fellow mage, she took the roll to study it closer.

Oghren craned his neck. "Heh. So what is that sodding piece of paper good for?"

"Against blood magic," Wynne explained without looking up. "It's an ancient spell that prevents a mind from falling to its magic. Otherwise, a person would quickly become a puppet without own will and mind."

"Sodding blood magic, sodding Fade," the dwarf muttered. "I say we smash their heads before they can do their fancy magic."

"That's a plan I can actually live with." Alistair laughed, and then turned to Wynne. "So how does this Litany work?"

"You simply have to recite those written verses to activate their protection." Wynne frowned. "Considering Uldred's fascination for dark magic, we will need it, too."

"Just reading it, huh?" Alistair asked and stretched his neck to get a glance at the scroll. "Oh... it is written in... Arcanum? Sorry mine is, uh, a bit rusty, I fear."

"I can do this." Everyone turned around to Morrigan and she rolled her eyes at the blatant surprise in their faces. "Is it so shocking that I'm capable to read more languages than this Warden moron here? My mother taught me well."

Alistair snorted. "Endearing, really."

Wynne looked at Morrigan's stretched out hand and her eyes narrowed. "I will keep the scroll. For now."

"Oh, you don't trust me, old woman?" Morrigan's words were accompanied by a shrug, and then she turned to leave for the next door. "Have it your way, then. 'Tis not that I care for your ridiculous Circle."

Zevran wordlessly followed her, eyes directed straight forward, and somewhat unfocused.

The elder mage sighed. "We should go as well. The Harrowing chamber isn't far from here. We need to find Irving."

"I will be glad when I can stop searching for someone, for a change," Lenya muttered with a roll of her eyes and followed Wynne.

.

.

* * *

.

"Is this supposed to be a sodding prison?" Oghren pointed at the bright spot of magic light at the side of the hall with a snort.

In it, cowered a person. The man didn't move or stir at their approach and only continued to mutter incoherent syllables in frantic intervals.

"I have never seen something like this cage." Wynne frowned as she moved closer to the seemingly delirious templar. "The boy is exhausted." She directed her next words at him, saying, "Don't worry, help is here, Cullen."

He didn't react at first, instead continued what Alistair recognized as a repeated, crazed version of the Chant of Light. The Templar embraced himself even closer than before, covering his ears and rocked back and forth. "Silence... I'll not listen to anything you say. Now begone! I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong. Filthy blood mages... getting in my head. I will not break. I'd rather die. I am so tired of these cruel jokes... these tricks, these—" His voice cracked into a whimper.

"My, 'tis another crazy templar ready to slaughter every mage in sight." Morrigan let out a sneer. "'Tis completely unexpected."

Lenya pointed at the human in the magical prison and turned to Alistair. "Slowly, I am starting to understand why you didn't want to become a templar."

Alistair blinked. "You are? Really?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Yep. Obviously, being a templar _sucks_."

"Funny." His lips twisted to a grin as he looked at her. "Never before has someone described my thoughts on ten years of my life with such precise and curt words."

Another shrug with one of her shoulders, and she even slightly mirrored his grin. "You are welcome."

"Still here?" The Templar blinked up to the group, still refusing to believe his eyes. "But that's always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them."

With a groan, Lenya rolled her eyes. "Because we _are_ real, you moron."

Slowly, he rose from the ground, looking at her. "Don't blame me for being cautious. The voices, the images, were so real. They caged us like animals... looked for ways to break us. I'm the only one left." His eyes grew hard, his face a single, pained scowl. "Some fought back, but even they are lost now. Uldred has them. And the sounds coming out of the Harrowing Chamber, Maker... I can't take it anymore. They—" He crumbled into a heap, embracing himself again.

Oghren observed him with a frown. "I think you need a tall mug of ale to calm you down, lad. I may need one myself, come to think."

He stopped, rocking back and forth, and glared up at the dwarf with a mixture of hatred and disgust. "That was inappropriate, dwarf. But what more could be expected from an ignorant, cave-dwelling heathen?"

"Ignorant, cave-dwelling heathen?" Oghren snorted, highly amused and not feeling in the slightest insulted. "Hah. Have we met before?"

Cullen ignored Oghren, and instead rambled on, his voice edging on screaming. "Only mages have that much power at their fingertips, only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whispering of demons."

Alistair blinked, baffled. "His hatred of mages is so intense... the memory of his friends' deaths is still fresh in his mind."

"He is insane," Lenya said and knocked at the wall of light, surprised to find it was rock-solid. "Well, at least we are safe from his madness for the moment."

Suddenly, he laughed, a cold and broken sound that echoed through the hall. "I can't believe I once pitied the mages. That I once had compassion for them. Now I'd like nothing more than to wipe their taint off the face of Thedas." Cullen's stare bore into her, madness and hurt spilling forth beneath his eyes. "Kill them. Kill them _all_. To ensure this horror is ended... to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there. It is all their fault. With their magic and blood and death."

"Yeah, because you are totally sensible and trustworthy." Lenya gave him a sweet, almost mocking smile. "You know what? You stay here and I'll go in there and kill the one who started all this. I'll save the Tower for the Warden treaties and all that. Good plan?"

Cullen shook his head in a frantic pace. "N-no, no, no! That is not enough. They've been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts. You need to kill them all, all of the mages—"

"Thought so." Already turning with a hint of indifference, she brushed him off. "Well, I have no time for this stupid, human, templar fanaticism."

"Duly noted." Alistair glanced up toward the door that stood between them and the blood mages, and possibly abominations. The humor in his voice faded, replaced by a tensed readiness that he always showed before a fight, his senses narrowed down to concentrate. "I figure Uldred is waiting behind this door and is _not_ having a tea-party, right?" He drew his weapon and shield, sucking in a breath as his muscles flexed beneath the armor, ready and itching for a fight. "Right."

"We must hurry." Wynne released her staff from her back, staring at the door with a frown. "They are in grave danger, I am sure of it. Remember that we need to use the Litany of Andralla to stop the mages within from falling to Uldred and his blood magic."

"I haven't forgotten that," Lenya replied, almost flippant. "I hope you haven't forgotten that I _can't_ read Arcanum, either. This is your job then." Without waiting for Wynne's answer, the Dalish turned to the door and pressed the handle down to enter.

It was time to end it.

.

.

* * *

.

They entered the Harrowing Chamber, and with it, a picture of chaos.

Flashes of thunderbolts jumped around the rounded stone hall, basking the room in a blue and purple light. The screams of the mages, who were lying huddled in varying degrees of semi-consciousness around the room, reverberated through the air, air that was thick with the stench of burned flesh and death.

Amidst it all stood a little, shaven-headed man who thrummed with power as he lifted one of the mages up high into the air. The man hung there, dangling and helpless, eyes widened in horror as he gazed back into the smirking face of the mage.

"Do you accept the gift I offer?"

Weakened as he was, he had no other choice but to nod and was instantly dropped to the floor. He writhed violently on the ground, his flesh twisted and rippled until the transformation was complete. Where a man had been before, there now stood a full-fleshed abomination, towering high above the mage, who smiled, pleased, at his creation. "You are _free_ now—" He stopped, whirling around to the group that was running up to him, weapons raised.

"Ah, look what we have here. An intruder, of all things. I bid you welcome. Care to join in our... revels?" His smile was wide, wicked, and only emphasized his manic bearings as he looked at Lenya. "I am quite impressed, of course, that you are still alive. Unfortunately, that must mean you've killed all of my... servants. Ah, well, I suppose it is better they died in service to their betters than living with the responsibility of independence. Glorious."

"Uldred!" Wynne screamed at him and her own staff was cracking with energy as she pointed it toward him, furious. "You're mad! There's nothing glorious about what you've done!"

He _tsked_ at her, his tone mocking and full of himself. "My, Wynne, some people can be so stubborn indeed. But what good did that do for you? I still won." Uldred turned, pointing at a prostrate form of an elderly man on the ground and smirked. "See, I even have the First Enchanter on my side, don't I... Irving?"

Wynne's eyes widened as she recognized her fellow mage, weakened and unable to move. "W-what have you done to him?"

"Stop him," Irving croaked weakly. "He... is building an army. He will... destroy the templars and—"

Uldred shook his head in disapproval, but his voice giving away the amusement he felt at that. "You're a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that. And here I thought he was starting to turn."

"N-never!"

Lenya shot a glance over to Alistair. Their gazes met only for a fraction of a second, yet it was enough for a silent agreement. After months of fighting at his side, she didn't need words anymore to reach a level of understanding before and in a battle. A discreet nod or wave toward his direction was mostly enough for him to understand what she planned, an ability of his warrior self that she came to appreciate. He might be slow on the uptake on other things concerned, but fighting was definitely not one of them.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw how Morrigan stepped sideways in the wake of Alistair, circling to the back of the two abominations on the left side of Uldred. Zevran did the same, but taking the opposite direction instead. Lenya feigned not noticing, even stepping closer to the insane mage to draw his attention fully to her.

It worked.

Ignoring the others of her group, he fixed his gaze on her lithe form, and his lips twitched with suppressed triumph. "Irving will serve me, eventually. As will _you_." Uldred tilted his head, observing the Dalish as if she were a rare and valued prize that he wanted to possess. "Your raw potential, with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable. I can do that—I can give you power, and a new life."

For a moment, the hall went completely still and Uldred waited patiently for Lenya's answer, pleased to see her considering it. Unbeknownst to him, it was only a tactic of the Dalish to buy some time for her companions and herself. She mirrored the complacent grin she saw in his face as she approached to him, playing the obedient sheep he wished to see in her.

Leaning forward, her tone was no more than a whisper. "I have weighed your offer and all I can say to that is..." She leaped forward to plunge her blades right into his front, smile widening. "Fuck you."

It was all the encouragement her companions needed to attack. Alistair made way for Morrigan as she unleashed a huge ball of fire into the two abominations standing there. They burned with a fierce intensity, falling down to the ground screeching, and then went still. Zevran, on the other side, was ducking under the monster and slashed across its back with wide, deft strikes until it fell down, almost too easily.

Uldred, though, after overcoming the state of shock at their sudden attack, was laughing like the madman he was. It was a bizarre picture to behold with Lenya's blades still buried deep into his chest, blood dripping from the wounds, but he was seemingly unperturbed by it all. "Aw, how sweet. Now it is my turn." With that, his chest heaved, stretched, and expanded with a ripping growl to something much bigger, not unlike an ogre. Giving Lenya no time to recover from the utter surprise, the former human hauled back and hit her with full force.

Uldred's blow hit Lenya with such a strength that it sent her hurtling across the floor, where she slammed into a railing, the impact cracking some of her ribs. Dazed and hurting, Lenya tried to get up again, but breathing had become hard, so _hard,_ that it took all her strength and concentration. Each heave of her chest sent sharp jabs of pain through her and she fought against the blackness that threatened to swarm her mind. Lenya refused to give in to her body, stubborn even against the haze of pain that turned her features flushed and damp. She closed her eyes for a moment, battling to bring her disobeying body back under her own control. She needed to get away from the floor, knew she was unarmed and injured and easy prey for the monster looming here.

_Can't... die... here._

Gritting her teeth, Lenya attempted to shove herself up on one arm, but she fell back to the floor, face first and shaking. The pain reverberated in her shoulder and arm at that, and it was nearly numbing and she cried out at the agony it caused her. Apparently, a few of her ribs weren't the only bones broken in her body. Whimpering in pain, Lenya laid there flat on the ground, like the little, helpless girl she now was and _hated_ every moment of it.

_Great plan, Lenya. Thrusting all your weapons into his front to kill this bastard, only to discover a moment later he is n big, stupid abomination and laughing about it. Way to use the element of surprise. Brilliant._

Amidst the chaos of battle, Alistair thought felt his heart stop beating, as he witnessed how Lenya crashed into the railing and onto the ground, seemingly lifeless.

_No!_

He completely forgot Uldred up in front as his world instantly narrowed down to the single thought of protecting her. The roar of the giant abomination Uldred had become reminded him somehow to get his shield up, which was more instinct than conscious thought. His eyes were still fixed on her, her helpless form a far-too-distracting force. So the attack of the monster as only half-thwarted as claws scraped at his shield, digging deep into the steel, but also in the flesh of his shoulder. Alistair felt himself stumbling back at the pain, and trickles of blood ran down the arm holding the shield, meeting the floor. He felt how the strength was leaving his arm and fought against it, but before he could even drop the heavy shield to the ground, a cloud of blue light was washing over him. It stopped the bleeding and the pain, at last. He shot a glance over to Wynne, who nodded at him before she was running back to bring the Litany forth as the shimmering light around two of paralyzed mages intensified.

Zevran was ducking under Uldred's claws to advance closer to its body, evading its attacks in a fast, graceful pace. Once he was close enough to the abomination, he twisted Lenya's blades even deeper into its thick skin, eliciting a feral scream of agony from the creature.

"Go!" the elf screamed at Alistair, diving beneath Uldred's body to slash across the back of its knees with his daggers. Alistair didn't need to hear more—already was he running to the other side of the floor where she lay, dazed and hurt. Passing Oghren, he issued a curt, "Guard Wynne!" to him, and the dwarf rushed with a roar toward their enemies, axe raised and ready.

Lenya was breathing shallowly, everything else hurt too much. Even the rather short spell of Wynne's only brought momentary respite, but at least it let her stop coughing up blood, which was a definite plus in her books. Clashing steel and battle screams rang in her ears, indicating to her that the fight was still not over. And all she could do was pathetically lie here and wait for whatever to come. The groaning and shuffling noise made her look up, the pain at the sudden motion blurred her vision, but she saw enough to recognize the shade of an abomination advancing toward her.

_Pathetic. You are going to die at the claws of that ugly thing._

The irony of it made her nearly laugh.

"Lenya!" There was _his _voice, piercing through the haze of pain, but she did not dare to hope for him to arrive in time. At least she wouldn't die alone...

The floor seemed endlessly long to Alistair, as if he would never arrive at her side, now where she needed him most. To his absolute horror, there was an abomination, one of the transformations Wynne couldn't stop in time, and it was scurrying quickly toward her. He felt clunky, hated every bit of the heavy plate armor that was slowing him down, his lungs already burning and demanding a pause. Alistair ignored everything and ran further, tried to be faster, to reach her. Desperation claimed his whole being as he noticed that no matter how fast he was, he wouldn't make it in time.

_No, Maker, please. I can't lose her. Not her._

Suddenly, Morrigan ran past him, a lot faster in her light robe. She jumped, and in mid-air, turned into a giant spider. With an enormous leap, the Morrigan-spider lunged at the abomination's back, sinking her huge mandibles deep into its rotten flesh. It fell easily, only inches before reaching the Dalish, and Morrigan made sure it wouldn't rise again as she ripped out its throat.

Right after Morrigan, Alistair reached her. Shaking, he fell down to his knees, discarding his sword and shield to the side, his focus narrowed down onto only her. Turning, the Morrigan-spider hissed at him before she advanced back again to Uldred. It sounded almost as if she was warning... or perhaps mocking him, but he couldn't care less. Still, Alistair was grateful, so _very_ grateful, for Morrigan's intervention and help, for he would have failed to reach Lenya in time.

And he would have never forgiven himself that.

With shaking hands, he carefully scooped her head up and let it rest in his lap. He forced himself to smile at her, despite the remembrance of despair and dread still lingering deep inside of him. "Shh, you are safe now. I—we won't leave you alone." Around them, the sounds of battle slowly faded, indicating the end of it was near. He didn't care. All that was important to him now was Lenya, and the fact that she was safe. Alive.

"Ali... stair…"

He was the last thing Lenya saw before her world went black, the pain and exhaustion eventually too much to bear.


	52. Inception

_**Important authors note:** This chapter got hi-jacked by Zevran, read at your own risk xD _

_Thanks to Mackillian for the excellent beta read once more. Someday I will learn not to overlook so many typos or how to set commas. Promised :p  
_

* * *

_***~Remembrance, can be a sentence, but it comes to you with a second chance in tow  
Don't lose it, don't refuse it, cos you cannot learn a thing you think you know  
A new light is warm, shining down on you after the storm~*  
**_

_**-**Poets of the Fall – Dawn_

* * *

**Chapter 51: Inception  
**

.**  
**

Zevran couldn't sleep.

Which was ironic, given the circumstances.

The Tower was now safe, the mages and First Enchanter rescued, and Uldred had paid for his crimes. Despite their success and Zevran's exhaustion, the elf found no sleep in his roost where he lay, surrounded by his companions in a makeshift field hospital. Sighing, he gave up on sleep to stare at the rounded ceiling of the hall and sat up. Around him, everyone was still and asleep, the loud snoring of Oghren and Wynne the only audible sound. Torches burned in the sconces, their warm light dancing low across the walls, casting flickering shadows on the ground.

Zevran rubbed his face, wincing lightly as the motion caused a fiery burn due to the cuts around his face and arms. He had a few fairly deep scratches on both of his legs, too, thanks to Uldred's claws, but it was far from being as bad as Lenya's injuries.

He frowned as he glanced over to the place where she slept. Her pallet was temporarily covered by linen cloth that hung on both sides to give her a sense of seclusion from the commotion around her. Lenya had been in deep slumber for more than a day now, and hadn't even awakened when the healer mages scurried around her, prodding and changing her bandages. Despite her own weakened state, it was Wynne who assisted them and made sure that each of the companions would get the treatment they needed to get quickly back on their feet.

Fortunately, not all were injured in a way that required intense medical treatment. They were mostly all just beyond exhaustion, nothing what a good amount of sleep couldn't fix. Except that the elf found no rest that he so direly needed, the memories of the Fade were still flooding his mind every time he closed his eyes. He hated it, especially that the fact that shredding the demon responsible for it only brought momentary satisfaction, whereas the pictures of _that_ Fade-dream still lingered.

_Rinna..._

Zevran took a deep breath that came out as a sigh, and stood up. His eyes were still fixed on Lenya's sleeping form. Without thinking, he was already tiptoeing toward her bedroll, always careful not to wake the others. Moving silently and deftly was like a second nature to him, so he had no difficulty in reaching her place. Now where he stood in front of the Warden's pallet, however, Zevran didn't know what to do, or why he moved over to her in the first place.

He looked down at her and the frown returned, deepened, even.

She was odd.

There were no other, more fitting words that came to his mind to describe his new leader. Sure there was also _deadly sex goddess, _but these words would have been a tad inappropriate in a situation like this. Even he was possessing of something that resembled tact, after all. Although, Zevran had to admit that it was generally more amusing to skip the bothersome custom of manners and advance right to the fun parts.

Not tonight, though.

Not when she lay there with numerous bruises still marring her skin, and her broken left arm fixed within a sling. Lenya was the oblivious to the world, but at least breathing, even and deep again, after intense magical treatment. She had been injured worst of them all, and now needed rest more than anything else.

Suddenly, something stirred, a rustling noise that made Zevran startle and ready to turn away from her. He quickly recognized, however, that it was just her huge Mabari that lay curled to her feet, pawing in the air while it dreamed.

He shouldn't be here, and with that, he didn't mean even standing at her bedroll.

Zevran chuckled ruefully.

_Fate is a funny thing, no?_

He came to Ferelden to die at the hands of the Wardens, but instead, his life had been _spared _by her. Which was puzzling, in a way, because it was obvious that she couldn't stand him very much.

_Odd._

Lenya was, however, everything that he'd imagined the Dalish to be, before reality showed him another, more boring, picture. Proud. Unyielding. Utterly stubborn. And immune to his unmatched charm and wits, it seemed, which was._.. surprising_. He was used to women—and men—swooning at his appearance and charisma, and surely did not expect to meet the one person in Thedas that would roll her eyes at that and tell him to get lost. Okay, maybe two, if he included that dark-haired sorceress-beauty.

Zevran smirked.

_Odd, but interesting._

Most of all, however, he couldn't forget how Lenya had seen him, how she had _looked _at him. There, in the Fade, within the false recreation of what he once called home. Her gaze still stung in the back of his mind, possibly even more than the illusion and nightmare itself.

And it bothered him.

As an assassin, Zevran had learned to hide himself by pretending to hide nothing at all. He had, in fact, mastered the art of shrouding his feelings into shadows to perfection. Yet, in the moment where his gaze met her eyes after killing the demon pretending to be Rinna, he had felt... _bare_. There were no layers nor shadows in which he could have wrapped himself in that moment, for her gaze seemed to pierce through his protection. There was pure, undisguised shock in her green eyes, and beneath that, there was even something... _more._ It was as if she saw right through him, down to his core where all his guilt and self-loathing was hidden, wrapped neatly under all the smiles, purrs, smirks, and grins of his. Zevran barely even knew her and still she saw and looked at him… as if _he_ had been the monster instead of the demon he killed later.

Maybe he was.

Zevran sighed, hating all the unnecessary thoughts swarming him at night. He looked down at her again, noticing that Lenya hadn't moved one bit, even after all the time he stood here. Her healthy hand clawed into the coarse woolen blankets, her revealing eyes that startled him so much were still closed. It would be all too easy to fulfill his contracted task now, to kill her, after all, but even if he wanted to... he _couldn't. _Not just because this lovely Dalish lady had spared him once, after he truly attempted to end her life, she also came for him in the Fade. She hadn't needed to, she could have easily left him rotting in the nightmare that this illusion had been, captured forever within.

She hadn't.

This alone made it worth it to give her his loyalty, to fight at her side and see it through until the end. Most likely, it would be interesting, too.

Zevran shook his head, musing.

She was odd.

It was indeed the best way to describe her. Lips twisted to a playful smirk, washing away the prior thoughtfulness.

_Granted, deadly sex goddess is also fitting._

.

.

* * *

.

This wasn't how he had imagined it to be.

When Alistair suggested that some of them should cross the lake to inform the others in camp about the current situation, he surely hadn't mean himself and _Zevran_ when he said it.

Huffing, he wrapped his woolen cloak tighter around his partly unarmored body and shivered at the cold breeze. Underneath the thick fabric, several bloody bandages were wrapped around his still-injured shoulder underneath his tattered woolen shirt, and the poultice under the bandages was still working on fixing the injury. It had become a lot better within the few days of rest and treatment, so Wynne apparently thought he was healthy enough to leave the Tower for this task. With Zevran.

_Great._

The way Wynne was wielding the admonishing look of doom, it should have been her sitting with Zevran in this vessel now, not _him._ He would have preferred to stay at Lenya's side anyway, where he... belonged. Why must it had been that her vehement stare reduced him to a twelve-year-old and back to his time in the Chantry again? If she hadn't been a mage already, she surely would be a perfect Revered Mother.

_Evil, eeevil mage._

Crossing his arms over his chest, Alistair began to glare at the elf sitting across from him. Yes, he was sulking, and completely right in doing so.

"Ah, my dear Alistair, you look so gloomy. Are you not enjoying this little, nice trip? The fresh, brisk air after the staleness of the Tower?" Zevran blinked once before falling into a thoughtful, albeit mocking pose. "Hmm, maybe you are cold?" He flashed him a grin, all teeth and suggestiveness. "Maybe I should warm you?"

Alistair's glare intensified. Oh, how he _hated_ that elf. "I'm fine." He secretly wondered how long it would take to finally reach the other shore.

"Or... tired," Zevran mused on, lips pressed into an amused smile. "Maybe you should have stayed in the Tower then, no? Although, Wynne can be pretty persuasive, I must admit." He stretched lazily, not at all bothered by the back and forth rocking of the ship. "Ah, who can resist the allure of an older woman? I suddenly feel the urge to rest my head on her bosom."

Alistair, however, felt the sudden urge to jump out of the ship and _swim_ the rest of the way to shore. Which would have been a fatal act, given the heavy armor parts that were still cladding his body. So he pushed the thought aside, letting out a frustrated groan instead. His gaze wandered, beseeching to the templar to row_ faster._

He didn't.

"You know, maybe Wynne was right and it's better to accompany you when we return to the camp. Who knows what you would—"

"Ah, you still don't trust me? I'm deeply hurt that you still think so little of me, my handsome Warden." Zevran sighed deeply, hand placed on his forehead in an exaggerated motion. "Even after all we have been through together, now."

There had been a squall of overly dramatic words, but Alistair's brain stopped working after one in particular. "H-handsome?" He wriggled in his place, and his voice was pitched into an unwanted hysterical shrillness.

He liked this less and less by the minute.

"Why, yes." Zevran blinked, all innocent. A smirk tugged in the corner of his mouth, however, easily giving away that he wasn't. Enjoying himself, more like. "Rugged good looks, quick wit, manly shoulders. Has no one told you that before? What a waste." The elf fell into his prior thoughtful pose, rubbing his chin with his fingers. "Getting you to hop borders would be a quite delightful challenge, I imagine."

"Hop. Borders?" Now it was Alistair's turn to blink, even though for entirely different reasons. "Well, I have never been outside of Ferelden, that is true." This was what the elf meant, right? He was confused, scared even.

"And so innocent, as well." Zevran clasped his hands together in delight. "Ah, how tempting it would be to taint you."

"I'm already tainted, thank y—" Alistair stopped in mid-sentence, staring, bewildered, at the smiling man in front of him. "Wait, are you saying that you... that I... and... you... and..." He didn't go any further, for his brain failed to work momentarily.

He tilted his head, thoroughly amused at Alistair's all-too-obvious discomfort. "That I have a varied taste? Why, yes. I was raised in a brothel and trained to seduce whomever is required. Open-mindedness is a survival trait, and I learned long ago to make no such judgments. Skilled as I am, the acts of love are pleasurable either way, independent from the partner being a man or woman." With an innocent tone and smile, he asked, "Does that bother you?"

Alistair yanked his arms up, nearly flailing. "I—no, no, no. No!" He harrumphed, hating the blush that started to deepen within his face. "I mean, I'm not. I... well—"

Uncomfortable didn't even start to describe how Alistair felt right now. Their ship seemed to have shrunken in size too, somehow.

"Ah, say no more." The elf chuckled. "This is exactly _why_ the attempt would be so delightful. Well, but there is nothing wrong with preferring the pleasures a woman offers. Heaving bosom, delicate skin, firm, long legs wrapped around your waist, and soft lips that quiver in rapture." He sighed in contentment. "Believe me, I can quite understand your taste, my dear Alistair."

By now, he was even redder in the face than the tomatoes in the chantry's garden he once had stolen.

Zevran looked at him, blinking. "Are you not feeling well, my friend?"

"Stop. Talking. _Please._"

"Tsk, Fereldans, so finicky." Zevran shook his head. "Here I thought I could loosen up the chains the Chantry gave you over all those years, to free your mind and hands from the ties in which they have bound."

"I like my hands where they are, thank you very much."

Much to his surprise, Zevran fell silent and didn't actually speak for a long, precious moment.

Alas, it lasted not quite long enough.

"Ah, excuse me my silence just now, but I was deep in thought." No, Alistair didn't want to know, which didn't hinder the elf from elaborating on it, nonetheless. "I was thinking about your fellow Warden. She is indeed a woman worth the praise, yes? Such a natural, wild beauty and raw temper. Quite fitting for a Dalish, no?"

The ship bumped hard on the shore of Lake Calenhad, urging him to momentarily stop his words. The templar turned to them, his face hidden under the heavy helmet that made it hard to talk, so he only motioned them to leave. Zevran jumped elegantly from the boat first, his movements so fluid and graceful that it only made Alistair hate him more. The elf flashed him a wide, mocking smirk. "Ah yes, Lenya will be quite the challenge. A worthy one, too. Marvelous!"

_Wait? Had he just declared... that he... wants... Lenya?_ Alistair fixed Zevran's back with an incredulous stare that turned more and more into a glare with each moment. He felt his temper rising, and somewhere the snapping of his nerves, even.

That was it, the final straw. He was going to kill that elf, drown him in this very lake, if needed. Surely no one would miss him, right?

Zevran turned and smiled at him in such a friendly way, as if he had never professed his rivalry for Lenya. "What are you waiting for? Hop to shore, my friend. We need to deliver the pleasant news of our victory."

Inwardly cursing, Alistair left the vessel as well, feeling clunky and clumsy as he stumbled doing so. Zevran hadn't waited for him, so he had no other choice but to hurry after him, his glare boring into the distant back of the assassin.

_Must... not... strangle... the... elf._

The rather short way back to camp had never felt longer.

.

.

* * *

.

"Alistair!" Leliana stormed toward him and hugged him until he winced in pain. She stepped back, observing his wounded shoulder with a frown. "What happened?"

"I should ask you the same, I take it?"

Blinking, he glanced past the bard, bewildered to see the camp in such a chaotic state. Some of the tents were ripped down and a burned down pyre stood in the middle that hadn't been there before. Bloodstains were visible everywhere on the ground, coloring the snow red. In the distance, Alistair could hear how Shale cursed and hunted some crows that had dared to come to close to camp. Sten wasn't even regarding him, instead continued calmly to sort weapons and armor in a pile next to him.

Wild party, no?" Zevran chuckled. "Aww, my dearest Leliana, I'm disappointed now. You should have waited for my return to start it, yes?"

She ignored him. With a sigh, she took a few steps from Alistair and looked at him with a smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "So it is stillthat bad, yes? I was hoping to clean up all of the chaos, before you'd return."

Sten snorted without stopping his task.

"Clean up?" Alistair was aghast. "By the Maker, what happened here?"

Leliana didn't answer, her eyes lowered to the ground.

The humor in Zevran's voice faded, as he looked around, frowning. "To me it looks like an attack by a group of assassins. Stray arrows on the ground, the bloodstains in a circled pattern in the snow, the amount of weapons and armor parts our big friend is sorting. Amateurish, yes, but planned, nonetheless."

"I... " Leliana withered under their stare and gave in, sighing. "Zevran is right. There was an ambush at the camp, yes. But it is a... long story."

"They wanted to kill her. They failed," Sten said from behind them.

Leliana bit her lip. "Okay, apparently not so long."

"Oh, so another attack of headhunters from Logh—" Alistair halted as the words sunk in. "Wait... did he just say they came to kill_ you? _Why?"

The gnawing at her lip intensified, growing frantic, even. "I don't know how to say it... or explain. I haven't been completely honest with you, I fear." She paused, needing a moment to muster her will to continue. "Before I came to Ferelden and became a lay sister in the Chantry, I worked as a bard in Orlais."

Alistair was confused. "Yes, I know. You told us once that you were singing for the audience. What has that to do with it?"

"She is a _bard,_ Alistair," Zevran repeated for him in a slow manner, mildly annoyed. "Skilled performers _and_ master manipulators, if I remember right, no? It seems as if our sister here has some naughty secrets." He shot her an amused grin. "How delightful."

"Oh, I... err, see." Alistair blinked, too shocked to do anything beyond that.

"I _was _one_,_ more like," Leliana said, turning her gaze away from them, letting it linger on the trees beyond the camp. "I have done many things in my life I'm not proud of, but I have left that life behind me, when I..." she stopped, sighing. "Let's just say I had perfectly good reasons to join the Chantry and leave it at that. For now."

Sten snorted anew.

She turned to him, eyes narrowed. "What is it now, Sten? If you have something to say, then say it!"

He mirrored the glare. "You keep running away. Pathetic."

"No, I don't!" Leliana said, huffing, and whirled round again, her pleading eyes on Alistair pleading. "I will tell you everything, I swear. All I can ask is that we wait until Lenya is here, too, before you judge me." Her voice faded into a desperate sigh. "I never intended to deceive you...none of you. I'm not that person anymore. I never would have thought that… that… Her shoulders slumped as her voice faltered. The expression in her face grew beyond sad, weary, even.

Zevran tilted his head and watched her for a long moment. "That your past is catching up."

She only nodded.

It was quiet for a pregnant moment before Alistair's sigh tore the stillness apart. He had expected all _but_ this. Given, Leliana had always been a bit special, yet he had no idea _how _special she really was. On the other hand, he had learned to know her as a nice, amicable person that he liked to talk to. It was hard to imagine her as anything but, even now where he knew otherwise_. _Despite Lenya's obvious dislike toward Leliana, she had always behaved commendably toward her and the others, nor had she ever done anything that would harm them. So Alistair refused to believe in her being a bad person now all the sudden. There must have been a reason for all this, she had never looked so sad and lost as during her confession.

All the more, he _wanted_ to believe her.

"You know that Lenya will hate it, right? I would be lying if I'm saying I'm thrilled myself to find our camp in this state. Or about the assassins..." Alistair's eyes flung over to Zevran. "..._more_ of them, I mean. But I will wait until we are _all_ back in camp to hear you out, together with Lenya."

Her face lit up, if only a little. "Thank you." Leliana looked left and right. "Where are the others, anyway?"

"Ah, still in the Tower recovering from the battle, I fear. We had an unfortunate encounter with blood magic, demons, the Fade, and abominations." Zevran clucked his tongue and laughed. "And here I thought my journey with the Wardens would be boring. Perish the thought."

Alistair ignored him. "Well, that is why we're here, either to inform you or take you with us, since the others need a bit of a time to recover still. Especially Lenya." He heaved a breath, allowing himself to briefly close his eyes, the memories of the events at the top of the Tower still too fresh.

Leliana frowned at his reaction. "Is she... okay?"

"Ah, yes. She is a lovely and tough lady, after all, no?"

"Then you should get back and keep an eye on Lenya, until she is well enough."

Zevran smirked. "Ah, that I will do, my fair lady. Even two eyes, I can assure you."

She rolled her eyes. "I actually meant Alistair."

He shook his head in mock-disappointment. "Oh, you are no fun. Tsk. So you are not coming with us?"

"Hmm… no. I guess I better stay here and continue cleaning. You should have it nice when you return and the camp will be less... _bloody_." Leliana gasped, all caught up in her task now. "Maybe I will catch a few snow-hares and cook a fine stew? "

Sten grunted. "If that stops your squall of words, do it."

Leliana ignored him, instead looked at one ripped down tent in particular. "But, then there is still your tent, Zevran..."

"Aw, really?" Zevran said with a mock pout, before grinning up at her. "I guess I will have to sleep in your tent then, no?"

She scowled." No. I will repair it, however, just wait. It will be almost new after that. Sten will help me, right?"

"No." The Qunari had finished his task and was now striding away to where Shale stood, apparently unnerved from her all too enthusiastic behavior.

Alistair pointed at the two sorted piles, raising an eyebrow at the bard. "What is with all the weapon and armor, anyway?"

"Oh! Maybe we can sell them, yes? Maybe Lenya won't be so angry about the attack, after all, if something good comes out of it. And money is good, no? We always need money, for supplies and other things, after all." Leliana laughed nervously, fiddling with her hands. "Granted, it will be hard to transport, so maybe keeping it wasn't a such a great idea."

He noticed that his view on her hadn't changed a bit, despite of what happened. He still liked her. Even now, she was trying so hard to make the best out of the situation. Alistair smiled. "No, it's a good thought. A bit impractical, but good, nonetheless."

"Thank you," she said once more." I mean, for coming here and telling... for understanding."

"Why, yes." Zevran grinned. "I do understand that we have a lot in common, now. How thrilling."

"I'm _not_ an assassin, Zevran. I'm a bard—_was_," she said in a harsh tone, which softened as she looked at Alistair. "And I promise you, I will tell you everything later."

"The _whole_ story?"

She nodded, her expression a bit sinister. "Yes. That is what we bards are supposed good at, no?"

.

.

* * *

.

"This is the business of the mages now, Warden!"

"Oh, so you exclude yourself from the Blight, because you are not of a mind for it? How very clever. I should do the same."

Alistair returned just in time to see Lenya not only up again, but also glaring at the Knight-Commander. Her blonde hair was loose, ruffled, and she looked every part as if just out of bed. Albeit, her spirit was undoubtedly _present_ again, and the templar had the pleasure to experience that first hand.

Zevran tilted his head, equally amused as the Warden beside him. "Ah, she is quite lively again, no?"

Alistair couldn't help the silly grin that was sneaking into his features, partly due to pure glee at the Knight-Commander's plight, but even more so that she was up and well.

And so very... _Lenya_.

It was stupid, especially with Zevran standing right next to him, and yet he felt his heart speeding up a beat.

Greagoir sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But you are a Grey Warden, it is your _duty_ to fight the Blight."

"Exactly." Lenya made herself look taller than she was, her glare still fixed on the human. "I came here to seek help against the Blight, to gather armies. I have even saved your stupid Tower. And now after I have done it, after nearly _dying_ to achieve that... you are telling me the Blight is not your business? Are you sodding kidding me?"

"Because you have to talk with First Enchanter Irving about it!" Glancing past her in pure desperation, his eyes caught Alistair, who watched the whole scene from a distance, amused. "Oh, thank the Maker." Greagoir had possibly never looked more relieved to see the other Warden. "Please talk her into seeing reason. Tell her that your treaties only apply to one faction. She is too stubborn to listen."

Alistair arched an eyebrow, looking first to the Knight-Commander, and then to his fellow Warden and flashed a crooked grin at her. "Aww, Lenya, it is not that I don't appreciate the notion of you getting so passionate and serious about the Blight. It is just... well..." He stopped in mid-sentence, as he noticed that he had no other arguments against her behavior than her well-being. And he valued his life too much to add, "Shouldn't you be still in bed, resting?" to his sentence just now. Lenya had the habit to react to this a bit impulsively, so to speak.

She whirled, her furious glare now on him. "What?"

Right, he had walked totally into this one. Now he _had_ to explain.

She blew one bothering strand of hair out of her face, while her stare remained on him, and she even began to tap her foot.

Never a good sign.

Wynne might have mastered the admonishing look of doom—which _was_ intimidating—but compared to Lenya's glare, it was _nothing_. It never failed to reduce him to a stuttering pile of mush, much to his dismay. "I-I mean... well... err…"

_Right, brain, thanks for nothing._

Beside him, Zevran heaved the shoulders to a shrug, adding nonchalantly, "I don't see anything wrong with recruiting the Templars as well. The more, the better against the Blight, no?"

Greagoir let out a disapproving noise. "We need our troops to rebuilt the Tower. There is so much to do now." His gaze grew into a glare as he looked at him, disapproving. "Also I don't know how this concerns you, elf."

Zevran looked down at the knife in his hands and twisted it lazily. "Ah, yes, not my business, I forgot, tsk. Just as it was not the Wardens' business to do _your_ work, no?" He stopped, looking up at the man. "Might I add that the Tower will be still here _after_ the Blight? Or not, because if the Wardens fall... there will be no need to rebuild your Tower into a pretty, new place to live." With a smirk toward the Knight-Commander and Lenya, the assassin strode past them and left for the next door.

Alistair watched after his retreating back, inwardly cursing the elf's eloquence. Damn, he wanted to say that_._ Why must he turn into a tongue-tied idiot every time Lenya was looking at him? Or, in this case, glaring, more like.

He stepped to her side, heart beating quickly, and so well aware of her presence through the soothing humming in his blood that it took him a moment to gather his thoughts, as well as mustering his will for his following words. Words that he'd never have imagine saying. "My companion is right, as is my fellow Warden. There is a Blight out there and we need every able man to fight it. So I won't object to this."

Alistair saw how Greagoir's face was turning red at that, almost bursting with anger. Yet, he remained still.

It seemed as if he still hadn't unlearned how to annoy a higher ranked templar. Well, he had long years of training in that, after all, so it was not much of a surprise.

Lenya, however, was greatly amused. As she looked at him, he saw the spark in her eyes and her mischievous smile tugged around her lips, things that he both loved and feared in her. "I was wondering, Alistair. Couldn't I simply conscript them all?"

"Well, technically..." He didn't say any further, due to the Dalish speeding off to the next Templar in reach.

"Hey, you, human."

The young man blinked in confusion as the elf, dressed in light linen and rather unkempt, stepped into his path. "Y-yes?"

"Want to be a Grey Warden?"

The blinking increased, the eyes darted, unsure, to his Knight-Commander. Greagoir wasn't as dumbfounded at her brazen action as his young subordinate. "Err... I don't know?"

"Great!" Lenya said, cheering. "I hereby invoke the Right—"

Enough!" Greagoir said sharply, hand raised at his forehead in sheer bewilderment. "Enough, Wardens! I... might consider this request—"

"Oh? Did you take it as a _request?_" Lenya raised an eyebrow and smirked. "It wasn't." She turned and pointed at another templar in the hall. "Hey you, human, want to become a Grey Warden?" The said templar looked at her in horror and almost stumbled as he ran as fast as he could out of the hall.

She grinned at the Knight-Commander. "Fun. I could do that all day."

Alistair was staring at her, not knowing whether to be shocked or amused. Considering the laughter that was slowly bubbling up his throat, he surmised he was more of the latter.

Greagoir's eyes narrowed to a glare. "I'm weary of your ceaseless prodding, Warden. Just stop it. I will see what I can do, but I can't promise anything. For now. There have been heavy losses among our lines and we are not ready to face the Blight with the men we now have. "

"Oh, don't worry." Lenya smiled sweetly at him. "We still need to gather the other troops, which will take quite some time. I'm sure you will ready to fight by then."

With that, she turned to leave through the door, not even waiting for Greagoir's reply. Alistair only shrugged as the man looked at him with a confused frown, and hurried after his fellow Warden.

.

~V~

.

"What was _that_?" he asked as soon they were in the other hall and out of earshot.

"Huh?" Lenya blinked, not slowing down her pace. "Well, recruiting, I would say. As you have seen."

He stepped in her way and made her stop, albeit reluctantly. "I mean, how could you do that?" The laughter bursting out of him belied his objection. "Wow, you are all kinds of trouble, you know that? Your way of recruiting troops surely wasn't in the Grey Warden handbook."

"There is a handbook?"

"No." Alistair shook his head, still laughing. "And if there were one, all you would do with it is burn it and stomp on its ashes, anyway."

"Hmm." She glanced up at him, not quite glaring, but more in a... curious way. "What is that supposed to mean?"

His amusement faded as he noticed how sallow and weary she still looked underneath the act of stubbornness she showed him. "Nothing." Even against his will, his expression and voice grew soft, almost automatically. "That you are doing things your way, I guess. Which is nothing bad, because it works. We've come so far because of you. We have the support of the mages _and _Templars, even. No one can do more, so don't push yourself."

Lenya scowled at that. "I'm fine." To prove her point, the Dalish whirled around, huffing. Not quite turned, Alistair saw her swaying and unstable on her own feet, which was so unlike her. Without thinking, he rushed forward and caught her before she could fall to the ground. He knew that he had prevented worse with his reaction, and that he should release his grip from her waist now, but he _couldn't_. Instead, he found himself drawing closer to her radiating heat and embraced her.

Lenya let out a strangled gasp and went completely stiff in his arms.

"I wasn't fast enough..." His voice wasn't more than a whisper in her pointed ear, his warm breath causing it to twitch slightly. He paused, allowing himself a moment to ensure himself that she was really _there_. Alive. "You nearly died... because I wasn't fast enough." His fingers clutched for more of the linen tunic at her back, yet not quite touching. He was just... there, seeking what was her warmth and presence. She was still not moving, nor pulling away. If she was too shocked to do so, he couldn't say. Her body was tensed beneath his embrace, all sinew and muscle, and yet so soft and fragile. Alistair took a deep breath, wanted to linger longer in that perfect contradiction that she was. But he was aware that he had no right to do so, and was overstepping the boundaries. So he was the one retreating now, drawing back as quickly as he had enclosed her.

"I'm sorry." Alistair wasn't completely sure if he still meant his failure to rescue her or his reaction just now. Probably both.

Lenya's mouth snapped open and closed a few times, but no words came out, her eyelids fluttering. That he made her speechless would have been an achievement alone in other times. Now it was just... jarring, and Alistair had never been one able to stand silence. So he spoke, as he often did, saying the first thing that was on his mind.

"We need to work on your defense, though."

_Oh, brilliant._

My... defense?" Lenya repeated, dumbfounded, finally remembering how to speak.

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Err, yes?"

She snorted. "I'm a dual-wielder, idiot. My defense consists of _not_ getting hit and killing things _faster_ than the enemy can."

His eyes burned into hers. "Except that you _were_ hit."

She shrugged it off. "Normally, it wouldn't happen—"

"Exactly, it _wouldn't_ happen, and you wouldn't have been…" His voice faded from a loud volume into a resigned sigh, head buried into his hand. He still could hear the healer mages talking about her injuries. _Five broken ribs, punctured lun__g, broken left arm, dislocated shoulder._

That she was standing in front of him and _breathing_ was a Maker-damned miracle. Or, more like, due to the able hands of Wynne.

"I was worried." Which certainly was the understatement of the month by him, yet Alistair wouldn't reveal that to her. Couldn't.

"It is not... needed." She couldn't blame him. Lenya was well aware that she had put herself into this situation. It had been her own tactical fault, her own risk to attack Uldred like that... and she had paid for it. Dropping her eyes, they caught the bloody bandage on his shoulder. "You are injured, too?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Seeing you crashing into the banister was quite... distracting." He shrugged with the healthy shoulder, smile widening to a grin. "Well, one more scar, adding to my charm, I suppose."

"You... have many scars?"

"I'm the guy in a metal suit, who is _ramming_ things, all the time. So, what do you think?"

Lenya laughed and shook her head. Due to her loose, long hair, it was quite a distracting motion for him, too. Though, this time, in a _good_ way.

"Idiot."

* * *

_**A/N**: I have planned to make the chapter different...but then Zevran invaded my brain and it became a light-hearted, more funny sort of thing than the serious all talking chap. Lol. Sneaky assassin is sneaky. So I had to re-plan it and part it due to its lengths.  
_

_Thanks to all for reading and the floods of feedback. It is an honor for me to go through this journey with you all and I'm humbled to see that so many people are liking this word monster of a story. Wow._


	53. Unexpected

_**A/N:** Just a stupid chapter in between, since my Lenya/Alistair talk grew into endless dimensions and gets its own chapter now. Anyway, while I have the feeling of people losing interest on reading DA:O stories in a whole, I'm very grateful for my small lovely bunch that is keeping me the faith. Thanks *hugs* Hope you have fun with this chapter too, albeit it is nothing special. Meh.  
_

_Thanks to Mack for your excellent beta-work, once more *feeds her cookies*  
_

* * *

**.  
**

**Chapter 52: Unexpected**

.**  
**

It was evening when they returned to camp.

Despite her hours long slumber in the Tower, on which her annoying fellow Warden insisted after their talk, Lenya was still tired. She asked herself if she ever would cease feeling exhausted. Her many fractures and wounds were healed through the great exertion and care of the Circle's healer, but it did little to ease the ache of her bruises and tiredness in her bones. She felt the pain as she rolled her shoulders, the muscles within still sour and strained.

Although Lenya hated the constant ache that made her feel so weak and vulnerable, she could at least breathe freely and without pain again. That had not been a matter of course only a few days before, so it was better to be grateful for small things. Unfortunately, patience had never been one of Lenya's virtues, and she hated the fact that she had been the one who was slowing them down.

They had stayed so long in the Tower because of her, waited for _her_ to recover. Aside from little scratches, her companions were up and well again, after all, as if the fight against Uldred had never happened. Some chatting, some silent, Lenya saw them retreating to their tents, which strangely were rearranged in another place. She could swear that her tent had been standing more in the middle before...

One tired sigh heaved beside her reminded Lenya that she wasn't standing alone amidst their camp. _She_ was still standing next to her. The usually neat, red robe was wrinkled, somewhat out of place, and before her feet rested a pack with what little things she possessed. Most of them were books, herbs, and other supplies needed for the art of healing.

Wynne. The elder mage had declared she was coming with them, and nothing, even not the objection of the First Enchanter, could dissuade her from her opinion. In some ways, she was as stubborn as Lenya herself, which earned her the respect of the Dalish. Also, if the Tower had showed her one thing, it was that they wouldn't come far without a mage skilled in healing arts, as Wynne was. Their life was a constant battle against an enemy so overpowering in number that _one_ mistake, one _wrong_ step, could mean the end in a battle. There were only two of them, but hundreds, if not thousands of darkspawn desired to snap their necks, to break and kill them. It was an absurd, perverse race of who was faster in killing. As simple as it seemed, it was as fatal it could be, too. So it was at least a bit soothing to have one person in camp who was able to fix the _non-_fatal mistakes. One who would increase their chances of survival, even if the chance was still feeble and more than slim.

"My... it is quite lively, isn't it?" With a smile, Wynne observed the commotion within their camp.

Lenya saw how Oghren was chasing after Arai, swearing colorfully. The Mabari was carrying a flask in his mouth and seemed all too amused about playing keep away from the dwarf.

"Lively, indeed." She raised a brow and looked over to the mage. "Err, I suppose… We have no tent for yet, sorry. You..." she hesitated a moment."...want to have mine? I'm used to sleeping outside anyway."

She brushed her off. "Nonsense, child. You still need the rest to recover. There is no need to be considerate to these old bones. I will be fine."

"Pah... _another_ mage?" Shale appeared in front of them, huffing, her white eyes gleaming with something akin to bewilderment.

"Oh, a... golem? Hello." Wynne was taken by surprise by the creature's massive appearance.

"And It's _old_." Shale glared over to Lenya. "Has It now gone completely insane?"

Lenya did not answer, as she was suddenly all distracted by the smell of cooked stew wafting through the cold air. Despite having eaten earlier in the Tower, the hunger was still there, as it always was as a Grey Warden. Often their meals were sparse while being on the road, especially now in winter where it was harder to hunt and therefore hard getting enough to eat.

She had just the mind to issue a curt, "Later, Shale," to the golem before her eyes were transfixed by the meal. As if drawn by the food, she walked automatically in the direction of the large pot simmering over the fire.

"Hungry?" Leliana laughed, pulling her out of her reverie." I... well, thought you would be. You have rather a healthy appetite, no? Err... not that this means that you—" She sighed. "I'd better stop now."

Leliana. In some kind of way, she was the female counterpart to Alistair, just... _weirder_. If that was possible at all. In her quirky, human way, she was often grating on Lenya's nerves by default, and the constant babbling about the human god wasn't making it any better.

Lenya stared at her at her for a long moment, more observing than glaring. She noticed how the woman grew more nervous the longer she looked at her, obviously not knowing how to break the pause. Still was she smiling, _always_ smiling at her, as if she was not minding the Dalish's dismissal toward her person at all. It was _odd_. Lenya's eyes narrowed slightly, head tilted to the side as she continued to watch her, frozen in place.

Leliana was puzzling to her. She had always brushed her off when possible, didn't want to deal of what she thought was human craziness, yet had Leliana always been... _nice_. Helpful and supportive to the group, even. She was still trying to fit in, no matter how hard Lenya was making it for her.

Leliana was odd, but Lenya found herself beginning to respect the bard for her persistence and stubbornness to not give up, which was possibly the strangest thing of all.

"Heh, Missy, not hungry?" Oghren asked with a snort, and then eyed her critically. "Tell ya what, as meager and tiny you are, you better eat a lot."

"Oh? I find our lovely Warden to be rather..." Zevran trailed off to let his gaze roam over her back and below. "...adequate. Very, even."

Lenya scowled at him.

"Ah, the famous glare of doom, no?" He chuckled, taking the bowl of stew Leliana handed him. "Pretty. There is a saying from where I come. 'Nothing can disfigure a beautiful face.' Seeing you glare, I must say they were correct with it."

"Heh, so you really have the urge to land in the pot, elf? Sodding head first, of course."

Lenya smirked at the dwarf. "That is actually a good idea, but I fear it would only ruin the stew."

Zevran tsked, shaking his head and turned away, still amused. "Challenge, indeed."

"Knew ya would like it, Missy," Oghren said, grinning. "But tell you what. Next time your sodding surface dog touches my brew, I'll sodding kill him. So ya better keep him close, if you like your stone-forsaken mutt alive."

"Aw, I think he just likes you. You both smell the same way, after all. Maybe you both will become drinking buddies."

Oghren's face fell for a moment at Lenya's comment before a rumbling laughter came up his throat. "Nah, before that happens, I'll have made him into surface-dog-stew. I wonder if he would taste like a nug, as well? Heh."

From afar, Arai growled.

Ignoring the Mabari, Oghren gave Lenya a light punch on the healthy arm and snorted. "Good to have ya back, Missy." He pointed at Alistair. "That boy would wet his trousers without you leading."

Lenya frowned, rubbed her arm and watched the dwarf leaving. "Y-you are not hungry?" Her head snapped to the source of the voice.

Leliana still stood there. "Well, no. I mean, I still am," the Dalish quickly answered and stared at the bowl that the human handed her, smiling.

Always smiling. Odd.

"_Ma serannas,"_ Lenya murmured, took the stew, and actually smiled back.

.

.

* * *

.

The night was brisk, but clear as they ate together in almost complete silence.

Having various logs of firewood added to it, the bonfire sparked high and bright and wrapped them all in a comfortable, warm glow against the harsh cold of the winter. Arai lay curled up to Lenya's feet and snored in his sleep. Leliana was probably the only one more picking than eating her food while nervously shifting on her log. Putting her bowl on the ground, she huddled under her cloak and watched dark gray clouds curling and unfurling in the night sky above. Pressing her lips together, she then glanced over to Lenya, unsure whether to talk with her or not. Watching the Dalish eating for a moment, she eventually raised her voice.

"I... know the stew is not much and the taste possibly bland, but I had to work with what I still have." She paused and bit her lip. "Which wasn't much. I miss the herbs you can't find in winter to spice food, but at least I was lucky today with hunting the snow hares."

"It's okay," Lenya replied, her mouth still half-full. "I'm kind of used to bland shem food by now, alas. And everything is better than Alistair's cooking, really."

Alistair looked up from his bowl at that. "Heeey!"

"Ah, my dear Leliana, why didn't you say anything? I can help with spicing things up, as usual." Zevran laughed at the roll of her eyes, rose from his place, and went over to his tent. After a brief moment, he reappeared with a wrapped cloth in his hands. Unfolding it in the center of camp, a white crystalline substance came into their sight.

Alistair arched an eyebrow. "Oh, now you want to poison us, after all?"

The elf _tsked_ and threw him a look. "Yes, my dear Alistair, you have seen through my plan, I confess. I want to salt the soup until you drop dead." Shaking his head, he turned to Lenya, sprinkling a pinch of the crystals into her stew. "Try it, my dear Warden."

She looked up to him with a critical frown. "This is... salt?"

"Yes, I couldn't leave my lovely Antiva behind without taking one of our finest goods with me. Aside the dark-haired beauties, the wine, and assassins, of course." He chuckled. "Alas, I had to leave the wine and women in Antiva."

Lenya hesitated a moment, not sure whether to trust the other elf or not. Eventually, she shrugged, took her spoon, and tasted the stew, eyes widening in surprise. "It is... _good_. _Much_ better than before. It somehow tastes like the air smelled in the Beyond. Is that where the salt comes from?"

Zevran lowered his gaze, and a smirk appeared in his features almost at an instant, as if it could deflect the feelings and pictures associated with her words. "Ah, yes... _that_. It was a rather vivid picture, no?" Sitting down again, he sighed, not willing to dwell on his thoughts, nor to satisfy her curiosity. "Anyone want a bit of the famous salt? No?" Shrugging, he eventually continued to eat.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, wondering about his reaction. Why he even wouldn't meet her gaze, when he normally did that so brazenly. She didn't understand Zevran, who, as an elf, was kin, and yet so foreign. A flat-ear.

_Not kin,_ her mind added automatically. Still, since intruding on his nightmare in the Beyond to rescue him, she hadn't gotten rid of the feeling that there was something more to Zevran. A side underneath all the sex jokes and smiles that he had chosen to hide, for whatever reasons. Maybe it had been wrong to dismiss him as nothing but annoying, maybe…

"Here."

Lenya blinked at the bowl suddenly shoved into her sight. "What should I do with your stew?"

Alistair shook his head, smiling. "Eat it. Maybe?"

She knitted her brows, couldn't understand his action. "You are _not_ hungry?"

Her question sounded superfluous to him, because she, as a Grey Warden, should know him best. His smile turned into something wry. "That's not the point. The point is you..." he paused, needed to. He swallowed hard, and with it, also new, confusing nuances of feelings in her presence. Seeing her so bruised and wounded as she still awakened in him the urge to protect her from all the evil in the world. It had been there before, of course, with her being the only other Warden, and the only... _family_ he had. But it never had this _intensity_ and seemed to have gained a new complicated layer borne from almost losing her. It was nonsensical to feel that way, he knew, with her being a woman more than capable of watching out for herself. She had proven that in many battles before and certainly didn't _need_ his protection. Still, the feeling was there,_ lingering,_ and didn't want to go away at his will. Frustrating.

"Alistair?"

Blinking, he ascended from his thoughts in a rush, fingers gripping tighter around the simple porcelain of the bowl. "N-never mind," he said, voice low and retreating, like the stew he took back again.

Lenya shook her head, confused, watching him eat the meal that he had offered to her just moments ago.

_Kin. _Looking at him, the word flooded her mind all the sudden, unbidden.

Alistair was kin, at the barest meaning of the word, perhaps, as her only other fellow Warden. Then again, he was not. As a _human,_ he normally should embody everything Lenya had learned to loathe while growing up.

Surprisingly, he was not.

She tried to hate him for being what he was, though, and even did so in the beginning. She had blamed him for the fate she never wanted, whereas he hadn't chosen to fight the Blight on his own, either. Objectively seen and without the prior hatred and bitterness clouding her mind, he was _just_ the other Grey Warden thrown into this. Beside her. Just_ like_ her. And always _there_. He never gave up on her, always _believed_, in spite of her less than amicable behavior toward him. It was... Lenya couldn't grasp, in words, _what_ exactly it was and meant to her. Maybe that she wasn't alone and never was. Simply, that was a fact so powerful that it let her forget she was actually _meant_ to hate him. Him. The human.

It made him no less puzzling to her, however. His odd, human, bumbling way was still hard to grasp for her, if not annoying at times. And yet, underneath all that, was a heart and a loyalty she only had found and seen in the realms of her clan before, which was probably the most puzzling fact of all. Lenya didn't know much about her fellow Warden at all, despite the months they had already traveled together. Seeing him in the Beyond with the demon faking being his _sister_ made her painstakingly aware of that. What was more... _bizarre_ was that she actually found herself _wanting_ to know more. Of him. The human.

Lenya shook her head once more, this time with the faintest of smiles. She rose from her place and shoved the remains of her stew in his hands. "Here, eat it. You will need the extra food, as big as you are."

Alistair gaped at her, couldn't do anything but. Too amazed was he by this tiny gesture that he actually had intended, but not _dared_. Arai shot up, immediately following his mistress as she wanted to retreat to her tent, which still was arranged... differently. It had somewhat slipped her sight before, wasn't significant amidst the commotion within the camp. Now where the camp was still, however, the difference was jarring.

"Okay, why is my tent _there?" _She pointed at its canvas, and then on the place she remembered it standing before. "And not there?" Turning around, she looked at her companions who had remained in camp. Sten was unimpressed by her gesture, a short snort the only reaction. Shale didn't even bother to look at her. Only Leliana was getting strangely nervous, shifting in her place.

She threw Alistair an anxious glance, who prompted her to talk with an arch of his brow. "I think I need to talk to you, Lenya. Alone." Another glance to Alistair, Leliana added, "Well, almost."

Lenya discovered the pile of weapons and armor in one corner and almost felt stupid for missing such a glaring detail before. Her expression grew hard as she fixed the other woman with a stare. "I think so, too."

.

.

* * *

.

Silence hung heavily over the group of three, as Leliana had finished telling them the whole story. Of her past and who she was before Lothering. Of Marjolaine and the ambush of assassins that had happened when they had been away.

Lenya didn't know how to react, if she was honest. Caught somewhere between anger, bewilderment, and a hint of compassion, even, she found herself paralyzed. Arai cocked his head and whined quizzically at his mistress. The worried sound of her Mabari and his pawing at her leg allowed her to at least regain the ability to _blink_. Fortunately, in this case, she was in the company of a human incapable of silence. Alistair.

"Wow... that was not what I—wow. You, err, _loved_ her?" Lenya could _always_ count on her fellow Warden to say the most stupid things at the most inappropriate time. Just like now.

Leliana didn't meet their eyes, and instead looked up at the night sky. "She was a remarkable woman. I cannot fully express the admiration I had for her, or the depth of my affection." A sad smile appeared around her lips, almost wistful. "I thought I knew her. My devotion to her blinded me to her... _less_ than noble attributes." The following sigh was long and no less dejected, as she heard Sister Dorothea's voice once more playing in her mind.

"_It is worse than losing them to death, isn't it? When the one closest to you is untrue."_

Despite fearing what she would see, Leliana forced herself to lower her gaze and look at them, at Lenya. The Dalish had been uncharacteristically silent the whole time, and except for a nod here and there, she had shown no reaction at all. Even now, her eyes seemed unreadable, and her expression was blank. She simply stared out in the night, biting her lip. Leliana felt her heart sink, aware that her mistake, her lies, could mean the end of their companionship. Not that they had been on good terms before, for as much she tried, she never understood Lenya. Which, she guessed, was a mutual feeling, and also one that made it more unlikely for her being allowed to remain. Somewhere in between these thoughts, she found her voice.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied. It was never my intention to. You must believe me, Lenya. I thought that this part of my life was... past, that I could live in peace in the life I had chosen for myself." She paused, drawing a breath in. "I would understand if you don't want me to stay anym—"

"We can't go to that shem city," Lenya said, her gaze resting on her. "To Denerim, I mean. _Shem'alas_ Loghain is there, and with him, troops that only wait to capture us." Leliana saw her balling one hand into a fist, the expression on her face changing to something sinister. "I can't let that happen."

Leliana's head snapped up to her, surprised at that. She nodded. "I know... I really want to genuinely help you, Lenya." She glanced over to Alistair and smiled weakly. "You both. That is way I'm here. I know that my vision or, err, dream sounds crazy to you, but eventually it had led me to... this. To you both. And I can't imagine any better way to do good than to fight the Blight."

Alistair sucked a breath in, ready for a joke that lay on his lips, but Lenya spoke first. He swallowed it down.

"Funny, that fate thing, huh?" Lenya laughed, without mirth, cold. Her voice grew hushed, eyes resting on Arai. One hand drove through his thick fur while she continued. "I was tainted by a mirror, we—I found in a ruin. I nearly died. Becoming a Grey Warden was my only chance to live on." She noticed how Alistair tensed beside her, his muscles flexing in a motion that he seemingly had stopped in the last moment. "That is why I'm here, and not…" Her voice hitched, as for the faintest fraction of a second, the picture of Hespith flashed before her eyes. Alistair instinctively leaned in to her, before he became aware of what he was doing, and then retreated again. Yet, the brief moment was enough to let Lenya feel his closeness and warmth amidst the cold. It startled, and all the more confused her, making her jump up from her place.

She harrumphed slightly and fiddled with the sleeve of her woolen tunic until the strange feeling had passed. Then she fixed Leliana with a stare. "I don't like you, but we all have our reasons to be here, more or less. So let's make the best out of it."

Leliana let out a shaking breath and nodded. It was the best result she could have hoped for. She was allowed to remain with the Wardens and that was all that counted. For now. Maybe she even would find a way to get along better with their Dalish leader, but that was a problem for another time. "T-thank you."

Lenya returned the nod and whirled around to leave to her tent with Arai in tow. Alistair's voice stopped her steps. "W-wait. Where do you plan to head next? Just curious."

She gave a long sigh before turning around to face him. "We return to Orzammar."

Alistair frowned. "Why? We were there, after all."

Another sigh came from her lips, its tone more exasperated. "Because it is a just a week away from here, when we are lucky with the weather, anyway. We need new supplies and they have much we need."

As much the thought alone of being surrounded by stone again pained her—not to mention the Deep Roads—it was the most sensible step, now. They couldn't rely on running into Bodhan again, nor that they would hunt enough animals to not suffer with starvation. This winter was relatively mild for Ferelden, yet the season alone made it harder to get sufficient food while traveling.

"Redcliffe isn't far from here, either. I'm sure—"

"No!" Alistair interrupted Leliana's suggestion more sharply than intended. He cleared his throat as both women stared at him. He wasn't ready to return to _that_ place, to face the past, nor to tell them the truth of his heritage. Everything was already complicated enough without him confessing to being Maric's bastard.

"I mean, Orzammar is perfect, since we have the Warden's quarter there, where armor and weapons are stored, as well." His eyes flung over to Lenya. "You need a new armor, right?"

Her gaze was less cold on him. She even smiled a bit. "Yes, indeed. And since we lack the money to buy a new set, I hope to find one there. I can't continue fighting in this, at least not long anymore. It sits already too loose around my waist."

Automatically, his eyes lowered to her hip, before looking away again, embarrassed of his impulse. "Err... I see."

"Shale and Sten have some unfinished business there, too, it seems." Lenya smirked. "So I take this trip as one to keep them motivated... and in line. Good night." With that, she whirled around into the other direction and left for her tent. Arai followed her.

Leliana looked after her, baffled at her prudent demeanor. "Say, Alistair..." Her head turned to him, blinking. "What exactly had _happened_ in the tower?"

Smiling, his gaze remained on Lenya until the shadows had swallowed her figure whole. "Much, apparently."

.

~V~

.

"I heard It talking with the clown-knight and the sister." Shale appeared from the shadows, blocking the entrance of Lenya's tent with its massive stone body.

The Dalish stopped with a groan. She was tired, every muscle in her body still hurt, and she was not in the mood for yet another long-winded conversation. "So you are finished with sulking and decided to eavesdrop on me. Hope you heard something interesting?"

The golem snorted. "No. I already knew the sister's secret."

"Good for you." Lenya's voice was dripping with sarcasm. Normally, she enjoyed the conversations with Shale, as strange it still was to talk with a _golem_. But being so exhausted from her injuries, she simply had not the patience to listen now.

"I'm more interested that It said that It wants to return to Orzammar? I'm confused. I thought It had no time for it due to the Blight?"

"Well, it is not that I _want_ to..." Lenya sighed at the thought of Orzammar. "But I think it is necessary." Her chin shot up as she looked defiantly at the much taller creature. "Aren't you happy? I thought this is what you wanted?"

Her eyes gleamed in the darkness and were now resting on the Dalish, baffled. "It... is. I need to know the truth about what Caridin told me. It is just most unexpected of the painted Warden to change its opinion, stubborn as It is."

She shrugged. "Wonders never cease, eh?" Then with a smile, she added, "We were captured in the Beyond, and despite me being no mage, I was able to shift my shape, and even needed to. Well, one of these magical forms there was a golem."

Shale let out something that resembled a surprised gasp. "It was a... _golem_?"

"Err, yes, I suppose. It was weird, like the whole Beyond—or Fade, how you would call it."

Shale was silent for a moment, as if not knowing whether to believe her or not. After this pause, she snorted anew, indicating that she had decided not to. "It surely had only hit its little head too much. If it had become a golem, why would it want to be a fleshy, squishy creature again? If It would have a bit of common sense, It would have wanted to remain in this superior form." Shaking her stony head, the golem turned to stomp off, somewhat bewildered. "It truly _is_ crazy, isn't It?"

Lenya sighed at the creature's retreating back. "Well, maybe. But I like myself best how I am _now_. Elven. Dalish. ...And a Grey Warden. It is really not _that_ bad."

With that, she finally was able to slip into her tent to rest, not caring if Shale believed her at all.

Sleep was more important.


	54. Family

_**A/N:** __Thanks to Mack for once more perfect beta work. You are the most awesome comma fairy, ever :D_

* * *

_**You flow inside of me, language and imagery, pure in simplicity  
Thirsting for unity, realized harmony,  
No need to hide away your life, unique, yet so alike**_

_- Poets of the fall - Can you hear me_

* * *

.**  
**

**Chapter 52: Family**

.**  
**

Four days had passed since they had left their initial camp to return to Orzammar.

The weather, while unwelcoming with its freezing cold, had been stable enough to let them make good progress. They even were able to pass half of the Imperial Highway leading south back to the Gherlen Pass and hence to Orzammar. Before the night had fallen, they'd managed to set up their camp on a secluded side of the road. The rocks and trees surrounding the area made it a relatively secure place to stay, at least for one night.

Alistair sat near the campfire, heedless of the cold ground, and pretended to read.

In reality, he was watching _her_.

He had kept a bit of distance from Lenya in the past few days, knowing well that he had come too close after the events of the tower. After nearly losing her. He had chosen that restraint for himself, needed the seclusion to remind himself that he wasn't _allowed_ to feel this way for her. Other than in thought, the distance from her didn't bring the wished effect—rather, the opposite.

He found himself thinking even _more_ about Lenya, trying to decipher her gestures as he watched her from his self-chosen distance. It was maddening that he couldn't take his eyes off her, as if his gaze had a will of its own, completely betraying his intentions.

So far, there had been only one constant thing in Alistair's life, one element he could always hold onto.

Duty.

A word so heavy, and yet, he was so used to its weight that he never questioned its purpose or meaning. He was always ready to give, never demanded something for himself, as duty dictated him to do and people would expect of him.

Lenya threatened to change all that. He had never felt this way before. He never found himself also... _wanting_. She was suddenly the one thing he wanted to believe in, to get lost in, duty to be damned. And this was frightening, how loving her was shifting the importance and value of the only constant element he knew in his life. So Alistair tried to stay away, to carry on like before, even if he wasn't the same anymore.

_You want... too._

The desire demon in the Tower had been right, had seen within what he had chosen to hide from himself. Instead of his feelings dwindling and fading away when keeping his distance, they appeared to have grown in size and intensity.

He wanted her.

But even with this realization, he didn't know where to go from here, what to do with it. He felt caught in the middle of what was his well-known sense of duty and this overwhelming yearning for something beyond that.

Slowly, Alistair raised his eyes to her again, up from the book in his hands he hadn't even read a single line in. Lenya had been talking to Morrigan for a while now and he had only half-listening to their conversation about herbs, wilderness, Flemeth, and all the other things he had absolutely no idea of. At other times it would have scared him how well Lenya got along with _Morrigan,_ of all people, but his mind was too occupied with marveling how beautiful she looked in the light of the fire. Its warm, golden shine enhanced the natural features of her face and the lines of her tattoo just perfectly. And, Maker, it was _hard_ to tear his eyes away from her at all and back to the book to pretend to read.

Which probably wasn't such a clever disguise to begin with, if he was honest. Still, Alistair couldn't help himself but to watch and study each of her movements in the need to know more about her, to understand her—his fellow Warden that he wasn't allowed to fall in love with in the first place. Despite that knowledge, he was only a helpless witness at how he was utterly failing at heeding to this rule. Because, for the first time in his life, after _always_ doing what people expected of him, Alistair found himself wanting something for himself.

Her.

Duty be damned.

"To indulge in love is to indulge in delusion, in weakness. Surely a Grey Warden such as yourself does not believe otherwise?"

Morrigan's voice never failed in its effect on his mind—like a freezing squall of water on him even amidst the coldest winter. He couldn't stand its tone, or her, for that matter. It was more the topic that made him listen more closely, one that he was more than obsessing with lately. Love. How ironic to hear Morrigan talking about it, although her words didn't surprise him at all. It was quite fitting for her, in fact. Much more interesting was what Lenya would answer. Leaning in to the side, he momentarily even forgot how much that posture looked like eavesdropping and nothing like reading. Then again, in that moment, Alistair didn't care.

"No, you are quite right."

Alistair sighed long and dejectedly at Lenya's answer, and his shoulders slumped slightly while leaning back again. Not only had he had fallen for his fellow Warden who, as a Dalish, wasn't really fond of humans, but she also seemed to share Morrigan's cold-hearted view on love.

_Brilliant._

"So, you like Morrigan, after all?"

Alistair startled at the sudden voice behind him, the book flipping out of his hands and into his lap. Turning, he looked into the all-too amused face of Leliana. "Maker's breath, woman, you gave me a heart attack. Can't you at least make a _single_ noise while moving?"

Leliana's smile widened. "Sorry? I learned a thing or two about moving without being heard, but I'm far from being the best at it. Nor did I intend to sneak up on you."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure, you didn't."

"Anyway," she said and leaned in to him, smile and tone shifting into a teasing one. "Enjoying the view, are you?"

"Huh?"

"Well," Leliana said, drawing the word out, and then making a turn around him to sit down beside him on the ground. "I mean, the two lovely ladies across the fire, there. I can't blame you for being entranced at the sight. Morrigan is beautiful after all, no?"

"M-Morrigan?" Alistair nearly coughed up the name, feeling sick at the faintest idea of what she was implying. "No. Maker, ugh. No!"

Leliana grinned at his all too earnest discomfort. She always enjoyed teasing him, for he made it all too easy. She knew too well that it wasn't the witch who captured his eyes so, rather their elven leader beside her. "I thought so. But Lenya is more interesting, no?"

His mouth snapped open and closed a few times without actual sound coming out. Then he remembered the book in his lap and held it up for her to see. "I don't know what you are talking about. I'm reading, here."

"Oh?" She tilted her head, observing the book in his hands for a moment before snatching it out of his hand. "It must be a _fascinating_ book, then, for you've been reading it for a long time, now. Let's see."

"Heeey!"

His protest was futile. Leliana had turned away from him so that the book was out of his reach. She began to turn the pages, still grinning.

"Mhm, interesting lecture. I quite like this line: 'Garren rode Lady Talia hard until she screamed in rapture.'" She stifled a giggle. "Oh, I guess it is not about horses, isn't it?"

"W-what?" His face quickly adapted another color, matching the red glow of the flames close by. "I, uh. _What?"_

"Ah, yes. This is _The Rose of Orlais_, as I thought. Quite a famous story, too, but not very approved by the Chantry." Leliana smirked up to him. "I never thought you were interested in such books, though."

"I'm not... Maker's breath, I—" He stopped to sigh in embarrassment. "It isn't _mine_. Really."

"So, who does belong—" Leliana stopped short as Wynne appeared behind her, hands on her hips.

"Leliana, what are you doing with my book? Can't you at least ask before you borrow my things?"

Alistair gaped at the elder mage, but so did Leliana, although she more amused than incredulous. This was awkward on so many levels that Alistair didn't even know where to begin to be bewildered. The long pause following Wynne's words was the best proof that he wasn't alone in that notion.

"Oh, sorry, Wynne," Leliana finally managed to say. "I will make sure to think about it next time." She handed Wynne the book with a sweet smile. "You are free to use my supplies, however. We are sharing a tent, after all."

Wynne stared at her a moment before a huff escaped her lips, and then she stormed off toward their tent again.

Alistair cleared his throat and made sure the mage was out of earshot before he said, "That was... _awkward_."

Leliana laughed, eyes directed at him in a mischievous way. "So, anyway. Lenya."

He arched an eyebrow, not liking where this was leading. "Yes?"

"Is over there. And you were watching her. Quite enraptured, I might add."

"I was not. She is my fellow Warden and I'm just glad that she is, er, well, again. But I wasn't watching, or staring, or seeing anything, really."

Leliana simply threw him a knowing look. For all his amicable qualities, Alistair was quite a terrible liar.

"Don't look at me like that, I was not... I'm not—" He sighed, letting his head sink into his hands. "Maker, it is _that_ obvious?" He wasn't even sure if he wanted an answer to that.

Leliana smiled and patted him on the back. "Only to those who care to see it."

"Great. Really."

"Well, I think it is quite endearing."

"Yeah, that is the word to describe it. _Endearing_. Totally." There was a hint of frustration in his voice, but he couldn't say if it was caused by the fact of Leliana knowing or the situation in a whole. It was a bit of both, he surmised. "And, unsurprisingly, you think so. You were trying to pair us up since Orzammar, after all."

Leliana blinked. "Oh? So you weren't interested in her back then?"

Her amusement was _not_ helping. Alistair looked at her, his gaze an annoyed glare. "No. I mean... yes, I... don't know. Maker, are we _really_ talking about this?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

"Why not, she asks." An incredulous laugh bubbled up his throat. "Because she is my fellow Warden? Because I value my life too much to let her know? As in ever? Because I'm..." He fumbled with his hands, pointing first at himself. "Me." Then he pointed at Lenya. " And she is... her. So, I can't. No. There is also the Blight and too much at stake, so, no."

Leliana listened to his storm of words bursting of him, as if they had been stifled a long time. "So, you don't want her to know because she is elven?"

"What? Maker, no!" Alistair quickly said. That had never crossed his mind, not even a single time. She was _perfect_; it was _he_ who was at fault. "Because... I'm human, more like. It is... complicated already. No need to complicate it even...further." He rubbed his face with both of his hands, suddenly so tired of the conflicting feelings inside. Of wanting her and not daring, of not knowing what to do with this steadily growing desire. "Look, let us just drop this and pretend nothing happened, all right? I've become quite good in it the past weeks, after all."

The frustration within his words was not lost on Leliana. Once more, she patted his back in a friendly, supportive way. "You know, I wish I could offer my help by talking with her woman to woman. Alas, she doesn't like me much, and therefore, I don't think the conversation would go that well."

His head snapped up to her, horrified of the mere thought of letting Lenya know. "No, no, no, no. No speaking up, no talking. That way leads to madness and sweaty palms. And did I mentioned... _madness_?"

"Noted." Leliana laughed at first, but was completely serious with her following words. "She does, however, like you."

"Yeah, riiight."

Now it was she who sighed. "You really didn't notice how Lenya has changed during the past months? She is far more relaxed, calm, and responsibility-minded from when I met her in Lothering. The anger that was driving her forward at first, and the bitterness has subsided, and this is in no small part due to you."

Alistair gaped at her, unable to do anything but. Leliana smiled at him. "You are a good guy, Alistair. An earnest man with a loyal heart, but sometimes I feel the urge to kick you for being so oblivious and self-deprecating to a fault."

"Thanks, I guess? I do what I can." The retreat into humor was as instinctive as raising his shield to block an incoming blow.

She glanced past him, her eyes resting in the glow of the fire. "You shouldn't feel bad or guilty for falling in love and loving someone." The smile curling around her lips grew detached, as if reveling in a fond memory. "It is the most natural and wonderful thing and what makes us... human."

"Which is part of the problem."

"See, you are doing it again." Leliana shook her head, disapproving. Her gaze drifted to Lenya, who still sat farther away at the fire with Morrigan. "Selling yourself short, I mean. You both are Wardens, right?"

"Which is another part of—" Her look silenced him. "Right, I'm sure I will regret saying this, but… carry on."

"Fighting the Blight is, without a doubt, an admirable and important goal, but also a very dangerous one. I mean that—every one of us could die in battle. One strayed arrow, one wrong step, and everything could be over before it even started." She heaved a breath, letting it out as a sigh. "My point is: don't wait until it is too late, or you will regret it."

Alistair only nodded weakly. He was too numbed by the remembrance of the feelings of desperation and anxiety at the prospect of losing her. There, on the top of the Mage Tower. If it weren't for Morrigan being faster than the abomination, then she—he couldn't end the thought, the hurt inside was too overpowering. He wouldn't have wasted a blink of an eye to take the blow for her, but as soon it was she who was injured, it was unbearable.

This aspect of love still amazed him. Love made him selfishly want something for himself for the first time in his life, but even more than that, he wanted to _give_. His heart and soul, everything he was, exclusively to one person.

Lenya.

And yet, he didn't know _how_ or _what_ to do with all the yearning inside. Alistair frowned, his voice dropping to a frustrated whisper. "I don't know what to do. I never... Maker, is it _always_ this complicated?"

Leliana briefly thought about the depth of affection she felt for Marjolaine, of how loving her made her feel invincible. And of her... betrayal. She hoped for a better outcome for Alistair, because he deserved it. So she pushed the thoughts aside and smiled at him, albeit knowingly. "Yes."

"Great."

"Don't say that." Leliana stopped short to search for fitting, encouraging words. "You are a little awkward. It is endearing. So, just be yourself. You do know how to do that, don't you?

"Right. Very helpful. Forget I asked."

"Besides," she said, standing up from the ground, still smiling, "Lenya already trusts you. You know that, or?" At the stunned expression in Alistair's face, she could recognize that he didn't. Everyone with two eyes could easily see how Lenya had grown to feel comfortable in his presence, but apparently Alistair himself had been too wrapped up in his mental self-flagellation to notice. Maybe it was time to leave him alone, to let everything she said sink in his mind. Or so Leliana hoped.

"I will go to sleep now, until my watch starts. We must get up early to venture back to Orzammar, no?"

"Hmm," he hummed distractedly, his eyes captured by Lenya's frame again.

Leliana grinned at that. "And I think you'll be busy enough without me, anyway."

.

~V~

.

Lenya was enjoying the evening, so far.

She wasn't looking forward to returning to Orzammar, to the place that was inflicted with so much _pain_ and still haunted her dreams at night. And yet, she was glad about the good progress they made while traveling the road, with no bandits or darkspawn to see. The break from battle was a most welcomed one for the Dalish and gave her enough time to recover from the last of her injuries.

Talking with Morrigan was also nice. Lenya found herself enjoying the company of the witch more with each time she spoke with her. It wasn't that surprising anymore how much they had in common, unlike the first few times speaking with her, but it was still delightful. She liked Morrigan's sense of freedom and strong will, her knowledge about herbs, and a life secluded from the rest of the society. It was very similar to her people and hence made it so easy for the Dalish to get along with her.

"You know," Lenya said, leaning into the warmth radiating from the fire, her eyes resting on the witch, "I have seen the shape-shifting, that sort of magic of yours before. We Dalish have similar magic arts. It is old, ancient, even."

Morrigan looked up at her, suddenly more than intrigued. "Oh? I wonder if I were to ask one of your keepers of the origin of their magics if there would be any relation to what I was taught?"

Lenya shrugged, nearly apologetic. "Even if we knew the origin of this magic, I doubt that we would give it away to you. To a human _and_ outsider."

"'Tis true and understandable." The witch sighed and shook her head. "Though, I suspect I have more in common with your people than my own kind." Head tilting curiously, she looked at the Dalish. "So, have you any opinion about me and my shape-shifting magic?"

"You saved my life being all spidery, so you won't hear me complaining." Lenya gave her a neutral shrug and a hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I don't understand how humans can fear magic so much that they lock their mages up instead of using their talents and power. Magic is natural to my people and regarded as a gift of the Creators. And not evil, as it apparently is to the shemlen. Which _is_ stupid, even after what I have seen in the Tower."

Morrigan blinked, surprised. "'Tis the most sensible view on magic I have ever heard from someone, so far."

"Well, thanks," Lenya replied. "My father was a mage and I grew up regarding magic as useful instead of threatening. So, it's not a big deal."

The witch arched an eyebrow. "Oh, interesting. And yet, you are no mage, yourself."

"No." Her voice grew hushed at the simple word, her gaze distant. "I have, however, a certain affinity to sense or feel magic, more like. Makes a wonderful addition to sensing darkspawn, I guess."

"Probably." There was a faint smile on Morrigan's face, but was so quickly gone again that Lenya thought it as an illusion of the firelight. Heaving her head to glance past the elf, she groaned at seeing Alistair. "I hope you are aware that the fool over there is looking over while you are here with me, and pretending he is _not _looking. 'Tis sickening."

"Huh?" Lenya blinked in his direction, which caused him to lower his gaze in an instant.

Being so wrapped up in her conversation with Morrigan, she hadn't noticed him at all. They hadn't spoken since that night in camp with Leliana, and Lenya couldn't even say _why_. It was a bit as if he was avoiding her, but if she was honest, she hadn't paid heed to it that much. There were other, more important things on her mind right now—the journey back to Orzammar, and her injuries, and above all else, the concern of having barely any food anymore. Still, having Morrigan mentioning Alistair was making it apparent to her mind that her normally so chatty fellow Warden had been all quiet the last few days. It wasn't exactly bothering her, considering how his cheery and strange human way could easily grate on her nerves at times. Yet, she couldn't help to find his sudden distance... odd.

The sneer of Morrigan shook her back to attention. "I'm sure that immature idiot misses being coddled by you."

"I'm not coddling—" Lenya's eyes widened and lips curled to a teasing smirk. "Oh, it is heartwarming how concerned you are for him." She was well aware that exactly the opposite was the case. It was more than obvious that both mutually hated the other's guts with a passion. Which only made Lenya's sentence and the friendly teasing all the sweeter.

Morrigan snorted derisively. "Don't be ridiculous. I couldn't care less whether he cries himself to sleep at night or not. I just want to study mother's grimoire now, that is all." Demonstratively, the witch fixated her eyes at the tome in her lap and continued to decipher the wards protecting the content.

"If you want me to leave you alone, you just have to say it." Lenya tried to keep her voice even, but couldn't hinder the hurt nuance within slipping through.

"It is not—" Morrigan stopped herself before she could finish the sentence. Almost, she had given away that she wasn't bothered by Lenya's presence, rather the opposite. Such things were not allowed to happen.

Looking up from the tome, she sighed. "I have waited _years_ for this chance to learn more about mother's magic. More than she wanted me to know, that is. The power waiting in this book must be... remarkable. So, you have to excuse me if my patience for entertaining you is exhausted now." She added a sneer for good measure. "I'm sure the idiot over there will never get tired of it."

Lenya gaped at her, baffled by her sudden hostility. Having no other choice but to defer to Morrigan's wish to be left alone, she whirled round, huffing. "Whatever."

While walking over to Alistair, she didn't notice how Morrigan's gaze followed her all the way. Confused by the alien feeling of regret, the witch shook herself to get rid of it, and eventually focused on the grimoire again.

.

.

* * *

.

"Okay... what, exactly, is your problem?"

Alistair almost doubled over at her sudden voice and appearance, and the sword he was polishing fell out of his hands. He had been too lost in thought and his task to notice her until it was too late. Not to mention that Lenya was capable of moving even _more_ silently than Leliana. It made him almost start to hate rogues and their sneaky way of moving for all the heart attacks they had already inflicted on him.

"Remind me to buy you a little bell to hang around your neck or something the next time we are in Orzammar, so I can at least _hear_ you advancing." His words were accompanied by a grumbling, more out of the utter frustration this evening had turned out to be than the fact of her sneaking up to him.

Lenya snorted at that. "Oh, excuse me that I don't stomp and grunt while moving like a certain human idiot next to me."

"All right, I think we had a bad start here." Alistair forced himself to smile, and eventually, to look up to her figure. The rush of emotions at her sight was immediate, leaving him breathless and tongue-tied for several moments. So much for his plan to ignore and push his feeling for her aside. "Good evening to you, too, my wonderful fellow Warden," he finally managed to say and wondered if she would notice the surely lovestruck expression in his face. He might impale himself right on the very sword he had been polishing, if that was the case. Fortunately for him, Lenya showed the usual apathy toward him, or looking closer, the usual _glare_.

"Yeah, whatever. Why are you so irritatingly quiet the past days?"

_Because I'm too busy with the attempt to stop loving you._

Yeah, that certainly would work well as an argument, he was sure. Instead of making himself into a complete idiot by voicing that thought, Alistair shook it off and blinked. "Wait—you are bothered by that?"

Lenya crossed her arms, lips curled to a pout. "No."

"Right. So, let me get this straight. You are grumpy when I talk too much and you are grumpy when I... well... don't talk _enough_? There is no chance for me to win, is there?"

She looked at him, unmoved, but the pout was slowly replaced by a smirk. "No."

"Well, thanks for letting me know at least." One hand drove through his ruffled hair in an exasperated motion. "You are a very, _very_, confusing and complicated woman. Why I haven't given up trying to understand you is a miracle to me." Lenya's smirk widened at that and the rush of excitement he felt at this sight told him why.

He was an utter moron and helplessly in love with this woman, that was _why_.

"I'm sorry. It was not my intent to worry you," he calmly continued, finding the pattern of the snow-covered ground more interesting than her face, because it was _easier_ to speak this way. "I think I just needed time to think."

"Hmm," Lenya hummed, and much to his horror _and_ delight, alighted herself right beside him on the ground. Knees bend to curl beneath her, she looked curiously up to him. "What about?"

His mind nearly keeled over at her innocent question and was running rampant in a stream of thoughts.

_About you. Only you. About what to do with those feelings for you, where to put them without my head imploding from them. About how to make you see that I'm better than the humans that you hate so. That I love everything about you._

"Nothing and all. Much has happened in the Tower, after all." It was the most cryptic, but it was all Alistair could come up with without stepping into the dangerous territory of confessing anything. He wasn't ready for this. More than that, Alistair wondered if there would be ever a time where he wouldn't freeze in horror at the mere thought of her knowing his feelings. He doubted it. So, he hoped that his answer would be enough and satisfactory for her.

Of course, it wasn't. "Yeah, the Tower made me almost miss darkspawn. _Almost_. Still, you couldn't come up with a less stupid answer to my question, huh?"

_Damn it. Damn her wit and beauty and her... okay this is not helping. _"Err... no?" he offered after a moment of stillness, smiling.

Lenya shrugged. "Thought so."

Silence fell over the two and he found it unbearable. Alistair thought talking was hard with her, but sitting here with her so close that he could almost _feel_ her radiating warmth, made the not talking even _worse_. He needed a diversion, one that would keep his mind away from the thought of wrapping his arms around her to embrace her and never letting go again. A diversion would be better for his health as well, seeing that she would most likely stab him for the mere attempt. Although, she had let it happen in the Tower, where he embraced—he shook himself.

_Focus, Alistair._

"I, err, was asking myself why you intended to let the templar live?"

Lenya looked at him as if he had gone mad. "Huh? Be coherent, for once."

_Ouch._ She surely had a talent for stomping on everything he said. And Leliana wondered why he kept his feelings a secret?_ Yeah, right._

"The templar in the Tower, I mean. The one that was bewitched by the desire demon."

She let out a long sigh, glancing past him and into the blackened night. "Oh, that. Well, I'm not responsible for his fate." She saw how Alistair opened his mouth to say something and silenced him with her hand. "And before you object that it would be the right thing to do, to care for his fate, I mean. Well, to be honest, I didn't care. I have enough problems of my own without running around and fixing every life of people I meet." Alistair inhaled some air again to speak, but Lenya was quicker, giving him no chance. "And, _no,_ I don't want to talk about my problems. It is not that they are of any interest, anyway." She stopped with a sigh and picked a frozen twig from the ground to snap it between her fingers.

Freeing her lap from the broken pieces of wood, she said, "It is always expected of me to fix _everything_ and I'm tired of it." Her voice pitched to a higher, irritated tone as she imitated the others requesting something from her. "The Tower has fallen, we are too incapable to retrieve it ourselves. Could you do it, Warden? Blight? Oh, well, not our problem, it is _yours_. Go find my mother's ancient tome. I have lost a sword, I'm nothing without it. Help me to find my identity. Slay an archdemon and an army of darkspawn." Lenya scoffed derisively, feeling angry all the sudden. "What is next? Finding torn trousers for someone? Or ashes of a dead woman? I swear that is the point where I will quit and run after my clan."

Alistair watched her as she ranted her frustration with exaggerated gestures and assumed voice. When she was finished, she crossed her arms and still huffed and puffed in exasperation. He couldn't help but to find this incredibly endearing. "You know, as long Oghren keeps his pants on, you are at least safe from searching for torn trousers."

Her glare at him was furious. "Not funny, puppy."

"And I'm completely serious, my lady." The laughter coming up his throat belied his words. "We don't want to go on an epic quest to retrieve Oghren's torn trousers swallowed by a High Dragon. Or? On the other hand, having him fully clothed again would be _worth_ it." He shuddered, still grinning. "Oh, the horrors!"

Whatever he tried to achieve with his ramblings, it seemed to work. The anger subsided from Lenya's face, got replaced by a grin, even.

"Besides," Alistair said, and all humor faded from of his expression. "I do care."

"What?"

"You were saying that everyone is only looking to you to fix everything. That your problems are not important in comparison." He adamantly shook his head and frowned. "That is not true. I do... care for them." Alistair cleared his throat, fearing he'd given away too much with it. So, he added, "As do the others."

"They are good in hiding that, it seems."

"Everyone is so wrapped up in their own problems that they forget to ask you for a change, huh?" He sighed. "Yeah, I totally know that feeling. So, let me do that, then. What it is that you want, Lenya?"

"What... I want?" Lenya blinked, totally taken aback by Alistair's unexpected question. It was true. No one had asked her that in all these months of being a Warden, even becoming a Grey Warden had been not _her_ choice in the first place. Everyone was steadily demanding her to function, to fix their problems without paying the slightest attention to her own ones. And now, this little question and gesture of her fellow Warden, albeit a bit prompted by her, stunned her so much that she had no answer for it. "I… don't know." She drew in a breath. "Surviving all this would be nice, I guess."

"Yes." Alistair nodded. "To survive a giant archdemon would be great, indeed. Not bloody likely, but nice, nonetheless." He pressed his lips together, hesitating. "What about when this is all over? The Blight, I mean, given we survive. What are you planning to do?"

Returning to her clan was becoming less and less an option with each day spent slaying darkspawn. She could sense them, but conversely, they could also sense her. And the taint in her veins would only grow stronger within her during the years. Lenya couldn't endanger her clan with drawing darkspawn to where they lived. If they still lived...

Lenya nearly laughed at herself at the thought, bitter and mirthless. She wasn't going to be left with much choice. "What is about rebuilding the Wardens? Someone has to do this, right?"

Alistair was surprised and pleased at the same time. "You would... do that?"

"I don't know, actually," she replied in all honesty. "I would love to return to my clan, but I don't think that is possible." Lenya heaved a sigh, the remembrance of her own dream in the Beyond tasting bitter. She never could shake off the feeling that something was amiss while being captured within, but another part of her was ready to ignore that for the sake of seeing them all again and being blissfully happy, away from all the death, fighting, and blood. "I saw them, there in the Bey—Fade. All of my clan, even my father."

Her confession stirred his heart. It made sense that her illusion was about her clan, everyone had seen in the Fade what they yearned for most, after all. "You must still miss them madly, especially your father."

"My father is dead."

It sounded far too dry, too matter-of-fact to his ears, which didn't hinder him at being shocked at the revelation.

"I'm sorry, I had no... Maker, I—"

Lenya huffed, not meeting his eyes as she quickly interrupted him. "Don't be. There is no need. I never knew him. He died long before I was born."

"D-died?"

"Killed." Lenya reverted to elvish to curse, growling low as she rolled the words over her tongue. "_Seth'lin lath'din a shem'alas." _Her hands scooped a bit of the snow off the ground, pressing it together. _"Na'din ashin."_

Alistair didn't understand her angry words, of course, except for one: _Shem'alas_. Lenya had used it for the humans in the tavern and for Loghain once, which let him conclude that this was all but a nice word. He knew that the term _'shemlen'_ was used by her for humans. His eyes widened and he gasped as he put the pieces together. Had humans something to do with the death of her father? No wonder she bore no love for them.

Not knowing what to say to this, his hand reached out for hers in a simple gesture of compassion, demanding nothing of her. Lenya startled as his big, rough hand touched hers in the snow. Even through the leather of her gloves, she could feel the warmth. For a moment, her eyes seemed to be fixated at the difference in size of their hands and the glistening reflection of the firelight within the snow. _"Ma'him sa vhenan'enansal."_

As soon Lenya had finished those words, she scowled and yanked her hand away from his, as if stung. Alistair looked confusedly at her, causing her to sigh. "Anyway, this was, however, what made me realize that this wasn't my real clan and only an illusion of the demon's. Showing me my dead father, whom I had never met in my life, and believing that I would fall for it. Sodding asshole."

"No surprise you were so angry. If I had known about it after waking up, I'd have kicked the body of the sloth demon with you."

She smiled at him. "Noted."

"Good. Because I'm totally adept at kicking dead demons. However, I think I owe you an explanation, too." Alistair grimaced, not fancying the thought. "For my sister, there in the Fade."

"Yeah, I remember her. Lovely person, that," Lenya said wryly. "So... you miss her, right?"

"Well, to be honest…" He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I don't even know her."

"Huh?"

Alistair chuckled at the puzzled frown on her face. He wasn't ready to tell her about his true heritage and would gladly forget about it himself. It wasn't important, anyhow, and would only complicate matters that were already intricate enough. So, he tried to keep it simple, for once. "She is my... half-sister, to be exact. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle and died shortly after my birth. Goldanna was the other child my mother had before me, apparently. But I have never met her and know only her name and where she lives."

"Hmm." Lenya arched a brow. "For not knowing her, your illusion was pretty well fleshed out. A furnished house, stinking streets, some brats, even. Not to mention what she looked like."

"Well…" He sighed. "After finding out that I had a sister, a _family_, I had enough time to think about it. About what to say to her should I ever meet her, about her accept—" He stopped his words before he could give away too much. Not only did he want to keep back the matter of his heritage, but also his yearning for a family, for a person who accepted him like he was. "Anyhow, I tried to contact her once, months ago. Err, months before Ostagar, that is. I started to write her a letter, but then we got called to Ostagar." He made a face, pained by the memory. "And we both know how _that_ ended."

Her eyes rested on him for a long, silent moment and observed the display of pain in his face before she spoke again. _"Sa vunin dar el'nan."_

"I don't understand your words, but I like the sound of it, so thanks." Alistair blinked, rethinking his words. "Wait, you didn't call me an idiot just now, did you?"

She shrugged. "I have no problems calling you an idiot in a way you actually understand it."

"Right. Blunt woman and all. How could I forget that?" Alistair groaned and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Instantly makes me feel better."

Lenya's lips curled into a smirk, the amused sort that did all kind of funny things to his heart. "You are welcome, _idiot._ So, what happened to you after your mother—well, where did you grow up?"

He was baffled and in no small part pleased about her earnest curiosity for his person. In fact, it made him somewhat giddy with excitement. "I was raised by dogs, remember?"

"And they sent you off to a Chantry at age ten?"

"Well, they were incredibly _strict_ dogs, from the Anderfels. They had no tolerance for my humor or my love for cheese. It is a sad, sad story, really."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. Stop being an idiot. What is the real story?"

"Unbelievably boring in comparison. You don't really want to hear about that, do you?"

"I can also go back to ignoring you, if you like that better."

His hands shot up in an instant, flailing. "No, no. No! Look, I'm just surprised that you want to know about me. I'm not really interesting, nor is my life. It's quite boring, in fact."

Her smirk softened then, eyes straying to firelight. "For a guy so big, you surely have a low self-esteem. Which is stupid." Her gaze flung to him, and instead of a faint glance at his frame like before, she was really looking at him. Her green eyes seemed to smolder into the hazel of his own, leaving him breathless for several moments. His world narrowed down to the fact that Lenya saw him, really _him_, with her piercing eyes, in which the sparks of the firelight seemed to dance. The moment passed as she lowered her gaze back down to her hands, fiddling with her sleeves. His heart was beating so loud in his chest, that he was not only afraid she might hear it, but also to miss her following words.

"...because I have seen you taking on hordes of darkspawn without hesitation, slicing through them without any doubt about winning or surviving."

Alistair tried to bring his mind back on track, back to the content of her words and away from his sudden desire to grab and kiss her. To be drowned and lost in the intense look of her eyes and never resurface again. He reminded himself of the mental exercise learned as a templar initiate and slowly managed to calm his breathing and _hormones_ down with it again.

The retreat into humor was helpful, as well. "Well, darkspawn don't expect for me to pour my heart out, well, in a non-literal way, at least. There is no—" his voice pitched higher for the next bit "'—tell me about your life, Alistair,' just _stab, stab, kill, kill._ It is, I don't know... _easier_."

Lenya was amused by his antics. "So you find killing darkspawn easier than talking with me? Wow."

_Yes_. "N-no, I'm just not big on words, as you might have noticed."

The Dalish cocked an eyebrow, confused. "You are certainly talking a _lot_ for someone who doesn't like to talk."

"Okay, point taken." He laughed. "Well, not to mention that you are confident and intimidating enough for the both of us."

What was meant as a compliment turned out to have the opposite effect on her. Lenya heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping in a dejected motion. "Yeah, right. _Confident_. Never backing down. Always moving forward. That's me."

Alistair didn't know how to handle her sudden vulnerable demeanor. So, he kept talking in the hope of distracting her from whatever made her sad. "Arl Eamon took me in. He didn't need to, but did it anyway."

Lenya blinked up at him, her conflicting thoughts forgotten. "Arl Eamon? Is that someone special? Your father?"

There was the question Alistair had tried to avoid with tiptoeing around the topic, using humor to divert her from it. It didn't surprise him that she didn't fall for it, but that she indeed wanted to know more about him, even after he had initially deflected her curiosity.

Alistair drove one hand through his hair and managed to keep his voice neutral. "No, the Arl wasn't my father. My father... died a long time ago. A sad fact we seem to have in common."

So far, it hadn't been even a lie. He looked over to her to gauge for her reaction. Lenya had embraced her knees to warm herself and was quietly waiting for him to continue. Which was a fact that was incredible and powerful in of itself, to have a person interested in his life, someone who would listen to what _he_ had to say.

"Arl Eamon is a good man and I respect him for all he had done for me. He took me in, put a roof over my head, fed, and clothed me when he didn't need to."

"And sent you away to the Chantry," Lenya added, nonchalantly.

Alistair grimaced. "Well, that wasn't his fault. After a few years, he married a young woman from Orlais. The new arlessa resented the rumors that pegged me as his bastard. They weren't true, but of course they existed. The Arl didn't care, but she did." He let out a sigh, long and deep. "The arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me anymore. She despised me. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten."

"Bitch."

He chuckled at her spontaneous exclamation. "I thought about the same, believe me. I was a child, bitter and resentful with the world. I hated them all for a long time." His voice faltered and all the humor faded out of his face as he looked past Lenya with a pained frown. "I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered."

The frown deepened and Lenya found herself tensing at that.

"Stupid, _stupid_ thing to do. The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything... and eventually he just stopped coming." Alistair exhaled deeply, trying to get rid of the regret he felt inside at those memories. He wished he had a chance to make this undone, to thank the arl for everything he had done for him, despite this.

"So... that arl-shemlen sent you away because of his _moping_ wife?" Lenya asked, after a short moment of silence. "What, by the _Elvhenan_, is _wrong_ with you humans?"

To say that he was surprised by her reaction would be an understatement. "Excuse me?"

She huffed, feeling both angry and confused. "Why are you humans doing this? My mother, she... left after I was born—"

"Wait... what? She_ left?"_

Lenya ignored his shocked question and continued. "No need to feel sorry for me. My clan raised me. I was fed, I was clothed, I was trained to hunt and fight and protect. I had friends. Such is the way of the Dalish—we do not leave our own behind. We do not cast them aside or send someone away because the one is _bothersome_." Lenya knew that too well herself, as often she had proved her clan's patience with her shenanigans and all the trouble she got herself into. She shook her head. "So I don't understand how you _shemlen_ can treat each other this way. Doesn't it _hurt_?"

There was an earnest confusion displayed within her features, sympathy and compassion, even. For _him_, for his past. It made his heart swell, threatened to make him fall even more for her. Because she was the first person who actually cared. He blinked.

She _cared._

The meaning of the word astonished him to his very core. It was unexpected, but even more, welcomed, at least based on the warmth spreading through him at the epiphany. He needed to remind himself that her question was still in the open and he needed to answer, although he didn't know _how._

"Alas, I can only speak for myself, not for... _other_ humans. It did hurt when I was young, but I came to learn to somewhat enjoy my time in the Chantry." He smiled weakly. "Not the hours long of prayer or all the cherishing-the-Maker-constantly parts, but the training as a templar. I never wanted to be one, and yet I enjoyed the exercises, the discipline. It was hard work, but gratifying and... I was good in it. Not the best, but _good._"

Lenya hummed with a nod. "I see."

"Your way of living, that of your people, I mean, sounds wonderful." Alistair swallowed the repentance that wanted to come up, down again. "I never had a family. I'm sorry that you were ripped from your clan, away from what you had." He heard her taking a sharp intake, almost a gasp. "Being thrown into fighting the Blight right after losing so much is surely not the most gratifying task, I can imagine."

"I could say the same for you, though." At the time, she had chosen to ignore it, but she could clearly remember how he was grieving. In camp, right after Lothering, when he thought no one would notice. Back in Ostagar, he had lost _his_ family, like she had lost hers, when she was forced to leave her clan behind.

Alistair tried to downplay her implication with a shrug. "Well, as said before, I'm just here for the witty one-liners and unpleasant news. Not a big deal."

Lenya looked at him with brows creased to a frown. He was doing it again. "Idiot."

Alistair blinked. "Huh?"

Her eyes narrowed. She was angry, but it was another sort of anger, one that she couldn't exactly _place._ "You are one Warden of exactly two left, the other being me, obviously. So stop downplaying your role in this or I will thwack your stupid human head with this very sword at your feet."

He straightened, half in reaction to being yelled at, half in a mocking gesture. "Aye, aye, Ser." Alistair chuckled. "You are so bossy."

Well, some voice in his mind was telling him that it was probably not the best idea to mock or even _flirt_ with a woman who was _glaring_ at him. Inwardly, he prepared himself for the backlash... that didn't come. Instead, there was a silence that stretched, as Lenya observed the flickering flames of the fire, lost in thought. It lasted a long time, so long that he already wondered if their conversation had reached an end. As soon he thought about standing up and leaving, to let her have her well-deserved peace, Lenya raised her voice again.

"You know, Leliana once asked me why I fight, why I even took this inane task, when I hated it so much to be a Grey Warden." Her eyes were still fixated on the scorching flames, not looking at him. "I think I know now why. In the Fade, I returned to the Wilds to rescue Morrigan, and I was reminded of what you said, back there at Flemeth's hut."

Alistair searched through his memories, but couldn't remember for the sake of his life what she meant. He hadn't been at his best, back then, after all. "I'm sorry... I don't remember, exactly."

She rolled her eyes, accompanied by a sigh. "About my clan. About fighting for them, so that they had a place to return to. Here in Ferelden."

"Oh, that. Now I remember. What about it?"

"You used that as an argument to make me stay." One corner of her mouth curled into a slight smile as she continued to look out into the night. "Well, my clan isn't bound to this land or country. So, actually, we wouldn't have needed to return and could easily have found another place to live beyond Ferelden's borders. So, while that was the argument that made me waver and eventually stay at your side, at first, it was not the reason."

Alistair was confused, not knowing what she was getting at. "So, what was the reason, then?"

Eventually, she turned her head toward him, smile widening. "You."

That tiny word crashed over him like a tidal wave, hitting him with a force that was overwhelming. Gasping for something that resembled air, his mouth flung open in an "O"-shape and stayed that way. He couldn't believe it; surely he must be hearing things. It couldn't possibly be that—

"W-w-what?" he was able to ask somehow, in between of the rush of emotions flooding him.

"Creators know, I hated you back then. Still, you looked so sad and I didn't have the heart to leave you alone with this."

His mouth was snapping open and closed, as he was trying to form words, but found himself unable to. Certainly, his expression was all but intelligent, too, as he continued to stare at her.

Smiling, Lenya stood up from the ground, dusting her leather breeches off from any dirt. "And now I'm the one who is glad not to be alone, I guess." She whirled around, stretching with a yawn. "I'd better go to sleep now. Stupid march to stupid Orzammar and all that. Good night." With that, she walked away, without turning around again. Alistair stared after her, his mind too busy processing what in all of Thedas had just happened to do anything but.

"G-good night," he finally managed to say, but she was long gone, swallowed by the shadows of the night. He was left alone, there by the fire. Alone with his frantically beating heart and glowing cheeks and the certainty that he was helplessly and irrevocably in love with that woman.

Though, in this very moment, and for the first time ever since he'd realized it, he wasn't regretting it one bit.

.

* * *

**A/N:** Squeee. Err, I mean...review? :p

* * *

**Elvish Notes:**

"_Seth'lin lath'din a shem'alas."_ - Thin bloods that no one loves (flat ears) and dirty humans.

_"Na'din ashin."_- They killed him.

_Ma'him sa vhenan'enansal."_- You have a good heart.

_"Sa vunin dar el'nan."_- One day the vengeance will be ours.


	55. Interlude: Lethallan

___Thanks to Mack for making this chap actually readable ;)  
_

* * *

**_"Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an Elf."  
"What about side by side with a _friend?"_  
"Aye. I could do that."_**

_- Gimli and Legolas - LotR, Return of the King_**_  
_**

* * *

**Interlude: Lethallan**

.**  
**

How could she have forgotten that?

Surrounded by trees already tinged red-gold by the coming autumn, Lenya sat sulking far away from where her clan camped. From the clear and cloudless sky, the sun shone down in warm, bright rays, dappling silently through the colored treetops. The wind caressing her skin was mild and had a tang of wet earth and moss, whirling some fallen leaves up in the air and past her.

Lenya had no eyes for the scenery of the clearing, was even ignoring the scurrying squirrels collecting beechnuts right beside her. Biting her lip, she was staring out in the wideness of the woods, fretting about her own stupidity.

Although her clan was a close-knitted community by default and dear to her heart, Tamlen was, together with Ashalle, the most important person in her life. She did not love him and never would, at least not how the elders would eventually wish them to bond. Lenya had no interest in Tamlen that way, or love as a whole, for that matter. She couldn't understand how some Dalish women of her clan saw their life fulfilled by bonding with a man and getting his children. Lenya wanted... more of life than just that. Yet, Tamlen was special to her, in a way that went way beyond the disgusting kissing that she already had to witness around the other elves in her age. Tamlen was not only her childhood friend, but also a brother and partner in crime, who knew everything about her and whom she trusted with every fiber of her being.

And still she had forgotten his birthday.

Lenya had been so wrapped up in her training to finally become a full hunter and to get her own _vallaslin_ that today had totally slipped her mind. And therefore, she had no present for him. Given, it was not exactly customary for the Dalish to gift each other something on the day they were born, since it was often hard to determinate the exact day. It was more a very own fashion between the two friends since the day when they were kids, where Tamlen gifted her a basket full of slimy snails on her birthday to scare her. Lenya, however, found it more amusing than scary. So, the custom stuck with them each year as they'd grown up. Except for this year.

Tamlen had smiled and told her it wasn't a big deal, but that only made her feel worse about it. Lenya looked upward at the clear sky and sighed. Doing so, her eyes caught a single rounded fruit hanging high in one of the colored treetops. She had seen such a fruit before, even though it was rare for such trees to grow in these parts of the woods. Standing up, her eyes fixated on the red fruit somewhere low beneath the treetop. It was an apple, if she recalled its name correctly.

Once, when they were younger, she and Tamlen had found one of these rare apple trees. It was more or less coincidentally, as they were chasing together through the woods, the dried autumn leaves crashing underneath their feet. Just as Tamlen passed a gnarled, high-arching tree, one of the fruits had fallen down, and hit him on the head.

Lenya smiled at the childhood memory, remembering the sweet, juicy taste of the many apples they plucked down and ate after finding out what it was. The one, single fruit seemed to be the first of many of the coming autumn, and thus was something special. Suddenly determined to pluck it for Tamlen, Lenya went to the solitary tree, feeling its splinted, rough bark underneath her fingers.

Looking up, her eyes were already searching for a way to reach the apple above and found it in an instant. She had been climbing trees since she was a child, so while the tree was relatively tall, it would not be too big of a problem for her to get on the tree and reach the branch in the middle. Lenya climbed the trunk up and always tested if the branches would hold her weight before stepping onto it. She moved through the tree with utmost care and speed and finally was able to reach the one branch with the apple. Just as she had plucked the apple and had in her hands, she took a misstep while turning round and slipped from the branch.

Being unable and too stubborn to let go of Tamlen's hard-won present, Lenya fell to the ground. Her only thought before her world went black was:_ hopefully the apple isn't going to smash._

~V~

"You stupid, _stupid_ girl. How could you do that?" A voice tugged at the edges of her consciousness, one that she knew all too well. Tamlen. It was taking on a more desperate tone, as she didn't react at first. "Creators, wake up, please."

Slowly, Lenya opened her eyes, feeling how every bone in her body hurt. She gritted her teeth against the pain and was pleased to notice that the apple was still forcibly clasped in her hand—and whole.

"You've been away for hours, so we have been searching you. It is not uncommon for you to disappear like that, I know, still, _something_ got me worried. Call it a feeling in my gut. And see, I have good feelings." Tamlen prattled on, not knowing what to do but talking with her. He was too afraid to move her, at least before her injuries could be healed.

"Lenya!" The Dalish nearly startled at Marethari's condemning voice. "For a _da'len_ so irresponsible, you are quite lucky. Not only that your fall was softened by a bush, but that your head thankfully missed a sharp stone by an inch." Disapproving, she shook her head and let her healing magic wash over the young elf. "You better thank Mythal for protecting you so well, once you are back in camp." The Keeper stood up without a further word and turned to leave. "I expect you _both_ to return to camp. Quickly. Is that clear?"

Tamlen nodded. "Yes, Keeper."

He noticed the dirty look Lenya was giving him once Marethari was gone. "Don't look at me like that, Len. It was not I who fell from a high tree. As you might have seen, it was _necessary _to bring the Keeper here." Now that he knew that the worst was prevented, a small grin played into his features. "Or should I have brought Merrill, instead?"

Lenya's response was immediate. "Ugh."

Carefully, he helped her up. "Thought so. Still, Len, why, by the Creators, did you run away from camp to climb a tree?"

Lenya sighed and lowered her gaze. "I didn't have a present for your birthday. I had... forgotten it. You said it was okay, but it _isn't_." She stretched her arm out, amazed, at first, that nothing hurt anymore. "So I got you the fruit you liked so much when we were young."

Tamlen stared at the apple for a moment before enclosing her in a cautious, friendly hug. He laughed. "Stupid, irresponsible girl."

.

.

* * *

.

Beneath her coarse, woolen blankets, Lenya stirred.

Outside her tent, she heard the wind howling and icy rain drummed relentlessly against the canvas of her tent. She shivered at the uncomfortable chill the weather brought her, or had it been the dream? She wasn't able to differentiate it, only knew that it had been some time where memories of Tamlen intruded her dreams.

Lenya sighed, driving with both hands through her face and hair in the need to cast the remnants of the memory off. That thought made her startle. When had she started to want to _forget_ about Tamlen? She still missed him badly, like everyone else of her clan. The guilt of leaving him behind was still eating her alive and she doubted that this would ever change. And yet, somewhere along the way, Lenya had stopped to constantly think about him. Without noticing, the overbearing hurt that she felt at his loss had turned and subsided into an ever-present dull ache.

The realization was _frightening_. Lenya didn't want to forget, didn't want to live on as if nothing happened. Tamlen _died_ and she had done nothing about it. She left him to die and saved her own life rather than searching for him.

_There was nothing to be found._

A little, _new_ voice in her head protested, but she quickly turned it off. Some of the icy rain found its way into her tent, dripping incessantly in irregular patterns and rhythms on the ground, distracting her from her thoughts. Suddenly, Arai's head snapped up in a rush, not at the sound of the weather, but at something entirely different. Lenya shivered again and this time the cold wasn't the reason at all. The tainted blood in her veins thrummed with an awareness and warning alike, the dark pull in her innards leaving no chance of doubt.

"Darkspawn!" she gasped, wide-eyed, and rose immediately to grab her weapons placed next to her bedroll. Arai dashed out of her tent, barking and growled loudly in his canine attempt to warn the others of what was coming.

An ambush.

Being close to Orzammar and its several entrances to the Deep Roads must have drawn them to the Wardens like moths to the flame.

Lenya cursed under her breath and heard Alistair's agitated voice issuing warnings and some hasty orders. Good, while expected, he was awake and _aware_, already in full warrior mode. Everything around Lenya blurred to a rush, no time for the armor, no time to dress more than she momentarily wore. She was thankful for the long, woolen tunic she slipped in before sleeping, otherwise she would have to fight the approaching horde _naked_.

No time was left. They were _close_, leaving her no chance to do anything but to storm out of tent, unprotected as she now was. On her way out, she quickly grabbed two of the throwing knives Zevran had gifted her. Knowing well that she was pretty much useless with a bow, but at least would have a little advantage with these little blades.

Ice. The rain underneath her bare feet was freezing almost instantly when it touched the soil. Lenya had to concentrate hard on not slipping on the ice-covered ground as she was running toward her companions on the other side of camp.

_That's it, no more secluded tent nonsense._

To her big relief, everyone of her group was up and well. Zevran and Sten were the only ones armored; they apparently had been the last being on the current shift.

Alistair only acknowledged her arrival with a nod, not tearing his eyes away from the darkness. "They do have a talent for inappropriate timing, huh?" He was hastily clothed, too, in leather breeches and a normal, padded gambeson, unarmored like almost everyone else in their group.

Lenya tried to steady her breathing, but underneath her feet she could feel the ground vibrating. It indicated that the horde was either huge or an ogre was among them. Both weren't exactly scenarios she was looking forward to. The icy rain bit into her near naked skin, but the adrenaline was pushing through her now and drowned the cold and ache out. She focused on their approach, could feel their thrumming beat, the need to kill inside, was even sharing it now. Lenya gritted her teeth, and her loose, wet hair clung to her cheek as she made a silent promise out into the night.

They would fall _before_ she would.

She heard Wynne murmuring a protecting spell, the strain of Leliana's bow, Sten's prayer, and felt Alistair's supportive present at her side. Lightning danced in Morrigan's palm, barely controlled in its power, and Lenya knew that the darkspawn wouldn't win. _Couldn't_.

_Vir Adahlen... for we are many._

Ear-splitting cries tore the tensed silence apart, before they were even _visible_. Concentrating on using Morrigan's source of light, Lenya took a deep breath, hauled back and threw a knife out into the darkness. It appeared as if she had hit nothing but stirring shadows, but one creature popped out of nowhere, thrown back to the ground by the blade, hit directly between the eyes. Arai tore its throat out to ensure it was dead. The Mabari did not stop there and leapt onto the next monster, now where the others came into sight.

Shrieks. An Emissary. A dozen genlocks and hurlocks. A full force and horde.

"Great." Alistair's exasperated comment was swallowed by the howling of the wind and he instinctively turned to the sizzling of hostile magic to kill the emissary. An unwritten, yet well-known rule for every warrior in a battle was to kill the mages _first_.

"Protect Wynne... and Morrigan!" Sten and Oghren nodded at his command, and circled around the two mages to deflect incoming blows and inflicting their own strikes.

"'Tis unneeded, fool." The witch snorted and illuminated the night with another fireball that crashed into rotten darkspawn flesh. The ice underneath the magic melted, grass singed and continued to burn with low flames. It did give Lenya the needed sight within the blackened night to see her next target, cutting the hurlock down without much regarding it. She felt that this wasn't all, her blood was even _telling_ her that. So where were the other tainted bastards?

Alistair shoved the awkward feeling of fighting without armor aside to concentrate and released a smite toward the emissary. The darkspawn crashed back into one of the tents. He hesitated not a moment to kill the stunned beast on the ground. They were trying to keep the battle away from the center of camp, to cause as little damage to their gear as possible, yet sometimes it was unavoidable.

Another genlock in tattered leather armor was running toward him, but the Warden heaved it up overhead with his shield, using its momentum against him. Alistair slit through its innards while it was suspended in the air, a gush of black ichor raining down on him.

Just as it looked as if they would get the upper hand easily, a deafening roar echoed through the night, and the earth shook beneath Lenya's bare feet. Right after the sound faded, a giant ogre came into sight and stormed toward Alistair, who stood closer to the beast than the Dalish.

Lenya let out an exasperated sigh as she rushed into the ogre's direction to support her fellow Warden.

Right... she _had_ to ask, huh?

Alistair braced himself in front of the ogre, shield and sword grasped in each hand. He tried to find a stable stance to charge, but the earth under him was frozen, covered with ice. The creature used his hesitation to rear up, and then brought its fists down on the ground with an incredible force. The impact sent out a shockwave that shook the entire area and the Warden fell backward. His ears rang from the sound, and as he shook his head, he suddenly saw that the ogre was above him.

Lenya's rush came to a halt as a hurlock sprang into her way, but a pointed arrow of Leliana's ended the interruption as soon it had begun. Slashing across the monster without turning to it, she watched with horror how the blue giant snatched Alistair up in its meaty grip and easily lifted him in the air. The ogre let out a guttural roar of victory and started to press tighter around his unarmored form.

"No, no, no!" Lenya cursed under her breath at the sight and tried to be faster on the slippery ground. And so she ran, still desperately aware that she wouldn't reach him in time. That it wouldn't be _enough._

_Elgar'nan..._

Fortunately, Oghren was closer to the massive darkspawn, hacking into its leg with his axe, and the rough blade easily tore the thick, blue flesh apart. The pain caused the ogre to let the Warden drop to the ground before it could smash him to a pulp. Still, the damage was already done, and Alistair remained on the spot where he fell, unmoving.

The ogre paused and whirled his horned head toward the dwarf, letting out an earth-shaking cry. Instead of trembling in fear, Oghren looked the creature right in the milky, hollow eyes and snorted. "Bah, you are sodding ugly!"

He dodged the following attack and drew its attention completely toward him to give Lenya the needed moment to reach her fellow Warden.

Alistair groaned weakly, and pain seared through him like fire as he came back to consciousness. He tried to get up, but the attempt ended quickly as the agony increased at the faintest motion. Breathing had become incredibly hard. His bones were broken and with how he knew his luck, probably _most_ of them.

"Don't you die, idiot!" He heard _her_ voice through his hazed mind, the tone etched with desperation. Or maybe he just wanted to believe that while lying helplessly on the ground, the sounds of clashing steel and the drowning hum of darkspawn still so present. Alistair waited for Wynne's healing spell to wash over him, the interval of time passing in between consisting of impatience and utter frustration at not being able to help the others.

Bolts of lightning and burning fire exploded around him, and illuminated the night as they crashed into its target, making him feel useless. The incessant, icy rain pouring down on him even drenched the last bit of his clothing. The freezing wind was still howling and unforgiving, but he didn't felt the chill, the hurt inside too strong and distracting for that.

_Thank the Maker for small mercies._

It was a bitter, sarcastic thought that ran through his mind as he couldn't do anything but watch the others fight.

"Wynne. Wynne!" Her voice _was_ desperate while trying to reach the mage across the camp that was nothing more than a battlefield now, filled with darkspawn corpses and chaos. She was still there, not leaving his side, her presence the only calming element amidst all the pain. Alistair fought against the urge to succumb to the darkness that threatened his mind, knowing that passing out would mean a certain death. He noticed how another darkspawn dropped dead to the ground, slain by her blades as it dared to come to close to where he lay. The creature fell almost right beside him, the rancid stench of its corpse adding nausea to the already strong urge to pass out.

Suddenly, the vibrating of the earth underneath him increased again, indicating that the ogre was coming closer, probably had lost its interest in Oghren when the taint of the Wardens hummed here in such a concentrated essence.

_One wrong step, one enemy that was faster or stronger and it would be all over, before it had even begun._

He hated that thought that was flooding him contemporaneously with Wynne's healing spell. Leliana had told him something similar not long ago, and facing his own mortality now, he couldn't help to feel the truth in these words. Amidst all the pain that the knitting of the worst of his injuries inflicted, his head turned to Lenya.

She wasn't close to him like before, he noticed, had apparently ushered away to draw the ogre's attention fully on herself and away from his still helpless form. She was thoroughly drenched by rain and black ichor, the woolen tunic partly tattered with cuts streaking her bare skin. And yet, Lenya was standing fiercely in front of the ogre, as if she were even bigger in size than it was, her teeth bared in fury, blades spinning.

"You want me? Come and _get_ me, you ugly, blue bastard!"

The ogre roared at her daunting words, and he could almost _hear_ her smile at that.

The grin snuck into his features, in spite of himself and the situation. "You never _fail_ to piss someone off, huh?"

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer.

Due to Wynne's spell, breathing had become easier for him and Alistair even managed to roll on his stomach. Unfortunately, that was the extent of his ability to move _without_ searing pain, yet the movement was enough to see her charge toward the ogre before it charged her. He was torn between succumbing to the heart attack the sight caused him or to watch, fascinated, at how she dodged each swipe of the ogre's taloned, massive hands.

Alistair shook his head. She was, without a doubt, _insane_. She _had_ to be to attempt something so utterly stupid and reckless, wearing nothing more than a tattered tunic and her blades as she ran toward the giant beast.

Then again, this was typical Lenya.

Surrounded by a part of his companions that shielded him and killed the last remaining darkspawn at the same time, Alistair sighed.

How could he ever fall so _much_ for such an utterly frustrating, stubborn, and proud woman? Lenya was so different from all the people he had ever met, nothing like him and then again... so _alike_.

The cry of the ogre pierced through his thoughts, but this time it cried in _agony, _followed by an earth-shattering impact as the creature fell. Not a moment later was Lenya up there on its huge back and plunging her sword into its massive neck, all effort of the ogre to stop her forsaken. She bore down the hilt with her weight, and a gush of black ichor erupted from the wound, splattering into her face. The ogre roared in torment, which only seemed to motivate her to drive the blade _deeper_. It gave a final squeal and eventually went still.

For the faintest moment, there was only silence following, with the drowning hum of the darkspawn abated into nothingness. After the battle, this always was a good feeling, one moment in between that told him they were still alive, while the darkspawn were... _not_. Especially tonight, this had been no small feat for him. Smiling, he rolled on his back again, uncaring about the freezing rain above that didn't seem to stop.

_Still alive..._

He heard the clattering of her remaining blade as it met the ice on the ground, but not her advancing steps. They were silent on the frozen, solid earth until she hovered over him, her face streaked with rain and ichor.

"How do you feel, puppy?"

"Like being smashed by an ogre, perhaps?"

She let out a sound somewhere between exasperation and relief, her head directed toward the small light lingering and cracking through the thick clouds and darkness. Only faintly, but he saw it now, too, wondered if she was thinking the same.

Dawn. They had survived the night.

Her eyes wandered over the area and her expression turned into a frown, certainly at the destruction the darkspawn and the battle left behind. "It is that bad? Aw, and I _liked_ my tent. Especially now where it is raining like that."

Lenya's frown deepened as her face turned back to him. "That is not important now." She shivered despite her effort not to, the cold shaking through her whole body. Someone advanced behind her form, and put a cloak around her shoulders, which she took with a weak smile. "_Ma serannas_, Leliana. Help the others to salvage from our gear what you can. We need to get out of the rain as soon as possible."

The bard nodded and disappeared into the shadows. There were noises of shuffling and rummaging, possibly from searching for their remaining gear and collecting the darkspawn corpses to burn them later. It was already an all too well known routine for him.

"Can you move?" Her words were violently pressed out through clattering teeth and yet their sound was solicitous.

"I... well, about that—" Alistair halted as the cloak was spread out over him, the cloak Leliana had given her just moments ago. Blinking, he looked at her and she shrugged almost apologetic, a small smile visible around her lips.

"In my clan..." She swallowed, whether from the cold or the memory he couldn't say. "We take care of the wounded and old. They always come first. And since I'm neither of those right now—"

"Then let the old one have a look, would you?" Alistair turned his head to the voice of the mage, who came into sight as Lenya made way for her. Wynne bent over to examine him, the expression in her face crunched in concentration, despite her visible exhaustion. Alistair wiggled in his place at her prodding and poking, the pain at that still unbearable.

"If you remember what caused these injuries, you have more luck than good judgment, young man. Many bones are broken, but neither the femur fracture, nor the cracked ribs are injuries a few days rest and my magic couldn't fix." Her smile was apologetic. "If I had my rest, that's it. I'm quite drained."

"We need to get him out of the rain."

Wynne turned to Lenya, who still remained at his side, not leaving despite the cold. "Agreed. But you need to look after yourself, as well, my dear." She pointed at her sparse clothing. "You will freeze to death if you stay this way."

"It's not important now. We need to get him out of the rain," she repeated, nearly defiant.

"Len, please." Alistair sighed. This woman was more stubborn than a whole herd of oxen. "You have been reckless enough for one day with storming toward the ogre, don't you think?"

She blinked, as if confused to hear her name. "It worked, didn't it?" Lenya gave him a pointed look. "The ogre is dead. We live."

Alistair laughed and shook his head, knowing well that arguing with her would be pointless. "Stupid, irresponsible woman."

At that, she scowled and straightened herself, face turning away from where he lay. "I think my tent is still intact as far I see it. We should get you in there." It sounded almost dismissive, hurt. Alistair didn't know why she was reacting this way all the sudden. He heard her calling out for Sten, who almost appeared in front of her in an instant.

"Get him off the ground and in my tent over there. "

Sten snorted. "Why carry him? He has feet to walk."

Alistair saw how her posture straightened even more, as if to match the size of the Qunari—which was a certain sign that she was angry. "As you _might_ have seen, he got nearly smashed by that very ogre over there. So, no, he _can't_ walk by himself. You, however, seem to be strong enough to carry him, which is the reason I asked in the first place."

He grunted, its sound displeased, as he bent over Alistair to pick him up. "_Parshaara_."

Alistair's eyes widened as the giant loomed over him. "Are you really, _really_ sure I can't walk myself? I can try again, you know."

Wynne chuckled, seeming to take way to much amusement in his distress for a healer. "Yes."

"Great."

As expected, Sten was all but gentle with him. The agony inside increased to a dizzying volume again as the Qunari moved with fast, heedless steps. Alistair noticed that Sten stopped only once more, the voice of Lenya already sounding distant and fuzzy to his ears.

"After that, we are immediately leaving for Orzammar. It shouldn't be more than a half a day away anymore. We direly need new supplies and gear."

.

.

* * *

.

Dawn had shifted into a rich tapestry of light as Lenya cautiously slipped into her tent.

She felt not so cold anymore, after Morrigan started a magical fire in middle of camp and Wynne even _threatened_ her to take her blanket to cover and warm her sparsely clothed body with it. The mage could be as scary as Ashalle, if she wanted to. Leliana had insisted on treating her many cuts, didn't even let her go back to her tent before all of them were disinfected and bandaged.

_Funny, how much it feels like a clan, sometimes..._

Lenya shook herself at this thought and stumbled into a stop as she became aware of the other person present here. His head turned away from her, he slept peacefully on her bedroll, despite his injuries. The herbs given to him seemed to help to ease his breathing, and it was coming out in steady and calm intervals.

She watched him a moment longer, more for the purpose of ensuring that he was really sleeping than anything else. When she was sure enough, the Dalish started to get rid of the tattered woolen tunic. Wrapping herself in Wynne's blanket against the cold, Lenya bent over to snatch her leather armor, which lay across her pack.

As she lifted her clothes and armor, a little rounded object toppled from her pack and rolled until it came to a halt on the rough, frozen grass underneath. Bowing down, she picked it up to observe it more closely.

An apple.

She must have taken it from the tower and forgotten about it. Lenya huffed as she watched the fruit in her hands. It was a bit shrunken and already had brown dots. An ugly thing and nothing like the apples she once had found in the woods, the one she had gifted Tamlen.

Still, this little fruit reminded her more than she wanted of the dream she had before the darkspawn attacked, of a life before death and fighting. It was all so different now, _harder_. She let out a long sigh and averted her eyes from it. How ironic to find it now, after the dream and Alistair's words that resembled so much those of Tamlen's.

"_Stupid, irresponsible woman."_

That she was. Possibly always had been. She couldn't help herself, couldn't idly stand by when it was about the people she cared for.

Friends.

Lenya hastily dressed herself, the apple still in her hand. Fastening the buckles of her armor with one hand was tricky, but she was unwilling to let the apple go. Just like in her memory.

_Friends_...

Such an odd concept, especially with a human. She looked at Alistair, who still slumbered deeply and didn't move.

Her critical frown slowly eased up the longer she watched him, shifted into a faint smile, even.

_Maybe... maybe, it is okay._

Lenya placed the apple beside her bedroll, beside _Alistair,_ and turned to go.

.

.


	56. Separation

_**A/N: **__Thanks to Mackillian for fighting against her need to sleep and through the grammar of this chapter *hugs*  
_

* * *

**Chapter 54: Separation  
**

.

"Say, Leliana, was there something you did enjoy about being a bard?"

Zevran looked over to her as he walked beside her following Lenya over the rough Gherlen Pass to Orzammar.

Her eyebrows creased to a confused frown. "Why do you ask?"

"I just think that we have much in common, my dear. And with that, I don't mean only our beauty and grace while fighting. It was quite impressive how pinpointed your arrows were, despite the wind. They trained you well, I see."

Leliana groaned, annoyed. "That again? You won't give up until I have told you, I assume?"

His smile widened to a grin. "Ah, you know me quite well, it seems. But is it so odd of me to think so? We both are foreign to these lands, have grown up and lived in places other than Ferelden. You are a bard and I, an assassin."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "But I'm a _native_ Fereldan. I was born and lived here until fate brought me to Orlais when I was very young." The tone in her voice gave away that she found great importance in making this fact known and clear to the elf.

"Ah, yes, fate. Bad thing, that." Zevran chuckled and pointed at Lenya's back. "Just look at our lovely Warden for a second. Not long ago, she was blissfully unaware of the Blight, was a normal, if lovely, Dalish woman living in the woods with her clan. Now, only a few months later, she's one of two Wardens left and killed an ogre today without so much as blinking."

"And not long ago, I spared your life," Lenya replied in a matter of fact tone, without turning around to him. "Everyone makes mistakes, it seems."

"A very fortunate mistake, if I might add. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to enjoy this wonderful trip with such wonderful company." Zevran looked up at the blue sky and blinked at the bright light blinding him. "Even the weather has cleared up now and is marvelous... for Ferelden's standards."

Shale's rhythmical stomping on the frozen ground came to a slight halt as she took the time to glower at the elf. "It won't stop talking until I stomp on it, huh?"

Sten gave a snort. "No. Unfortunately."

There was a brief pause before the golem turned her head and looked at the Dalish. "Am I allowed to stomp on it, then?"

Lenya couldn't help but to grin, amused at that. "No, not now. You will be the first to know if I should change my mind."

"Hmph," Shale said, tone disappointed. "The painted Warden is no fun."

"And rather cruel to someone as charming as me." Zevran tsked, but smiled at the same time as he turned back to Leliana. "So were you often called upon to kill as a bard?"

She hesitated to answer and glanced forward to the wide horizon where the thick, carved stones of Orzammar came slowly into sight. She sighed. "Yes. I didn't like it, but I did it anyway."

Zevran couldn't believe hearing that. "You didn't like it? You didn't like the thrill of the hunt?"

Leliana couldn't hinder the smile sneaking into her features. "I suppose I did like that part."

"Ah, yes, most understandably so. The killing just signals the end of the hunt, after all. It might be the needed part, but more delightful is what comes before that." He arched an eyebrow at her. "You killed your marks cleanly, I hope."

"Whenever possible."

The elf nodded in agreement. "Good, when the prey is caught, it deserves a good, clean death."

"Ugh." Lenya let out a disgusted noise at the turn of their conversation.

"Ah, you disagree, my dear Warden?" Zevran asked in a slight mocking tone, one eyebrow raised. "I think you are no stranger to this particular thrill. You have been a Dalish hunter before, yes?"

The Dalish huffed. "Yes, I was hunting _animals_. For my clan. So that they had something to _eat_. Also, I learned to fight to protect my clan from any danger."

"Animals, huh?" He laughed. "I see." He let his voice deliberately drop to a low murmur, so that only Lenya would hear him. "But you know the feeling of wind through your hair when you chased after a deer or a rabbit, yes? The blood pumping through your veins, intoxicated from adrenaline and the excited rush while you hunt. Or do you _not_?"

The elf watched with a smug satisfaction how her muscles impulsively tensed at his words, an involuntary gasp escaping her lips, even. He chuckled. "Thought so."

Lenya whirled around with an exasperated huff and glared at him. Without a further word, she stalked off in the direction of the marketplace in front of Orzammar, which only fueled Zevran's amusement more.

.

.

* * *

.

Since their last visit just a few weeks ago, the marketplace seemed to have become even more lively.

Various merchants tried to trump each other in volume as they commended their supplies to the present customer, which ended in a loud, unintelligible tangle of voices. The cold wind carried the mouthwatering smell of roasted nugs, vegetables, and bread to Lenya's nose, making her stomach lurch and protest in hunger.

She tried to forget that she hadn't eaten properly in _days_ and push the urge aside to concentrate on the bustling area before her. Instead, she let her eyes sweep to find the human they have been searching for.

The _shemlen_ called Faryn was easy to spot over all the dwarven merchants. He stood in front of his cart loaded with weapons and armor and apparently tried to talk an interested customer into buying a sword.

Lenya arched an eyebrow at the picture. _How ironic._

Sten stepped to her side, noticing where her eyes lingered, and huffed when he discovered the meager human. Without warning, the Qunari strode with fast and angry steps toward the man, grasped him by his collar and suspended him in the air.

"Where is my sword?"

Faryn was unable to talk, only able to struggle and gasp in the Qunari's iron grip. The dwarf that had been standing at his stand and looking at a sword before fled as fast as he could, leaving the blade to fall, clattering, to the ground. Some of the other merchants close to Faryn were even crying out for the guards.

"Sten, we spoke about this." Lenya let out a sigh, _tsking_ as she slowly walked up to him. "_Shemlen_ are not very talkative when strangled to death." She smiled sweetly at her giant companion. "Leave that for _afterward_, okay?"

He grunted in displeasure and let the human fall to the ground, who scrambled back in shock until he met the solid wood of his cart. Without taking his eyes from the Qunari, he pulled himself up, breathing frantically. "W-w-who are you people?"

"I think it is our turn to ask the questions_,_" Lenya said, arms crossed and glaring. "If you cooperate you might come out of this unscathed."

"A-a-are you..." The man swallowed hard to gather his nerves. With it, his back straightened and he put his chin defiantly up to her. "Who are you? Some knife-eared wench trying to rob me?"

"Ah, a racist crack like that never gets old, no?" Zevran kept his tone neutral, but the brief, glowering look he gave the human belied his words.

Instead of confronting the human for his insult like Lenya used to do, she only sighed. She was tired, mentally and physically exhausted from the prior night, and had no desire to make the conversation any more complicated or longer than it already was. She looked at Sten with a cool, uncaring glance. "I've changed my mind. Rip him apart, and then we search through his useless frippery for your sword when he is dead."

"If the Qunari doesn't want to do this, I could stomp on it," Shale said.

Zevran shook his head, amused at that. "You, my stone friend, seem to have an unholy obsession with stomping on living things lately. Not that I'm complaining. As long this excludes me, of course."

Shale only heaved her stony shoulders. "I just like the sound fleshy things make under my heel." She chuckled. _"Squiiiish."_

Faryn nearly keeled over at the sight of both Sten and Shale coming closer, all previous bravado forgotten. Just before the Qunari reached out to grab him once more, he squeaked, panicking. "T-take everything. I don't care. It is stolen anyway."

"Stolen, hmm?" Leliana frowned at him. "This is _not_ how a merchant should make business."

"Uninteresting," Sten said with a growl and shook the man like a puppet, even without lifting him up. "Where is my sword?"

"A sword? I have many swords, as you see." Faryn gulped at the blank stare of the Qunari on him: emotionless, stoic, and ready to kill. "P-pick the one you want. _Please_."

Sten only gave a snort. "I don't care for your useless human forks. I want _my_ sword." He shook him again, the shift in his expression toward anger ever so slight. "It belongs to _me_!"

"Oh... _that_." The man blinked as realization dawned him. "I... I don't have it! I swear by Andraste's knickers! I sold it on the way here!"

Sten loosened his grip on the man, faintly aware of the sound of rustling armor coming closer. His stare still bored into the human and he did not look or inch away, even as he heard how Leliana started to argue with the arriving guards. "Where is it?"

"A dwarf near Redcliffe bought it. Dwyn, I think his name was."

Sten spun on his heels without giving the human a second glance. "Then we are traveling to Redcliffe."

Lenya groaned and rolled her eyes as she hurried after the already retreating Qunari.

_Here we go again._

She stepped in his way, hindered him from walk onward. Hands propped on her hips, she glowered up to him. "No!"

"No?" he asked, a bit bemused by the attitude of that little person in front of him. He shifted his weight to the other leg and decided to play along. "How will you stop me from doing so?"

"I killed an ogre not much earlier today. So, if needed, I'm going to kick your giant ass, too."

He couldn't deny that this elf—little, boisterous and annoying as she was—had achieved this. He had been there, almost right beside her, as she plunged the blade into the neck of the behemoth. Even unwanted, Sten's lips twitched into something akin to a smile. It lasted only for a fleeting moment, washed away by the alien feel of melancholy and longing that he hid behind his stoic mask. "I need—"

"Yeah, I get that, Sten." Lenya's stance became more relaxed and less like an animal ready to pounce on something. "You need your sword, but you are not alone here, remember? We have business here."

He snorted. "The only business that should matter is the Blight."

"Exactly." She nodded with a tired sigh. "So don't run blindly in need after your sword, when our business is all but _there."_

He watched her for a long moment, somehow surprised that she did not wither under his cool gaze like that human before. "You say that, elf. And yet I don't see how coming here helps."

"You benefited from this, as well." The soft tone had subsided from her voice, as the irritation at his behavior became too overbearing. "We have discussed that before and I'm tired of repeating myself. Go, if you want, but I'm not following your giant, egotistic ass up to Redcliffe. I have business _here!_" Without waiting for a reply, the Dalish whipped around and stormed away toward Orzammar's gates.

"We are leaving."

Leliana hesitated. "B-but... what about Sten?" Her eyes flung over to him, noticing his unmoving form, almost like a statue framed by the bright midday sun. As Lenya left no doubt that she didn't care for her objection, nor did Sten showed any signs of following, the bard had no other choice but to run after her companions.

.

.

* * *

.

"Ah, so this is Orzammar. It is a bit... _stony_, no?" Zevran looked around in the great hall of heroes, his eyes marveling over the molten red-glowing lava at the side, and then to the high-arching stone ceiling above. "And _grand_. Ironically so, for people so little."

"It speaks of 'little people?'" Shale scoffed. "It has hopefully detected the irony in Its words."

"Ah, yes. I'm very sorry if I have offended your kin, my lady," the elf said with a grin, which only broadened as the creature whirled, annoyed, around to him.

"I am a golem."

"Yes, yes. Obviously so, but aren't we here to find out if you were a dwarven woman once?" His eyes wandered to the carved stone figures and chuckled. "Oh? Relatives of yours, Shale? Or why are all these statues here?"

Shale turned to Lenya. "A bit of time passed since I last asked. So can I stomp on It _now_, perhaps?"

"No. And Zevran, they are called para... err... _something,_" Lenya answered, not truly bothering to search for the word that had temporarily slipped her mind.

Arching an eyebrow, the elf laughed. "Para-something?"

"Paragons. The dwarven ancestors. Their gods," Leliana said. Biting her lip, she looked at Lenya, who strode through the hall in a fast pace. As the doors toward Orzammar's commons snapped open with a near-deafening creak, she decided to ask, "Why did you leave Sten behind?"

The Dalish didn't turn around. "He prefers to leave for Redcliffe to search for his sword, it seems."

The bard frowned. "I see... will he be back?"

"Why? Do you miss him, my dear?" Zevran's mouth quirked up into a smirk. "I'm ready to offer you solace, or distraction, if the pain of parting is too much for you."

Leliana rolled her eyes. "This is so thoughtful of you, really."

"Well, that's me. Zevran, the gentleman. Never say I don't worry for my friends."

Lenya stopped right before the wide area of the commons and rubbed both of her temples with the fingers, feeling a headache forming behind her eyes. She couldn't even differentiate if their endless prattling or being once more confined within a giant cage of stone and lava was to blame for it. Probably both.

She sighed, throwing Zevran a pointed look. "I know this must be hard for you, but could you do anything other than just be noisy? We need new gear and supplies and this must happen before we go to the Creators-damned shithole of the Deep Roads."

"Well, about that, "Leliana said, rummaging in the pocket of her belt. "You asked me to count the money we still have, which I have done..." She paused and cleared her throat, somewhat embarrassed. "I don't think we can go far with it."

"How much?"

"Err, with the copper I found in the other bag, we have... thirty-two silver."

Lenya blinked, unable to grasp the problem. The _shemlen_ currency with its many different values had been always confusing to her. Back in her clan, there was no such thing as currency, because there was no need for money. They had shared all supplies equally within their close-knitted community. It had been..._easier_. Now she needed copper, silver and all these many coins that looked no different to her to get the _same_ things.

_Stupid_.

"Is that... much?"

Zevran burst out in laughter. "With that, my dear Warden, you don't even get the half of a decent looking whore for a night."

The heads of all three companions whipped toward the elf and glared at him.

"My offer is still valid," said Shale.

Lenya nodded toward the golem. "I know, Shale, thanks." She sighed again, feeling the headache getting stronger. "So we need supplies and have no stupid _shemlen_ money to buy them? _Brilliant_."

"Well, I could try something, perhaps," Leliana said, glancing past the Dalish to the glowing heat of the huge lava vent in the center. "I know Orzammar well enough from my time spent here, while you were in the Deep Roads. So, I could go and roam around, see if I can find any work that brings money."

"Great. More errands, this is just _what_ I need." The acerbic nuance in her words made Leliana wince and she even took a step back as the elf went on. "It is not that I haven't done enough of them in this stinking stone place alre—" Lenya stopped herself and drove a hand through her blonde hair to relax. But the tension never really left her posture. "_Abelas_. It's just—"

"You don't like being here, right?"

Instead of retorting with a sarcastic comment as usual, the Dalish only nodded. "I thought about making the stay as brief as possible. The others need the supplies as soon as possible, too. We hardly have any food anymore, or sufficient gear due to the attack."

"Hmm," Leliana said, trying to hide the surprise at her reaction. "I understand your concern. All the more a reason to look around." She turned on her heel, only to stop midway. "We should probably go to Tapsters first. It is always a good start and an even better source for rumors."

Zevran shared her enthusiasm for the idea. "Marvelous. I can't wait to see more of this dwarven culture."

"You mean dwarven women, more like, no?"

He _tsked_, tone all mocking. "Ah, you wound me, my dear Leliana. I'm not that one-sided. My taste is rather, let's say, _versatile."_

"How wonderful to know," Shale said in the driest way possible before following the bard to the tavern.

Orzammar hadn't changed much since their last visit, but one difference was already visible. Amidst the many dwarves roaming through the commons in a hectic rush to reach the various merchant stands, Lenya recognized some tattooed faces.

Brands.

There were definitely more visible than before, so it seemed that the durgen'len king had kept his part of the promise to deal with the caste problem.

"Recruiting for the war against the Blight. King Bhelen wants every able and willing man and woman to come to the royal compound tomorrow," the crier announced as they walked past him, right before entering the tavern.

Apparently, the king was living up to that part of the promise, as well.

.

.

* * *

.

Tapsters was not just full, but _stuffed_.

In every corner possible sat or stood dwarves of all castes with their ale, eying the strange group of new arrivals curiously as they passed by. The tangle of voices and music were nearly deafening and the air thick and smelly within.

"Aye, Warden!" A deep voice from across a large table in a corner made Lenya look up. "You looking for a stool to share a brew?" A male dwarf smiled at her, his finely made heavy armor casting shadows over the carved stone floors that were bigger than the man himself. Lenya was hesitated, but not so Zevran, who immediately turned into the dwarf's direction and alighted himself right next to him on the stone bench.

"Ah, this is too kind of you. Nice armor you have there."

"T-thanks." The dwarven man blinked, confused, before his eyes flung over to the Dalish, who groaned in irritation. She didn't even know why she took the elf back with her to Orzammar. Probably because he was overexcited to accompany her, where others like Oghren or Morrigan showed less enthusiasm. That, and his incessant squall of words and innuendos that only ended as she was willing to give in, only to start later on the road _again_.

Sighing, she went over to the dwarf, who strangely sat alone at this large table in despite of the large crowd present here today. "Good to see you back here, Warden. Name is Nevin." He pointed toward the big throng of dwarves in the middle. "Lady Orta and her entourage are celebrating her renewed status as a noble and deshyr. And that's all due to some dusty old papers from the Deep Roads that a drunken fart gave her. Life is funny sometimes, eh?"

Lenya gave in the urge to blink. "From the Deep Roads?"

"Aye." His dark eyes twinkled as he smiled at her before regaining his prior thoughtful demeanor. "You know from what I'm talking about, right? Darkspawn flooding every corner of this corrupted, forsaken place, the air so dense and stinking that you think you can't breathe?"

He watched her reaction, saw how she involuntarily shuddered, her eyes unfocused and lost in an unwanted memory. Nevin nodded, expression friendly and sympathetic. "This is why you Wardens are a good folk. You know what's at stake when we lose the fight to them in the Deep Roads. Not many do. Not even the ones who live this close. You have to be on the front lines for that."

Nevin stopped to take a sip from his ale and observed her strange companions that sat beside him, while the Warden herself still stood. He found the golem standing in the corner next to them extraordinarily impressive. His eyes wandered back to the elf's lithe form and couldn't help but to wonder about that odd tattoo on her forehead. It looked like a brand and yet so... _different_.

"Heard you did a fantastic job cutting through their lines down there, though."

Her eyelids fluttered, feeling uncomfortable with all this talk about the Deep Roads. "Err... yes. It is what I do, I suppose."

"Hah!" Nevin laughed, its tone a deep, rumbling sound. "Appearances can be deceiving then, it seems. From what I heard from my fellow men, I had rather expected you to be an axe-swinging giant, so double respect for you and all you have done for House Aeducan, Warden." The dwarf took a deep breath, noticing how the elf and the human at his table were attentively listening to his words. "I met one of yours when I was in the Deep Roads. What was his name? Doocan, Dunca? Something like that."

Lenya's eyes widened. "You knew Duncan?"

Nevin nodded. "Good man, he was."

Without a second thought, Lenya whirled around. "Did you hear th—" Frowning, she stopped her words and mentally berated herself for speaking into thin air.

He wasn't even _here_.

Leliana giggled at the perplexed expression in Lenya's face. "Missing someone, are you?"

She bestowed the bard with a furious glare, which was more for the purpose to cover how incredibly _awkward_ she felt right now than genuine petulance. Apparently, Lenya had grown so used to his company that she hadn't even _thought_ of him not being here before turning around. Now she felt truly stupid for her action. She fidgeted with her buckles that sat all too loose, makeshift repaired as they were, grumbling under her breath.

"So, Warden, you prefer standing there all day, or care to join me and your friends for a lichen ale? Maybe a nug... or two, even?" He chortled. "By the stone, but you people can _eat_." There was nothing condemning in his voice, just honest amusement and a hint of adoration for the Grey Wardens, perhaps.

For all their love for the dead, unchanging stone and living without a sun or sky, she really liked the _durgen'len_ for their stance toward the Grey Wardens. As a Warden, she felt accepted and respected here. No one looked down on her for being female or even more so, _elven_. This was obviously a trait exclusively given to humans, reminding her why she didn't like them much in the first place.

She blinked at him, recalling his offer, and sighed. "I... well... I don't think I can afford that."

"Broke, huh?" Nevin shrugged with a smile. "Being a Warden seems to be a terribly paid job then. Remind me never to give up mine. Come on, Warden, round is on me then." He waved one of the many hostesses to him and placed an order.

Lenya's lips quirked wanly up as she seated herself across Zevran. "You have no idea. We constantly need new supplies and gear because the tainted bastards like to—"

"Oh! Oh!" someone gasped behind Lenya, making her turn around just in time to see a young dwarven woman striding toward her with a fast pace, smiling. "You are the Warden, right?"

Lenya sighed. "Yes. Obviously. What do you want?"

Nevin appeared startled. "L-Lady Orta..."

"No need to be so formal, at least tonight." She laughed, her cheeks were almost glowing as red as the color of her hair. "I'm so glad you have returned to Orzammar, Warden. It gives me the chance to thank you for all that you have done for me."

Lenya only stared blankly at the dwarf as if she had become mad. She was certain, by all Creators of her people, that she had never seen this person before in her life.

Zevran noticed her hesitation and talked for her instead. "Ah, yes, you are very welcome, my lady. That is what the Wardens do—they always help people and are ridiculously awesome." Lenya threw him a confused look, but the elf ignored her. Instead, he paused to observe the exquisite garment she wore, a smirk formed around his lips as the impression settled in.

That woman certainly had money.

"So, if I might ask: Are there any ways to show your gratitude other than with words alone?"

"Oh, of course. The other houses repaid their debts to my house and I had enough money to send an expedition into our old thaig! We found so many things!" The words seemed to spill out of her mouth. "Your companion said I should give the reward to one of the Wardens, should they ever return here. And here you are. What a coincidence!"

Lenya perked up, the previously bored expression washed away at once. "Reward? Companion?"

"Yes. Oghren is traveling with you, right? He brought me the needed proof from the Deep Roads and now I'm a noble and a deshyr, even. They're opening rooms for us in the old Ortan estate, can you believe it? Because of you and your companion, my family's dreams came true!" Lady Ortan was bouncing up and down in excitement, which stood in stark contrast to Lenya's bewilderment. She made a step forward and placed a small pouch on the table right in front of the Dalish. "Here, I know I will never be able to fully repay you, but that is the least I can do."

As Leliana took the little bag and opened it to glance inside; her eyes widened, followed by a gasp.

"I wish you all the best, Warden. May the stone never leave you!" With a polite nod, Lady Ortan turned on her heel and vanished under the mass of her celebrating people again.

Leliana tried her best from getting too excited, but she couldn't help herself. "Lenya, you won't believe how much she has given us. Oh, Maker."

"How much?"

Leliana bounced up and down, couldn't still believe it. "_Fifteen_ sovereign!"

The Dalish blinked. "Is that a lot?"

"That, my dear Warden," Zevran said as he chuckled, "would be enough to buy the finest whorehouse, to use my prior analogy."

"Hah, seems like you aren't broke anymore, huh?" Nevin asked, grinning. "All the more a reason for ale."

Lenya couldn't object to the _durgen'len's_ logic, nor did she want to, as the hostesses brought the plates with food and the ale to their table.

She made a mental note to thank Oghren later.

.

.

* * *

.

The evening turned out more enjoyable than she thought it would be.

Lenya basked in a comfortable glow after a few ales and a sufficiently Warden-sized meal, only half-listening to the conversation of Zevran and Leliana. Shale had long stomped off before they had finished their feast, seemingly bored of their long stay here. Nevin had left shortly thereafter, leaving only the three of them and their weird conversation about... _urges_.

Lenya made a face. _Ugh._

"I mean no offense." Zevran then smiled suggestively to Leliana. "I simply offer my services should you ever feel the need for... release."

"Let me think about it, then." Leliana feigned a thoughtful pose, her face resting in one of her hands, and smirked. "Mmhmm, should every man in Ferelden suddenly die, you may yet have your chance."

"Hah!" He laughed. "See, we are making progress here." Zevran took another sip from his beverage, and then his head turned to the Dalish, observing her for a longer moment. "You are so taciturn, my dear Warden."

"And you are staring at me." Her eyes narrowed. "Stop that."

"Ah, sorry, I was just marveling at how well this tattoo of yours suits and frames your lovely face."

"_Vallaslin,"_ she said quickly, still glowering. "It means _'Blood writing' _in your tongue. It sets us apart from elves like you."

"From elves like _me_?" Zevran asked in false shocked tone and laughed. "_Tsk_, are we really so different, my dear?"

Her stare bore into him. "You are elven like me, but you are no Dalish. You know nothing of the way of our people, the _Elvhenan_, nor what it means to be Dalish. You are what my clan would call a _seth'lin_, a flat-ear, one that has forgotten the old ways."

The sarcastic tone in his voice was overly apparent. "Your ability at observation is very astute. I'm impressed, my dear Warden." He slanted his head, leisurely rested it in one of his hands. "Would it be very surprising if I told you that my mother was, in fact, Dalish?"

Lenya's scowl abated, replaced by sheer astonishment. Zevran enjoyed watching the shift in her expression. "Thought so." He laughed, its tone somewhat gleeful and mocking to have her caught in her prejudice. "Always judging one by looks. You like to do this, no?" He paused to let the words sink in, and was amused that she reverted back to scowling. "But fear not, I have no illusion about being Dalish, my dear. I'm as Antivan as one can get. I mean, I was a Crow, even."

The scowl deepened, but rather in a confused notion. "How—"

"What?" Zevran asked, grinning. "How it did happen that I ended up in Antiva, instead of frolicking with _your_ people as I should?"

"We _don't_ frolic," Lenya nearly growled under her breath, posture straightening.

"Ah, yes, sorry. I meant no offense, my lady" Zevran said, not really caring, "I was just saying that she left her clan a long time before I was born. Naturally, love was to blame, an elven woodcutter, to be exact. She followed him into the city and there, of course, the woodcutter died of some filthy disease and my mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts." He sighed, rolling his eyes in mock-exasperation. "Oldest tale in the book. I didn't know my mother, either, of course. She died giving birth to me. My first victim, as it were."

Lenya, and even Leliana, stared at him, at loss for words. Seeing her reaction, he chuckled. "I see, I have your attention now. I feel honored."

"How can you be so cheery about it?" Leliana finally managed to ask.

"Ah, what you expect me to do instead? Cry in a corner about life being cruel? No, I would rather enjoy what it has to offer." Zevran leaned toward her, his bearing confident, flirting. "And what about you, my dear bard? Your life surely hadn't been all idyllic, either. People like you and I are not the product of happy lives of contentment, after all."

Leliana didn't answer. Instead, she took a huge gulp of her beverage to avoid having to. He watched her a moment longer, noticing how her ice-blue eyes flickered to the twirled, black lines on the left side of his face.

"So... this tattoo of yours, have these symbols any meaning?" Leliana asked.

"Some do... some symbols are sacred to the Crows. I am not permitted to tell you what they mean." He shrugged almost apologetically. "Mine, however, are more to accentuate the lines of the body... its curves and musculature. But they are in the places you have not yet seen, hidden by clothing and armor, as they now are." Smirking, he waggled his eyebrows, his voice a single purr. "I can show you _where _they are, if you wish."

Confused, Leliana jerked back, blinking as if awakening from a spell. "Err, thanks, I admit they have a certain appeal, but no. No."

Zevran leaned back as well, pleased to have a reaction elicited out of her that contradicted her words. "Have it your way, then. Should you ever change your mind..."

Leliana took a deep breath. "You will be the first to know, don't you worry."

"Anyway." Zevran turned back to Lenya, who fiddled, bored, with the handle with her empty tankard. "All this talking about me, how boring. I'm more interested in the meaning of _your _intriguing tattoo, my dear Warden. Is there one?"

At this question, Lenya's head shot up and she stared at him as if he had gone mad. She took a sharp intake of air, and her eyes narrowed almost in an instant. "None of your business," she snapped and darted from her seat to storm off.

Zevran watched her as she left, one eyebrow raised. "Ah, so this is a touchy topic for a Dalish? Good to know." Shrugging, he turned back to Leliana and smiled. "I guess we won't venture into the Deep Roads today anymore, no?" He leaned in to her. "Now, it is such a lovely evening, nonetheless. Let's have another drink, no?"

Leliana's only reaction was to sigh in resignation. "Fine. Just one more."

.

.

* * *

.

Shale glowered at the Dalish as Lenya entered the Warden quarters. "So, the painted Warden has returned? Has it indulged enough in this useless eating and drinking?"

Lenya chose to ignore her caustic comment. "We will leave for the Deep Roads tomorrow, after I have slept and restocked our supplies." She stretched herself, feeling the exhaustion in every fiber of her body. She gave the golem a pointed look. "I hope you really know _where_ we need to go to reach the Cadash thaig. I don't like the thought of stumbling blindly through this shit-hole. At all."

"Of course I know that," Shale said quickly, and then shifted from one foot to the other, the stone creaking with the motion. "I guess."

"Brilliant." Groaning, Lenya turned toward the room she had occupied the last time she had been here. The need for rest was too urgent now that for her to bother working up the energy to argue with the golem.

She already knew she wouldn't find much rest this night. Here, deep under the earth where the dark pull of the taint was so concentrated, with the prospect of entering the Deep Roads once more as soon she had awakened. Lenya shuddered despite the heat of the various lava hearths that covered the halls in a red, glowing, warm light. Still, the mansion felt empty, devoid of any life and simply too big for just one single Warden. Her thoughts wandered off to Alistair, almost naturally, and yet unwanted.

For Lenya, he _was _the personification of the Grey Warden, the only other existing link to this new identity and life. She could barely imagine how these halls had looked like in better days, bustling and full of people, _other_ Wardens. It was an abstract thought in of itself, because ever since the fall of Ostagar, it had been only her... and Alistair.

_Kin..._

The thought flashed again in her mind, though this time she didn't shove it aside, but instead, considered it. It seemed less bizarre than before, more acceptable in all its contrariness, even if it went against all she had learned.

Both thoughts and motion stumbled into a stop when she saw the giant figure standing across the room, _her_ room.

Sten.

He surveyed the grand portrait on the wall, unmoving as ever, fully concentrated on his task of _staring._

When Lenya came closer, he still didn't move, and appeared rigid like a statue within the glowing light of the lava hearth. Even more was she startled when the Qunari suddenly started to speak.

"In Seheron, we have heard much of the Grey Wardens. The old stories of their flawless strategy and prowess. Their sense of duty, order, discipline." His head inclined only slightly to her, his eyes not leaving the picture before him. "You are nothing like them."

She cocked an eyebrow, advancing closer to him still until she stood right beside him. "Thanks, I guess."

"_Parshaara_, you don't make any sense. You are a woman, yet you fight. You speak of strategy, yet you ran _in front __of_ an ogre." He let out a disapproving grunt. "You are an infuriating little person."

Lenya couldn't help but grin. "I get that a lot, Sten."

"Unsurprisingly."

"And?" She craned her neck, looking up at him. "Did you find your sword in that _shemlen_ village?"

"No." Sten paused a moment, a corner of his mouth slightly raised. "I have business here."

She smiled. "I'm glad you are back."

The Qunari snorted, but didn't answer; instead, his eyes flung back to stare at the painting. With the stillness stretching, Lenya had no choice but to do the same. She noticed that the painting was some kind of battlefield, a heroic picture of slain darkspawn, of victorious Grey Wardens in a sea of fire and blood.

She frowned. "Why are they... sitting on... birds?"

"Griffons."

"Okay, _abelas_. Why are they sitting on_ griffons?_"

Sten let out a snort, head shaking. "You claim to be a Grey Warden, yet I know more about their history than you."

"Well," Lenya said, drawing the word out, and then shrugged. "All my knowledge about the Grey Wardens, I have from Alistair."

"That explains it."

She laughed. "Don't be so hard on him." Lenya hesitated a moment. "He... has helped me a lot."

"And you have grown soft."

It was just a statement, bare and without emotion, as usual of Sten. Still, it reminded her of the last time she had been here in this room, bitter and resentful of her fate as a Grey Warden. She still didn't love it, but accepting what her life was now had become _easier_.

"Perhaps," she finally answered, smiling despite herself. "But that is okay." Lenya pointed at the painting, specifically at one of these majestic and giant birds, and pouted. "So why don't we have griffons? I could really use one, you know."

"I'm not here to teach you, elf." He glowered down at her. "Learn about your history _yourself."_

"Right." She sighed. "Still, you like this painting, huh?"

Sten shifted on his foot, the armor clanking with the motion. "It is not… bad. The artist managed to catch the chaos of battlefield. The use of dominating colors red and yellow composed to contrast the blue and black is... decent."

She gawked at him, completely taken aback by such an extended answer. It was surprising.

"To skillfully handle a brush is the same art as to wield a sword properly. It deserves respect," he said with a nod when he saw her expression.

"I see." She looked at the painting again, letting a moment pass before she spoke again. "You know, I used to draw when... when I was still with my clan. I liked to sit down away from camp, amidst the trees and simply capture what saw. It always helped me to calm down... when, well, _everything_ was too much." She smiled, unsure. "Stupid, isn't it?"

"Elves create art?"

Lenya was amused rather than angry at the unusual bewilderment in his voice. "Yes. My people are quite skilled in forging weapons, as well. We are the only ones capable of bending ironbark without breaking it. We have also made statues of our gods, which is—_was_—quite nice to return to after a while of wandering. It gave a sense of... _home_, I guess."

He made a noise, whether approving or not, it was hard to say—as it always was with this stoic Qunari. Still, she liked him; his calm yet observant way made it easy to talk to for her.

"Why did you stop?" he asked.

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Drawing."

"Oh, that." Lenya fiddled with her hands. "Well, I don't know. It's not that I was good, anyway." She pointed at the picture again. "Not like _that. _I guess there was so much happening the last time that I haven't given it much thoug—"

Sten's snort interrupted her. "Petty excuses."

She shrugged with a smile. "You are right. Maybe I'd pick it up again, but I fear darkspawn gore doesn't go so well with coal on vellum." Lenya suppressed a yawn, and rubbed wearily with both of her hands on her face. "Can we talk tomorrow, Sten? I'm tired. I haven't rested since the ambush."

Sten nodded, but made no sign to leave. "Then we return to the Deep Roads?"

"Yes." She bit her lip. "Unfortunately."

"This doesn't make sense." The Qunari shook his head, growling under his breath. "Why return to where we just have been?"

"I gave Shale my word. I can't break it."

He watched her a moment longer, in his face a flicker of comprehension. "That, I understand." With that, the Qunari left her behind, vanishing within the dim light of the long halls outside her room.

Lenya closed the door and sighed. She was barely able to peel herself out of her armor, before falling tiredly on the bed. Pressing herself deeper into the soft mattress, she feared the dreams that would follow, the painful memories bound to this place.

Fortunately, the lure of sleep and her exhaustion was so strong that she hadn't really time to dwell on those dark thoughts.

.

.


	57. Interlude II: Thorns

_**A/N:** Just a short chapter to set things up, so please bear with me. Anyway, it might seem that Alistair is in love with a certain Dalish for ages now, due to chapter released in the meanwhile, but in my story there have only 2-3 weeks (at most) passed. So 'tis a sensible amount of time to sort his feelings out, methinks. Thanks for reading and feedback. I'm humbled that there are still people starting to read this monster-sized story._

_Thanks once more to Mackillian, the best grammar fairy ever. _

* * *

._  
_

**Interlude II: Thorns**

.**  
**

Silken sheet. Warm. Covered. Comfortable.

Her consciousness returned in layers, called out from a deep slumber, back to reality.

That was when she noticed a nasty, pulsating headache. The taste inside of her mouth wasn't any better.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking at the incessant glowing light in this room.

That was when she noticed that something was _amiss_.

The first thing was the scent—a distinct, sticky sweet mixture of ale and fresh sweat. The second was warmth, which radiated from right beside her and originated from neither the hearth nor the sheets, but from another _body._

Hurting head or not, at this point, Leliana forgot all caution and sat up with a gasp. Feeling dizzy at the sudden motion, her head whirled and her pulse pounded in her ears as she dared to look beside her.

She regretted it instantly.

He was lying flat on his stomach, the sheets only covering half his lean, muscular shape and the tanned skin was enveloped in the soft, glowing lava light. The blond strands of his hair were mussed, so that one pointed ear lay bare. He still slept, which probably was the only good thing to do with this complete and utter picture of a mess before her eyes.

Turning her head, she saw the tangle of clothes and armor littering the stone floor, which showed an all too clear picture of the events last night. Leliana's mind raced and she tried desperately to remember how _that_ could ever happen.

_How? Why?_

Those two simple questions lingered in her head beneath the alcohol-induced pain. After all, she was not that kind of woman, not anymore after having left _this_ live long behind her. She shook herself, wincing lightly at the motion. She had drunk much, _too_ much.

Fragments of pictures from last night after Lenya left resurfaced in her mind: ale, laughter and lightly teasing, flirting perhaps. Still... _how_ could the harmless evening end up in _this?_ Yes, Zevran _was_ attractive in his own right, and certainly charming. On the other hand, she barely knew him and was mostly annoyed by his endless innuendos. So, why?

Leliana had no time to dwell on these thoughts as she felt Zevran stirring. He was waking up. Panicking, she blindly grabbed a pile of clothes from the ground and stormed out of the door, naked as she was.

.

~V~

.

Lenya was pleased.

She had surprisingly found an elven-sized leather armor set in the Warden's storage that even fitted as if it was made for her. Two new blades, a longsword and a dagger, rounded out her new appearance. The griffon on her chest easily gave away to everyone that she _was_ a Grey Warden, but it didn't bother her. In fact, she quite liked it.

What she didn't like was the prospect of the Deep Roads ahead, and the dreams in the night mixed from memories and new dark pictures from this place had dwindled that urge even more. Her utter dislike notwithstanding, everything for the venture to the Cadesh Thaig was prepared. All that was missing were Zevran and Leliana and she had no idea where they were, nor the desire to search for them.

As Lenya turned around the corner to her room, she found at least the human and subsequently wished she hadn't. Upon seeing the Dalish, Leliana stumbled into a stop, staring wide-eyed at her like a sick, incurable halla waiting for the death sentence.

_Naked._

"L-lenya?" she said, her face blossoming in all shades of pink. Oddly enough, she held a random pile of clothes and armor in her arms, without any visible pattern to what she needed to dress herself. "I was about to—"

"I don't want to know," Lenya said. She was about to leave her behind and file her behavior under general human craziness, when Zevran appeared out of the sameroom as Leliana had come from and smiled at an obviously embarrassed Leliana.

"Ah, this is normally _not_ the reaction I experience the next morning. You are full of surprises, my dear."

And why, by all the Creators above, _why_ was he _naked_ doing so?

"Ugh. Ugh._ Ugh_." Lenya was positively sure that she never ever had used this word so much in her life before now. Utterly bewildered and disgusted by the sight, she whirled around to face the much more interesting wall, and managed to say, "Get dressed!"

Now, she _really_ didn't want to know.

"Ah, my dear Warden, you are scandalized by the very sight of me? How unexpected, I thought the Dalish would be more open to the natural look of a body." He _tsked_. "We are all born naked, after all."

She huffed. "And yet you don't see running around naked like a _freak_."

"Alas, no." Zevran laughed and sighed wistfully. "But I do respect your wishes, Warden. If Leliana gives me my smallclothes back, that's it." She heard the muttering of the human, followed by the sound of a slap and the bang of a door.

"Deep Roads. In ten minutes," Lenya shouted after them and stormed off to her room to get the needed supplies.

In comparison to the events just now, the thought of venturing there had lost its horror.

.

.

* * *

.

Waking up in her tent was strange, even more so _within_ her bedroll.

The smell of herbs given to Alistair were overbearing within the tent, yet underneath there was always a faint lingering scent that was so distinguishably _her._ With all of her belongings and _that_ scent surrounding him, he couldn't help but to feel like an intruder in an area where he did not belong. So he got up and sat amidst their half-destroyed camp, staring at the very rose that had even withstood an ambush of a full darkspawn raiding party.

It had fallen out of his backpack when he'd vainly searched for something edible within. Maker knew, he was _hungry,_ and his mended bones still hurt badly, but watching the flower somehow had a soothing, distracting effect on his mind.

Its deep-red petals were slightly pressed flat from being in his pack for so long, but aside from that, it was as beautiful as ever—as if there hadn't been various darkspawn trampling down his tent, nor a massive fight last night. The rose seemed to ignore all obstacles, all difficulties, where normal flowers would have withered long ago and was still blooming proudly, almost defiant.

_Sturdy little thing._

Alistair smiled.

In more way than one, this flower reminded him of Lenya. She was with certainty no gentle flower, but a proud, stubborn creature of nature covering herself with thorns, defying all circumstances.

Just like a rose.

Trying to reach out to it might hurt; one could get stung or even bleed at those thorns the rose was protecting herself with. But it was only possible to appreciate its beauty and grace if one wouldn't give up after the first sting of the thorns.

It took him a long time, but now he was able to see exactly this beauty of her in all perfect clarity. And he wouldn't want to have it any other way, didn't want to go back to the time where his hands were covered with wounds from desperately trying to reach out to her. From getting stung over and over again with her thorns, because she hadn't trusted him enough to let him see her real beauty that lay beneath her protection. Others could continue to get stung for all he cared, but he did not want the same fate for himself, not where he had managed to see there was more, so much _more_.

Through her previously pale facade was now a rich depth of color shining through, one that she had _let_ him see. He had discovered similarities he had thought _impossible_ before and there was _care_ where he would have surmised contempt.

She was a rare and wonderful thing amidst all this darkness.

Just like this rose.

With passing each day, the part of him who wanted her to know all that, to make her see how beautiful she was, was becoming bigger and louder, unwilling to back down again like before. Especially now, after the sudden attack that nearly cost him his life, if it hadn't been for Lenya herself, his inner voice had never been louder and more clear. He didn't want to perish without the barest attempt of letting her know. Maybe not everything, and at the same time, _something_.

It was a horrifying and outright scary epiphany, and yet a very liberating one. He smiled anew while still observing the rose, watching how the light of descending dusk glimmered with its rich myriad of colors in its petals.

"That is a beautiful rose."

Alistair jolted up at the sudden voice behind him and cringed in pain at the motion.

"Oh, did I startle you?" Wynne laughed, all too gleeful. "I would normally apologize for that, but you shouldn't be up at all. So I guess it is the fitting punishment for the utter disregard of your health."

"Sorry," Alistair muttered under his breath, looking at her in the most innocent way possible. "I... couldn't sleep anymore?"

The mage was barely able to suppress her sigh. "Nonetheless, this doesn't mean you have to _get up_. I can only do so much, but you also must give your body the chance to regenerate itself, or my effort was all wasted." She shook her head, disapproving. "Typical youth, always so _impatient_. Very well, young man, off with the tunic."

His eyelids fluttered. "W-what?"

"Since you are up now, we might as well change the bandages on your shoulder." Another disapproving motion of her head, this time accompanied by a sigh." Maker's breath, just the how many injuries is that now?"

Alistair first attempted to count, but quickly gave up. "Err... I don't know?" He heaved one shoulder at her frown. "We are not exactly traveling in the lap of luxury here. Darkspawn, bandits, assassins, abominations, and about a dozen other creatures all have a problem with me being alive, but I have a problem with _dying_, so I make sure they die _first_. And since we are all using these funny stabby sticks, things are bound to get... ugly."

Wynne didn't answer verbally, but he could swear he could _hear_ the wagging of a scolding finger behind him.

He carefully placed the rose beside him on the log and got rid of the warm tunic with deliberately slow motions. Despite his caution, it still hurt. Wynne was right; he was all but fit, and yet he couldn't stay in _her_ tent. It felt odd and unusual to be left behind, to be separated from his fellow Warden. He not only missed Lenya, but also the resonating, calming hum of taint when she was close.

His eyes darted to the other side of camp, the bushes surrounding the supposed entrance were trampled down by the darkspawn and withered by their taint. He sighed, shoving the thought aside what would have happened if Wynne weren't there to mend broken bones. Or if he hadn't the support of his companions in battle.

Thinking it over more closely, it seemed almost disrespectful to the task, that he was sitting here and contemplating over something so trivial like giving a rose to the woman he liked—_loved—_instead. And still, Alistair wanted to believe that there was something more than just fighting, death, and tragedy in this world. There _had_ to be.

The rose, as small and insignificant it however was, was proof to this.

"She will be okay."

Once more, he startled at Wynne's voice, and hadn't even noticed her leaving. He felt the slight chill of the evening breeze on his bare skin. There was the heat of the campfire, but it wasn't enough to sustain the warmth.

"I know. I'm just... worried." Alistair fell silent after that, caught in thoughts of Lenya being in the Deep Roads without him, knowing well how _much_ she despised this place. Wynne's quiet humming and Oghren's snoring across the bonfire were the only sounds for a while before he raised his voice again.

"Wynne?"

The humming stopped, but not the wrapping of bandages, done with the practiced routine of many years as a healer. "Yes, Alistair?"

"You are a woman, right?"

She chuckled. "Last time I checked I was, yes. Is this going somewhere, or why do you ask?"

He bit his lip, feeling so very _stupid_ for asking. "Soooo, what would you do if someone told you that they loved you?"

Alistair practically _heard_ her smirk. _Evil mage._ "I'm flattered, young man, but I fear you are a bit too young for me."

"Ahhh, no. That's... not what I meant. Just... pretend you're _another_ woman. And someone told you that they loved you. How would you react?"

Her hands briefly stopped the wrapping, only to pick it up again after a moment. "So that is what this staring at the rose is about? It is a beautiful thought, Alistair. You need to wait for the right moment to get her alone in camp, I suppose."

He felt the heat rising in his cheeks. Supposedly, he hadn't been as subtle as thought and slowly asked himself if he ever _were_. "I... uhh. No, I didn't..." He stopped with a sigh, feeling that objecting to the obvious would only make it even _more_ apparent.

"Certainly." There was this amused chuckle again, the one that made him want to recoil in horror and hide until it was over. "There," she patted him lightly on the back, "I'm done. I applied some of my salve on the cuts, as well, so that there won't be any scars left. You already have enough of them as it is, hmm?"

"T-thanks." Alistair paused to pull the tunic over his head again, the woolen fabric rough against scraped skin. "I don't know... if she will like it."

Wynne smiled in earnest. "Ah, young love. Warms the heart."

"Right. I really don't know if... " He sighed, feeling the blush intensifying. "I mean do Dalish even _like_ flowers as a gift? Maybe I'll end up insulting her with it and she will stab me in the face. She can be quite scary, you know?"

"I'm sure if the gesture is heartfelt then she will understand, Dalish or not. While bold, she is an intelligent, young lady. Though, you know her better than me, Alistair."

"Oh, yes. _That_ helps. Really. "

Wynne smoothed the creases out of her robe and turned around to go. "Well. You can also spend a lifetime wondering, if you like that better."

Alistair's gaze fell on the rose beside him and he picked it up to look at it again.

No, he didn't want that. Not anymore.

.

.

* * *

.

"I can't believe it. I once was a dwarf..."

Lenya heard Shale's muttering behind her as they made their first steps out of the entrance of the Deep Roads to leave them behind a second time. The elf hoped it was the last time she'd _ever_ see this dreaded place, but she was also aware that it wasn't _that_ simple for a Grey Warden.

"_Elger'nan_..." she breathed, blinking in the light of Orzammar's lava vent; it was _blinding_ in comparison to the all-encompassing darkness before. She had no idea how long their journey had taken, or how deep down Shale had led them. Time had quickly lost all relevance in between the monotonous rhythm of marching and fighting within the dark tunnels and corrupted hallways.

Lenya wiped her face with the back of her gauntlet, her skin sticky and itching with their black, stinking ichor. She hated how her head was still throbbing at the taint's constant pull in her blood, which was only slowly abating with every step she took away from this place.

At least they had found what they had been searching for, and surprisingly quickly, as well. The Cadash thaig had been relatively close to Orzammar's entrance, its ruins only about a day's march away, possibly two. Amidst the fallen debris, they had found a grand dwarven figure, serving as some sort of a shrine. There, inscribed on a plate of stone, were all the names of the _durgen'len_ who had voluntary become golems to fight against the hordes of darkspawn.

Shale's name was one of them, thousands of years ago.

She now had proof of her past, knew who she had been before. Not that Lenya wasn't happy for the golem, but she wanted nothing more than to get out of her bloodied, smelly armor and take a bath. So she accelerated her pace, passed the Captain of the Guard without giving him as much as a glance, and quickly geared toward the gates to the Diamond Quarter.

"Ah, well, I see you didn't understate the dreadfulness of this place, my dear Warden. Even with two such wonderful ladies at my side, the Deep Roads were no fun," Zevran said with the faintest hint of a pout, blowing a strand of disheveled, ichor-smeared hair out of his face. And yet, he looked not as filthy as the others and more pristine, almost as if he dodged all the blood and gore flying his way quick enough. He turned to Shale with a grin. "Ah, excuse my impoliteness. I meant _three_ wonderful ladies, of course."

Shale only glowered at the elf and stomped off, with Leliana doing the same. Lenya looked after the odd duo, raising an eyebrow at their strange behavior happening in synch.

The bard hadn't talked much at all since the incident in the Warden quarter, aside from a few occasional glares in Zevran's direction. Down in the Deep Roads, she had even avoided getting too close to Zevran or the Dalish and had preferred the silent company of Sten and Shale.

Lenya's gaze fell, questioning, on Zevran. Even if she didn't want to know in detail what caused the human's shift in behavior all the sudden, it was still obvious to her that _he_ was the one to blame. The other elf noticed her stare and intention. He sighed. "So you want me to talk to our lovely bard, I take it?"

"Apparently, you are the one to blame."

"Ah, such harsh words for a night of consented pleasure, my dear Warden." He bowed lightly down to her, a gesture more mocking than polite." But if you wish, then I might do this, oh fearless leader." He chuckled and quickened his pace to reach Leliana.

Sten frowned as his eyes followed the elf to the heavy iron doors leading outside of Orzammar. "Why are we still here?" Lenya wasn't sure if the Qunari actually meant standing amidst the commons, or Orzammar as a whole.

"I need a bath and the rest of the supplies. Then we return to camp, Sten."

Which was a thought Lenya was dreading and looking forward at the same time. She was exhausted from the long march and fighting in the bleak environment, but fought against the need to lie down to rest. It was a luxury she couldn't afford, not while the rest of her companions in camp were freezing and starving without sufficient supplies and gear.

She frowned. Since when had she gotten so worried about the well-being of her group? It never occurred to her before to neglect her own needs to benefit the others, not since she had left her clan and old life behind.

And there was also Alistair, whom she had declared her friend just before leaving. Now she didn't know how to face or to react to him.

This uncertainty was new, as well.

Before it, there had been always comfortable layers of hostility to hide behind for her, being the human that he was. To face him with an open mind, as a _friend_, would be... _odd_, now were the fellowship was slanted, mixed anew. Complicated, even. A part of her was afraid to lay more of herself bare, whereas the other part was longing for a person she could trust without hesitation and second thoughts. This probably was what she missed most of her clan, of Tamlen—

With a sigh, Lenya shoved the confusing thoughts aside, focused solely on getting some rest and a bath to be able to move on later. Everything else could wait. For now.

.

.

* * *

.

Zevran found Leliana outside, sitting amidst new fallen, soft snow on the ground of Orzammar's stairs. The light was colored by the complex tapestry of dusk, and a red hue enveloped her human frame.

"Sulking outside with fresh air is more nice, I take it?" He laughed, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Nice to travel with the Grey Wardens, no? The guards are more generous when it comes to opening the gates. Ah, marvelous."

Leliana didn't react at first, so he moved closer, sighing. The red of her hair was nearly completely covered with the sticky black ichor, but she didn't seem to care. She picked up a bit of the snow from the ground and pressed it together with a crunching sound.

"I'm not that kind of woman. Not anymore."

"Ah, so this is your problem? I suspected it, because all the glaring gave it away, my dear." Zevran hunkered down next to her, and all mocking faded from his tone. "Then let me assure you that nothing happened that you did not agree to. I would never force someone into anything, for this is against my own personal rules and honor. Ah, you might argue now that I don't have such a thing as an assassin, but this is not true. We are not so different, my dear, and especially that night, we weren't."

She whirled around with a glare as if wanting to yell at him, but remained silent. She watched him for a long moment and frowned. "I barely know you, " Leliana finally said, voice tiny. "I normally don't do that, not with someone I don't love." And then, even more quietly, she added, "Not anymore."

"So we are married now?" He _tsked_, shaking his head in amusement. "Leliana, we had a pleasurable night, unfortunately due to too much alcohol. I would have preferred it another way, but don't let us make more out of it than it was."

She tensed at those words, and for more than one moment, it looked as if she wanted to object.

Zevran sighed at her reaction and felt the need to elaborate. "I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give."

Leliana huffed and sprang back to her feet. She faced him, eyes narrowed. "Good. Then we will never speak of this again. This was a mistake, caused by an alcohol-addled mind."

He shrugged. "As you wish, my dear."

Leliana passed him by, but stopped once more, without turning around. "We are not the same, Zevran. We _never_ will be." With that, she hastened through the still-open gates of Orzammar, leaving him no chance to answer.

The elf did not do more than to smirk at her retreating back and followed her at a safer distance. "So you say, my dear. So you say."

He wasn't fully convinced.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N:** Btw, if you should wonder how Lenya looks like, I have posted a link on my profile page to a bunch of pics of her._


	58. Reunion

_**A/N: **__Beginning and part of a longer arc of side and personal quests, as well moments in between. (Long) Review responses at the end of this loooong chap, as always. Enjoy._

_Special shout-out goes beside beta-awesome **Mackillian** to **Natzo**, who drew a stunning picture of Lenya/Alistair. To see here: **i(dot)imgur(dot)(com)/y4cGy(dot)jpg** (remove/replace the spaces/brackets/words/whatever, you know the drill) Mind. Is. Blown. Thank you so much. Wow. Just wow. *squee*  
_

* * *

_**~*I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way than this […] ~***_

_~ Pablo Neruda_

* * *

._  
_

**Chapter 55: Reunion**

.

Denerim.

Eamon always came here in winter. For politics, the Landsmeet. Things Alistair didn't understand. He had been just excited that he, for the first time in his life, was allowed to accompany his foster father to see Ferelden's capital.

He had heard stories from the other stable boys before their departure, of course. Fables of a marketplace as huge as Redcliffe itself, of candied apples, and rats as big as Mabari hounds. Alistair hadn't seen a Denerim rat just yet, but the buildings, trees, and streets were bigger and wider than anything he had seen before. It only made sense to him that everything had to be huge because the palace with the king was also in this city. The gray stone castle rose high into the air and was visible from far away, even from his seat in the cart when they arrived.

Alistair wondered if the king ever would get lost in his grand castle with all these rooms, but Eamon had him forbidden to come with him there, like so much else. There were many rooms in Eamon's estate—not as many as in the palace—but for Alistair, there were still none free. Isolde's face had instantly changed color and she had begun to sputter foreign words in her high screeching voice when she saw how he ran through all the rooms with his muddy boots. That was the point where Alistair knew he was in trouble. And yet, he couldn't understand why it had been wrong to be excited. It was the first time he ever had left Redcliffe, after all. Eamon had scolded him for his mistake and now he wasn't allowed to go inside anymore.

Alistair tried to distract himself from the fact that it started to grow dark and thought about how great it would be to be king. Then he would have people doing all the work for him and everyone had to be nice to him. He could order all food he ever wanted, even the biggest cheese or cake and no one would _dare_ to tell him to stop eating.

The growling of his stomach interrupted his thoughts and he pressed himself more into the corner of the kennel. He had found out that the cold wind couldn't reach him there. He looked down at the golem doll—_figurine_—Eamon had given him earlier and wished it were something to eat. He hadn't eaten much today, had mostly forgotten it while running excited through the large streets, trying to see all at once. Alistair had enjoyed this freedom. No one told him what to do and no stupid Isolde or Eamon scolded him for trivial things. For a few hours, he could pretend to be king and the many figures he built of snow were his faithful subjects.

It had ceased to be fun when the sun was slowly going down and the place shrouded itself in scary shadows. Eamon had no stable of his own here in Denerim, but a Mabari kennel in the courtyard of his mansion. So Alistair thought it would be a good idea to go there, for at least he wouldn't be alone in the night.

Alistair shuddered and one of the big Mabari there whined and inched closer to him. He touched its black, thick fur, buried his hands into it to feel the warmth, stroking it. The hound moved closer still, its body warm and solid against his. It licked over his face to give solace in its canine way.

Alistair decided he liked dogs.

There was peace here, among the Mabari. None of them scolded him or cared if he was not a noble, but a mere bastard. They liked him how he was, unconditionally. They were better than all stupid Eamon and Isolde's and people, who looked at him with disdain and would never accept him for what he was. Embracing the hound, he felt tears forming on his eyes, even though he had sworn he would not cry.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair woke with a start, blinking in the need to be able to discern dream from reality.

_Tent. Day. Blight. Darkspawn. Grey Warden. Not a boy._

Amidst the confusion and the feeling of dread the memories had conjured, he heard Arai's agitated barking. Still sitting on the bedroll, he inhaled the clear and cold air deeply, feeling the slight pulsing of taint as he breathed out. It became stronger and more palpable within mere seconds, the thrumming of his blood accentuated to the speed of his heartbeat. It was the good kind of taint; a resounding rhythm that got answered by another person, a Warden.

_Her_.

"Lenya!" Alistair smiled despite himself, the ghastly images of his dream already forgotten.

She was back and that was all that counted for him now.

He got up in a hurried rush, the cold making him aware of the need to put his boots on before stumbling out in the snow. His tunic still in hands, he blinked at the blinding reflection of the sunlight within the glistening snow. Alistair hadn't realized before how much of it had fallen while he slept. The numerous flakes had created a white, soft blanket of snow, which covered the whole ground and the treetops above.

He spotted her form in the distance, where she was at the far rear of the group. His companions were passing him by with a greeting or a simple nod and either gathered around the campfire to warm themselves or disappeared into their tents. Leliana's amused giggle reminded him to finally put the woolen tunic over his head, his skin already reddened by the biting cold.

_Right, calm down, would you?_

He sighed mentally at his irrational rush and need to see her, to ensure that she was well and unhurt. She had been away just a few days, but to Alistair, it felt like weeks—simply too long.

Alistair could see that he wasn't the only one glad about her return. Arai bounced and woofed around his mistress in a frantic pace, his behavior resembling more a lap dog than a war hound. His nubby tail was wagging so hard that his whole hindquarters were shaking. It was a comical sight, even from a distance. Lenya was obviously trying not to get buried under the dog's massive weight, as the animal repeatedly jumped up to her in his joy. Despite the odd looking back and forth to balance her stance, she was laughing, a detached, happy sound that was strange and beautiful at the same time. He rarely had heard her laughing like this before and he _liked_ it. His feet accelerated their speed, almost as if drawn by the sound, her frame becoming more visible with each step.

That was when he noticed her new armor and stumbled into a stop, staring.

It wasn't that Alistair hadn't seen her in armor a hundred times before, quite the opposite. Maker, he had even seen her show far more skin in her initial Dalish armor, but at that time he wondered more how incredibly stupid it was to fight with an exposed midriff than anything else. That kind of armor had been long gone, replaced by one that showed far less and protected her more. Still, it never occurred to Alistair before how very _attractive_ he would find her wearing it; the new set of armor put everything in a new light.

Suddenly, the cold wasn't palpable at all for him, turning into just a distant note in his mind as a strange heat seared through his body. And Maker's ass, he couldn't stop staring at what was a white griffon on her chest, etched into exquisite grey leather that clad her lithe, yet undeniably feminine form. Still occupied with calming down her Mabari, Lenya bowed down to him, putting her arm around the dog's neck, rubbing under his jaw comfortingly.

The motion made Alistair acutely aware that it wasn't the griffon he was looking at, but the way it was visibly rounded out in the chest area. Oh, Maker, she would behead him without a single doubt when she noticed where his eyes lingered, or a guessed at fraction of his thoughts. He had never felt more like a lovesick, ogling teenager than in this moment, even when he _was_ one _himself_. And what excuse had he now, being a full-grown man? Startled by this realization, his treacherous eyes finally dropped from _there_, only to stop again at her long, slim leg wrapped in thick leather leggings. She had propped it before her while hugging the Mabari, still not regarding her fellow Warden.

_Maker..._

He felt like hitting himself to snap out of this delirious, mindless state of staring at her and actually say something. Or even better than that, throw himself into the snow to calm down again, just _anything_ that would make him stop gaping and keep his head from exploding.

"So It still lives. Curious." Shale was staring at _him_ now, the golem packed with various supplies and gear that she carried with ease. "But why it is so red in Its squishy face? It isn't getting sick, is It?" She scoffed, turning to Lenya. "I might carry your useless stuff for now, but I will not carry the stupid clown knight around if It collapses _again_! Bah, humans."

Still cursing, the golem went on to the distant center of the camp, and behind her followed more than a handful dwarven men, all heavily loaded with packs on their back.

Lenya looked up at Alistair and his mind was too horrified by _that_ to wonder what the dwarves were actually doing here. A frown creased her face. "Are you not feeling well? Have you a fever?"

"I-I... hi!" he managed to say somehow, feeling incredibly awkward and tongue-tied at the same time.

_Oh, wonderful. I have the _idiot_ fever, apparently._

To dig himself a hole into the snow and not come out of it until it had melted around him, suddenly seemed like a very appealing option.

She tilted her head, one eyebrow raised in a dubious fashion. _"Aneth ara, lethallin._" For some unknown reason, Arai started to growl at him at that, but Alistair was too occupied with staring at her, thankfully into her face this time. Which was a start, after all.

The lifted eyebrow was then accompanied by the corner of her mouth, and her eyes glinting mischievously. "Or you just need a bit of refreshing, perhaps?" Before he could even react, she already had bowed down and shoved the handful of snow in her hands right into his face.

Alistair wasn't sure what his expression at her sudden assault of snow was, but it was surely no intelligent one. For she doubled up laughing, as he tried to clean his face from the all the snow, obviously amused by her action and his reaction.

_Cruel, cruel woman._

He heard her stifling another fit of laughter exactly long enough to get an, "It is good to be back, puppy," out. Head shaking in amusement, Lenya walked toward their camp, still snorting.

Arai huffed and passed Alistair by with what seemed to be a big doggy grin, as Alistair continued to sputter snow. If he ever doubted that Mabari were capable of glee, that hound had proven him wrong now.

At least he wasn't feeling warm anymore. At all.

.

~V~

.

Alistair arrived in the center of camp just in time to see Lenya hugging Oghren.

_Oghren_, of all people. Life wasn't fair.

The dwarf, however, was apparently feeling pretty smug about it. "Heh, Missy. Thought you would like that. I'd have never thought that this nug-licker of a noble would keep her promise, though. Guess that earns me a drink or two on your costs, eh?"

As if her demeanor wasn't already baffling enough, Lenya started to actually smile at the dwarf. _Smiling_. "Of course." The smile faded and she wrinkled her nose as she backed away from him again. "You still reek worse than any puddle in the Deep Roads. Ugh." Finally, something like her known pattern of behavior. If she hadn't pressed the snow into his face before, Alistair would have believed that Lenya was ignoring him. Even now she wasn't looking at him, her gaze fixed on the dwarf instead.

"Heh, you apparently have no idea of men, Missy. This isn't a smell, this is _manly _odor. Women love it."

Alistair made a face as he sat down and started to unpack one of the packs Shale had thrown down about _everywhere_. If smelling like Oghren was equal with being manly, then he would prefer to stay an ogling adolescent all his life, thank you very much.

Oghren pointed at the others and the dwarves who were helping to unpack the much needed supplies and tents. "So what are all these sodding dwarves doing here? I always enjoyed being the only dwarf around, y'know." He chortled. "Makes me feel _special_."

Lenya shrugged. "These are Bhelen's men. He thought he hasn't thanked me enough for making him king and that we needed added supplies for this important mission. I let him think that he was right." She looked over to the dwarves scurrying around the camp, repairing or replacing gear with nimble hands. "They've done a good job without falling into the sky so far."

Oghren looked up to the clear blue sky and groaned. "Ugh. Thanks for reminding me of what I was trying to forget, Missy. I don't like looking up and seeing a great infinite nothing. Your sky still makes me sick. I better go and see that these stone forsaken fools don't mess up when erecting my new tent." He paused to snort. "_Erect_, get it? Hehehe."

Alistair watched after the dwarf with an arched eyebrow. "He never gets tired of these stupid and childish jokes, does he?"

"Just like you, I suppose." _Ouch. _He must have unconsciously flinched a bit at that, for she made an apologetic expression. "_Abelas_, I'm a bit on the edge after days and days of Zevran's endless innuendos." The smile returned to her face. "Yours are just stupid."

"You are too kind, really." It came out more snarky than intended, so Alistair hurried to add, "Anyway, did anything happened there? Are you okay?" He knew too well how much she disliked being in Orzammar.

"Yes." She sighed, watching the apple in her hand with a frown. "We went to the Deep Roads, I killed many darkspawn in that shit-hole, surprisingly easy as pie. We found proof that Shale is—_was_—indeed once a dwarven woman. Sten's sword is in some shemlen village." Lenya paused a moment to think. "Oh... and Zevran and Leliana apparently have something going on, which I prefer to not know any more of. Ugh." With a disgusted expression, she bit into her apple, nearly wolfing it down like Arai did with the rabbit at her feet.

Alistair needed a second or two to process the information given to him. As it had sunken in, his eyes widened. "Zevran? Leliana? You are having me on, right? _Right_?" He mentally cringed at the hopeful nuance in his voice. Why did he even care?

Lenya shrugged. "I might not have... " She faltered and visibly tensed at her verbal slip, sighing again. "But I'm not stupid. I know what I saw and I wish I hadn't. Ugh. Believe me, puppy."

"Wow. I mean, _really_?" He blinked and pointed toward the tents of the both companions. It just seemed so... _impossible_. "I always thought Leliana had better taste, though." Then another piece of what Lenya had said clicked into place and he felt himself starting to glow again at the mere meaning of _those_ words. Which only conjured entirely inappropriate pictures of his fellow Warden in his mind and he quickly tried to think on everything but _that_, because it wasn't right.

_Morrigan. Chant of Light. Oghren in his underpants__. Morrigan. Ugh._

Nevertheless, he wouldn't be surprised if the Maker struck down with lightning at that moment. Or Lenya would, for that matter, not with lightning, but with a sword, for sure. Alistair sighed. Maybe he simply needed to get out of the camp and back into the thick of action. For days, he had done nothing but sleep and reduced training to keep himself fit while letting his injuries heal. No wonder he was tense, brimming with energy, even. He was so used to the daily exertion—no matter if in his prior routine as a Templar initiate or their dangerous days on the road—that doing nothing made him miss that now. Badly. He made a mental note to hurl himself into hours of training before even attempting to give her the rose.

The rose.

Alistair still had no idea _how_ and _when_ to give her that, beyond that he _wanted_ to. It was a possible disaster in the making, especially with the newly discovered effect she seemed to have on him. And still, he didn't want to wait any longer to finally hand her the flower he had kept for so long.

Not now, obviously. Not where the camp was so stuffed with people running around and he felt so on the... _edge_. Lenya deserved better, which included a man _not_ drooling over her while giving her a heartfelt gift that had a deeper meaning for him. He loved her and that fact made the prospect of rejection even more frightening, unbearable, even. It was what kept him from making a move in the first place, aside from not knowing _how_ or what to say. And even now, he wasn't sure about the, well, _method_. If there were such thing at all.

"I have something for you."

Lenya apparently had no such problems. Alistair jerked from his thoughts in a rush, recognizing that she had been sitting in silence with him for a while, a book in her hands. Now she looked up from it and smiled at him, every part of her radiant to him.

"Oh... for me?" he asked in disbelief and she nodded with a hum. Putting the book carefully aside, Lenya stood up to search in the nearby supplies. Alistair's gaze fell on the book, noticing that a white griffon was embroidered on its cover.

A griffon. How ironic. He'd always liked the stories of the Grey Wardens of old, but he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to look at their symbol the same way after seeing it on Lenya's new armor. At least not when it was displayed in such a decorative and _alluring_ way on her chest, that was for sure.

_Right... Morrigan. Chant of Light. Oghren in his underpants. Morrigan._

"Here." A sword shoved into his sight interrupted his berating thoughts and he took it carefully out of her hands, noting its well-crafted, engraved sheath. He rolled his shoulders, his fingers itching with the want to free the sword from its scabbard.

"Go on," Lenya said. "I didn't have to pay for it. It is from the Warden armory."

"From the Warden armory..." He drew the weapon, his muscles flexing automatically in a well-practiced motion. Watching it, he noticed a white-blue hue around the blade itself, the material silverite, if he guessed right. Despite or due its old age, it was masterfully crafted and treated with utmost care. "I see. Thank you," he said in earnest, if a bit skeptical due to its origin.

Lenya hadn't missed the tone in his voice and rolled her eyes. "I'm a Warden fighting the Blight, so it is only my right to take whatever pointy thing I need to achieve that. Or you." She paused. "There was a fitting shield too, but it was way too heavy for me. Creators, how are you carrying that around all the time?"

He grinned, not really serious. "I'm a big guy."

"Obviously." The Dalish shook her head, if in amusement or exasperation, Alistair couldn't say. "There is another thing," she said and reached behind herself, bringing a sealed oil cloth forth and handing it to him. "Here."

Alistair gaped at her, now for an entirely different reason as he unwrapped the cloth. "Cheese?" he whispered in awe, not believing it.

Lenya chuckled at his reaction and pointed at the rounded object in his hands. "That I bought. Remember when you used your money to buy me a sword the first time around?" The smile widened to an impish grin. "Now we are even."

He felt giddy, too excited for his own good at the prospect of the taste. He hadn't had cheese in months or, rather, _ages_. "I... you bought me cheese? I mean _cheese._ Wow. I _love_ you." Alistair stopped dead in his motions and words, feeling his cheeks flaring up in an instant. Shaking the feeling off, he rushed to add, "Err... for the cheese, obviously."

To his huge relief, she hadn't noticed his slip, as she was too busy laughing. "You are an odd human, getting excited over _stupid_ cheese."

"It's not stupid!" He patted the small cheese wheel in his lap, speaking to it as if it were a beloved pet, and grinning. "Don't listen to her. You are not stupid. You are a good cheese."

He was rewarded with another chortling fit of laughter and it made him feel almost proud, having elicited it out of her. What was not to love in this woman?

"Well, what can I say?" The grin broadened, and he was feeling completely at ease with her in the moment. "I'm a simple man. I like cheese, wielding pointy sticks, and have a minor obsession with my hair. See? _Simple_." Alistair lowered his head to level with hers, to catch her eyes. "Don't say you don't have a minor obsession for a particular food after all the things I've seen you stuffing into yourself."

Lenya scowled at him, more for the good measure than being really serious. "Look who's talking. Which reminds me of a joke someone told me in Tapsters." Lenya stopped to take a sharp intake of the cold winter air and smirked. "How do you know a Grey Warden is nearby?"

"I… don't know?"

"Your larder is suddenly empty."

Alistair chuckled. "Too true. When that started with my ...well, increased appetite, I used to get up in the middle of the night and raid the castle larder. I thought I was starving and slurped every meal down as if it were my last." He grimaced." Hasn't changed much since then, I fear. Just the larders, oh, I miss them. Really."

"I was never too picky about food, even before this Grey Warden thing." Her eyes flickered past him, into the distance. "In my clan, we couldn't afford to be. We shared all the food and animals we had hunted and ate all together as well. If you didn't like what had been cooked, well, you had to hunt your own meal."

The Dalish laughed at the memory of herself storming off into the forest, due to the sticky and disgusting millet stew Ashalle once cooked. It hadn't been so long ago, but it already felt like a lifetime. She shook the wistfulness off and looked back at her fellow Warden, smiling. "I _love_ the baked round things Sten once had, by the way."

He blinked, surprised about her confession. "Cookies? You like _cookies_? Interesting."

Lenya pouted, which caused his eyes to drop to her lips, if only for a moment. "Yes. We didn't have... those. While my clan had sweet halla milk and such, we never had the sweet, brown, tasty—what is it called? _Elgar'nan_, your tongue is so confusing and cumbersome at times."

"Chocolate? Oh, this I can understand. Everyone loves chocolate. In fact, I think the few who say they don't are liars." He halted to look across the camp, grinning. "Which reminds me... I haven't seen Morrigan for a while. Maybe she had found another bitchy, giant spider and they are happily crawling up and down a wall together? Aww, lovely. I wish them all the best."

Lenya bestowed him with a dark glower, which caused him to raise his hands in defense. "Okay, I get it, I get it. Stop glaring. For some unexplainable reason, you are very fond of her. But then again, you also hugged Oghren, so I guess that doesn't say much."

"He rescued me from having doing yet another stupid errand in Orzammar."

"Still... _Oghren_? I get snow in my face as a greeting and he gets a hug?" He crossed his arms, glaring at her in mock-exasperation. "That is not fair."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "How old are you? Four? Oghren deserved the hug after bringing us fifteen gold from some noble _durgen'len_ there who got her house restored due to his help, or something."

"I'm actually twenty, I think. It's hard to keep track—" Alistair stopped as her words sank in. "Huh? Really? _Fifteen_ gold? Wow, that's... _wow_. I guess I need to hug him, too, then." His expression gave away how much the very idea alone irked him. Then the crease in his face softened again as his eyes rested at Lenya. "Anyway, thank you. I haven't said that before, so it is about time."

"Not a big deal. We could afford to buy the cheese, as I said."

He shook his head, smiling. "Not that. Given, the idea with the cheese was... _brilliant_ and I won't share it for my life. But I actually meant for saving me from becoming nothing more than a stain under the ogre's feet, or rather, a bloodied mush in its claws."

"You won't... share?" Apparently food was more important to her than his heartfelt gratitude. He didn't know whether to be amused or offended.

"Well, with _you_, perhaps." Alistair inwardly cringed at the unwanted flirtatious tone in his voice. Maker, he had never ever shared his cheese before in his life; it was the only thing he was selfish about. As a boy, he even had adamantly fought with the huge cat in the stable to keep his share of cheese when it tried to steal it. And now there was Lenya, batting her eyelashes at him once, and he was willing to present her it on a silver tray. When did it happen that she had wrapped him around her finger without even trying? He sighed inwardly at the discovery of yet another aspect of love that was completely and utterly bewildering him.

"Great," Lenya said, getting his attention back to her. She seemed more than excited at the prospect, clasping her hands together. "I have a loaf or two of fresh bread hidden in my pack." She grinned. "For the hard times. Anyway, I'm willing to share, if you are. We can put the bread on a stick together with the cheese and roast it over the fire until the cheese has molten. I'll go and get them." She almost bounced up to leave for her tent, his eyes tracing her exit.

Alistair was absolutely sure that he had never seen her so relaxed and in such good mood before, almost as if she had decided to leave her guard down around him. Maybe he was just seeing things because of how _much_ he wished it to be actually true and not some wishful thinking.

He wanted to see more of _this_ Lenya, of a woman not bitter about life, but brimming with energy, enjoying the small things. More of the woman who laughed at his stupid jokes, instead of glaring at him for it. He wanted to hear her talk and laugh, watch her smile and getting to know the little things she liked and hated. He couldn't help but to want _more _of that.

With his mistress away, Arai looked up to him and growled, as if surmising where his thoughts lingered. It was nothing like the playful growl the hound had given him in her absence before, and more like a warning.

"What? Am I stepping into your territory?"

Arai growled anew, this time low and snarling.

"This isn't a competition, you know. She is my fellow Warden and friend. She can have more than just _one_ friend." Alistair smiled, completely ignoring the hound. _Friend_. It was still somehow a strange word to use in association with Lenya, but one he used gladly. Considering how distrustful and angry she had been in the beginning, this was a huge step forward, but he couldn't help hoping that it was the beginning of something... _more_.

The Mabari huffed and turned around, offended at not being treated seriously by the human. With his paws, he started to dig up the loose snow, only to hurl it right into Alistair's face, along with the frozen dirt. The Warden sputtered and spat the pieces of mud and snow out and got up in a rush to get the damned dog. But Arai was a lot quicker, with a noise that suspiciously sounded like canine laughter, he snatched Alistair's sheathed new sword from the ground and made a beeline for the trees nearby.

"Heeeey!" Alistair was about to run after the Mabari as a squeal reached his ears, the all too well-known voice making him stop in an instant. He turned to its source, just as it the scream resounded a second time, more hysterical now.

He shook his head. Lenya and _hysterical_ were two things that were normally incomparable in his mind. Nevertheless, he hurried over to her tent and found her standing frozen in fear with the loaves of bread in her hands. The reason for her anxiety was sitting right in front of her—a black, elegant animal, which was calmly licking its paws, seemingly unperturbed by the commotion.

"C-c-c-c-cat!" She immediately ducked behind Alistair's broad shoulders upon his arrival and shoved him toward the oh-so-horrid monster. "Make it go away!" Mustering all her bravado, she peeked from behind Alistair's left side and thrust the loaf of bread at the animal, missing it by a fair inch. Instantly, she stepped behind his back again, and between her shaking, managed what he surmised being colorful curses in Elvish.

"Not the bread!" He didn't care how whiny that sounded because he had really looked forward to eating it, roasted. With cheese. Besides that, he tried his best not to laugh at the thought of Lenya—who had unflinchingly killed a giant ogre a few days ago—hiding behind his back because of a _cat_. Sighing, Alistair gave in to her relentless prodding from behind and made some half-hearted noises to scare the animal away. He noticed how the others of their group were watching him, thoroughly amused at his failure to impress even a little cat. It was as if this creature were _laughing_ at him, gleaming up at him with yellow eyes that seemed all too familiar.

He needed a moment until the haughty gaze of the cat let him find the missing connection in his mind. "Right, very funny, Morrigan. The next time, I let Arai _eat_ you!"

_If I haven't killed the dog before then, anyway._

"M-Morrigan?" came from behind him, with the next bit said all too hopefully. "It is _not_ a cat?" Lenya's hand released the fistful of fabric they had grabbed on his back, his skin all too hot where her fingers had lingered.

_Focus_...

Alistair turned around to her just as she peeked from behind his back, taking a cautious step forward.

"Not a cat. Good," Lenya said more to herself than to him and he shook himself to hinder the laughter from breaking out his throat.

"Whaaaa!" As he turned again, Morrigan stood right before him all the sudden, her eyes glowering at him in the same derisive way as the animal before. If he was honest with himself, he liked the cat _better_.

"Fool." She folded her arms, her eyes fixing on Lenya, now right beside him. "I need to talk to you."

Lenya took a deep breath, not quite relaxing her wary stance, but glaring at the witch nonetheless. "No."

"'Tis _very_ important. Come to my tent when you have finished your childish sulking."

"Huh..." Alistair said, watching her stride away in a more haughty way than all cats in Thedas ever could. "So she hasn't left after all? Too bad." He looked at Lenya and noticed that she was, in fact, sulking, and he couldn't help but grin. "You know, I promise to protect you from all the fearsome cat beasts in Ferelden, but someday, I really want to know _why_ you are so afraid of them."

Her only answer was a huff and a glower, the previous good mood obviously gone by now.

"Miss grumpy girl rears her head again, hmm? It wasn't me who scared you like that, remember?" He could feel how his opportunity to spend more time with her was slipping away, the amicable mood broken due to that damned witch.

"I guess I see you later then..."

Frustrated, Alistair turned and opted to go for a bit of training first and try to catch her later, in hopefully a better frame of mind. He would even save the cheese for then. Well, _most_ of it.

.

.

* * *

.

"You want me to kill _Asha'belannar?"_

Lenya blinked up to a frantically pacing Morrigan in front of her own separate bonfire.

It didn't surprise Morrigan that the elf was not running blindly into doing her this no small favor. In fact, she had _expected_ her to object. This was why she was the leader here and not that dim-witted twit. "I will do whatever it takes to survive, but I can't do this on my own. Mother would immediately take action if she became aware of my knowledge of her plans. So, I need your help."

The Dalish snorted. "That's some news."

"This is not the time to jest, Lenya!" Her glower was angry, frustrated. Couldn't she see how _important_ this was? "Do not think I was pleased to find out _how_ mother sustains her youth, nor that I was groomed and trained to be her next new body. I was expecting to find new spells, a way to enhance my power... not _this_."

Lenya frowned as she took a moment to take all in. "So you want your mother dead?"

Feeling uneasy at the thought, Morrigan hesitated before speaking. "Under normal circumstances, of course I would not turn against my mother so. For all that she is not the picture of maternal love, I mean her no ill will." She stopped her pacing only to give a pointed, dark look at the Dalish. "But Flemeth herself taught me long ago: once you know your enemy, strike quickly and without mercy. Were our positions reversed, she would no doubt do exactly the same."

She saw the Warden wavering, not believing her as the frown furrowed the lines of her tattoo even deeper. "You think you owe her your life? Mother is no frail old woman and especially _you_ with all the knowledge of your people should know that. She did not pluck you both from top of that tower out of charity, either." Morrigan cut herself off, huffing out a short sigh, regretting her careless words. The flurry of bothersome emotions within clouded her ability to act calm and collected as usual, and she hated herself for that.

"No?" Lenya's eyes narrowed. "What was the reason for our rescue, then? It seems you know it."

Morrigan glowered at her, annoyed at her sharp perception. Of course Lenya had to pick up at that, instead of simply moving on to agreeing. As much as the witch valued her company, she was as much unnerved by her absolute stubbornness in equal parts. It was maddening. "Flemeth is a powerful abomination, but even she isn't immortal. A blade through her heart kills her all the same. So 'twas simply in her interest to not let the Blight spread further without a Grey Warden to battle it. The Blight is a threat to her, like for anyone else."

There was still doubt visible in Lenya's eyes, but Morrigan had managed to dampen it to a small, trivial flickering with her words. "I feel no joy in asking you. But should you not help me, I will need to leave you in order to protect myself. I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled." It surprised her how much the thought of leaving actually bothered her, but she would do everything to survive. _Everything._

Lenya was gnawing on her lips, a gesture that indicated she was thinking. "Is there not another possibility? _Asha'belannar_ is in the Korcari Wilds, if I remember correctly. We are currently at the other end of Ferelden, near Orzammar."

Morrigan couldn't believe what she was hearing, and her voice rose to a furious volume. "And? Are you saying that my life isn't _worth_ traveling that distance? Need I remind you that you went back to Orzammar and the Deep Roads for that worthless pile of stone? And now, when I ask something of you, it is too much trouble? 'Tis unbelievable!"

Morrigan whipped around, away from the Dalish, too sick of her face, too sick of all the emotions raging in her. Underneath the anger there was a flicker of hurt at Lenya's reaction and she despised its presence. When had she become so weak? Her fingers clenched into fists at her side as she tried to will that feeling away and steady her breathing again.

Lenya said nothing for a long while, the cracking of the dying firewood the only audible sound. Morrigan still had her back turned to her, mind racing with the near futile possibilities if Lenya denied her this request. She was not urging her to speak, knowing that it was much she asked of the Dalish, but _she_ was her best chance to survive. Morrigan hated it. She never wanted to depend on someone, never thought she would need to.

Apparently, she had been wrong.

She felt something wet on the underside of her hand, sniffing. Lenya's Mabari whined quietly and licked her palm in an attempt at canine comfort. Morrigan yanked her hand away and glared down at the animal. How low has she sunken that even a dog pitied her? Arai's ears flattened, the whining sounding now sad, dejected. She sighed once in resignation and patted his head, reluctant at first, and then with a bit more enthusiasm. The hound woofed quietly in contentment and inched closer to the witch, visibly enjoying the attention.

"How far is it from the Korcari Wilds to the borders of the Brecilian Forest?" Lenya's voice nearly startled Morrigan, making her turn. "I remember they are somewhat close to each other, but don't know what that means in distance." A dry, crooked smile flashed on Lenya's face for a second. "I wasn't out of the forest much before, you know."

Morrigan was confused. "Why is this important?"

Lenya lowered her gaze to her hands, fumbling with them, voice tiny. "We need to find... my people, a Dalish clan. For the treaty. It would be hard to find them now in winter, but the cold will pass soon. Call it a feeling of mine. So, including the weeks of travel we would need toward the forest, we wouldn't arrive there before spring, anyway. Which would make it easier to find them."

Slowly, it dawned Morrigan what the elf was implying. "Are you saying you are going to help me?"

Lenya shrugged. "I need to sell it to the others, because this request of yours is utterly and completely insane. Hence my question. To kill _Asha'belannar..._" The Dalish shook her head, snorting. "Creators, I have done many stupid and irresponsible things in my life, but that would top all of them. Easily."

Morrigan let out a breath she didn't remember holding and felt the tension leaving her body." I... don't know what to say. Thank you. You are not really killing her, if that thought is solace to you. You'd just give me the needed time—years—where I can work on ways to protect myself from her claim. My body is my own and I do not intend to give it away to an ancient abomination... or _anyone_. I was sure you would understand this." She couldn't help the small smile that snuck into her features, unbidden.

The Dalish stood up from the log, arching an eyebrow at her, as if she still couldn't believe to have actually agreed to this. "Yeah, whatever. Actually, if I _do_ fail, I will find comfort in the thought that the archdemon will crunch you into a fine witch paste."

Morrigan detected a hint of humor in her voice. She didn't mind the friendly mocking, which was also unexpected. The smile on her face lingered. "Likely. Although, I think Flemeth will catch me before the darkspawn can. But I have seen you fight and I have confidence in your skills. Mother is not immortal."

"How comforting," Lenya muttered under her breath, accompanied by a roll of her eyes. Such a typical reaction for the Dalish.

Morrigan's hand reached out to lay it on Lenya's shoulder, almost of its own account. Golden eyes remained locked on green, beseeching. "The thing I must have is Mother's _real_ grimoire. With it, I can defend myself against her powers in the future. Everything else in the hut is yours."

Lenya shook her head with a smile, the humor in her voice still present. "_Another_ book, huh? I hope you are capable of repaying me for what I'll do for you there."

With a sigh, she turned, motioned Arai to follow her, ready to leave. Whereas in other times it always had been Morrigan who urged her to go, now it seemed Lenya had enough of her company. Understandably so, and still the witch felt a twinge of regret as she watched her walk back to the main camp.

"Believe me, I will," she eventually heard herself saying, out into the nothingness of her secluded camp, the cracking of fire the only answer. A scowl formed itself on her features.

She owed Lenya _nothing_, as she was only securing her survival. It was the _sensible_ thing to do and there was no need to feel remorse about using her to confront her mother... or for anything that would follow.

_'Tis an unwanted feeling. Weakness._

Frustrated, Morrigan turned toward her potions, the well-versed occupation an attempt to allow her mind forget these bothersome emotions.

If only for a little while.

.

.

* * *

.

Arai looked up to his mistress and gave her a quizzical whine.

Lenya's hand scratched him behind his ear, a motion more to comfort herself than the dog. "Yeah, I don't know why I agreed to that, either." She sighed. "I really... _like_ Morrigan, but... I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this."

The dog offered a soft chuff of agreement and peered back to Morrigan's place, sneezing. His nose nudged her into Lenya's side, making her look at him again, his brown, faithful eyes begging.

"Well, there is no sense in fretting over it now. We need to go in that direction, anyway. It is time—" Lenya stopped, a mixed feeling of wistfulness and longing twisting her heart at the thought. "To search for the Dalish."

Using the term as an abstract word didn't help to lessen the impact the meaning had on her. To return to her people was something she wanted, and yet feared most. Much had happened in the past months. She was accepting her new life as a Warden now, but it didn't change the fact that she was first and foremost _Dalish_. It was the reason why Lenya dreaded the task so, because she feared that after finding them—even if it wasn't her own clan—that she wouldn't want to leave them afterward. The request to slay _Asha'belannar_ did little to dampen her discomfort, rather the opposite. It was almost as if Morrigan _knew_ that she couldn't deny her this request.

"_Elger'nan..._" she said in frustration and Arai slanted his head, whining. "Why does have all to be so damn complicated all the time?"

The camp was still bustling with activity upon her return, which had been the reason why Lenya had actually sought the seclusion of Morrigan's place. If she'd known that the visit would have resulted in _this_, she'd have simply left for the quieter area of trees nearby. After the recent horrors of the Deep Roads and no time to sort out all the events and convoluted thoughts in her head, it was what she needed most. Solitude. Yet, the busy camp made privacy impossible, and only added to her restlessness.

The dwarves were still scurrying around, finishing the last details of their task, seemingly in a hurry to leave the surface behind. Wynne was talking to Leliana, who avoided looking even remotely in Zevran's direction. The elf, however, was engaged in some kind of card game with Oghren, laughing at the dwarf's frustration of having lost yet another round. Sten and Shale were present and, at the same time, _not_, doing nothing but silently glowering and observing the rest of their group.

Lenya half-expected to find her fellow Warden sitting at the fire, but to her surprise, his place was empty, shield and sword also gone. She spotted him as a tiny human dot in the far east of the area, occupied with fluid, expert movements with his blade, training.

For a moment, she was tempted to join him, but the strain in every muscle of her body told her that sparring wouldn't be a wise option now. Maybe she could at least manage to duck into her tent without being noticed and close the canvas until it was time for her night watch. Whenever that would be.

"Let's go. Quietly," she said to Arai and pointed toward her tent. The Mabari barked in agreement and crouched over the frozen, snow-covered grass in the effort to make himself smaller, less visible. It was a comical sight beside her, which made her smile as they made a beeline to the intended refuge.

"Commander?"

Just before reaching her tent, a voice stopped her from entering. "I'm not—" Lenya turned around with a sigh. "What is it?"

The dwarf flinched a bit at her exasperated growl, but remained in his place. He nodded politely. "I wanted to report that our task is done. The supplies are stacked and sorted, the damages repaired or the tents replaced with new ones. The engraved runes should make it easier for you to carry all your gear around." He paused, waiting for a reaction of the Dalish, which never came. Feeling uneasy under her blank stare, he continued, "I also have lists here with the recruits we have so far to fight the Blight. King Bhelen wanted you to have this."

Lenya looked at the stack of vellum paper in his outstretched hand and reluctantly took them. "How nice."

"Our king doesn't expect such a timely return from you, but we can assure you that everything is going to the according plan. We are going be ready to march against the Blight when you are, Warden Commander."

"I'm not—" _Whatever. Smile and nod, Lenya_. "I'm glad to hear that. Anything else?"

The dwarf hesitated a moment, his long black beard bristling in the cold breeze. "We... would like to return to Orzammar as quickly as possible. My men and I are feeling uneasy under the open sky. If you don't mind, we would like to lea—"

"Yes, it is all right. Thank you for your help."

He nodded anew, his bow a bit deeper now. "No, _we_ have to thank _you_ for what you did for Orzammar and House Aeducan. May the stone bring you luck on your difficult task, Warden."

Lenya mirrored the gesture and watched the dwarven group leaving, just glad that it was a bit quieter now without them.

"Lenya, we should discuss the watch schedule for tonight."

Or _not_.

Lenya groaned at the approaching figure of Leliana. Without waiting for the bard to arrive, she slipped into her tent and closed the flaps with a resolute motion.

"No."

"But I don't want to take the shift together with Zevran and you know _why_."

"I said_ no!_" The harsh tone in Lenya's voice made Leliana waver. Good, otherwise she would let Arai bite her head off, if the human dared to enter. Lenya looked at the already asleep Mabari, lying outstretched beside her bedroll and rolled her eyes.

_If I can get the dog to move, that's it._

"Creators! Who do I need to murder here to get a bit of rest? Are you really incapable of solving this without me?"

A long, awkward pause followed. "No?" the bard finally said.

"Fine. Then. Leave." Another moment passed before the shadow in front of her tent started to vanish.

Lenya let herself fall with a sigh on her bedroll and reveled in the alien feeling of being _glad_ to be alone.

.

.

* * *

**A/N:** _Sorry for its lengths, but the shorter version I had before didn't work well for me. So looong chap, it is.  
_


	59. Misunderstanding

_**A/N: **Wow, consider my mind blown for the awesome feedback lately. You all are fantastic and I'm really grateful for your constant support and feedback for this never-ending story of mine. Hey, but at least we make some progress today. Sort of. Maybe. Perhaps. __[Sandal] Rose? Rose! [/Sandal] Enjoy :D_

_An easy calculation? Story + beta'd by Mackillian = BETTER story._

* * *

_**~*But I fear  
I have nothing to give  
I have so much to lose  
Here in this lonely place  
Tangled up in our embrace  
There's nothing I'd like  
Better than to fall ~***_

_~ Sarah McLachlan – Fear_

* * *

**Chapter 56: Misunderstanding**

.

The sun had started to go down as Alistair had finished his training.

Shivering due to the cold breeze, he walked over to the cracking fire in the center of camp and sat down in front of it. He left his weapon and shield resting beside him. Taking a deep breath, he scooped a bit of the clean snow up and ran over the heated skin of his face with it. Alistair gasped at the freezing sensation the snow caused, but it was a welcomed refreshing feeling after the hours of exertion. The training had helped him to subsequently focus and set his mind at ease. In fact, he felt good now, relaxed. His eyes flickered over the wide camp, which had grown a lot more quiet since the dwarves left and most of his companions had retreated to their new, better tents as well. Alas, in them was also Lenya, but he guessed she was understandably tired after her trip to Orzammar and the Deep Roads.

Sitting there in silence for a little while, he heard approaching steps crunching within the snow. Unbidden, his stomach made a funny, little flip, hoping Lenya had decided to keep him company at the fire, after all. He heaved his head up with a smile, but it quickly vanished again, as he noticed that it wasn't the assumed person.

"Oh, it's you." He felt the urge to hit himself at the inability to hide his disappointment in gesture and words.

Leliana laughed. "Oh, you would have preferred for me to be someone else, right?"

"I... no," Alistair hurried to say. "I'm just surprised to see you."

The bard sat down across him, warming her hands at the fire. She shook amused her head. "I like you, Alistair, but you are a _terrible_ liar."

"Thanks?" He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "I have simply hoped to—nevermind. I probably should retreat to my shiny new tent until my watch, as well."

"Actually, I wanted to ask you if you would change yours with mine. I have the second one tonight."

Alistair looked up to her. "Why?"

"With Zevran," she said, her tone and expression giving away how much she disliked the idea.

"Oh..." He blinked against his own will. "I see. I'm not keen on spending time with the assassin, but I would have thought you would lik—"

"No, I would not!" she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "How you know about _that_, anyway?"

"L-Lenya?" Alistair said, wincing at her fierce demeanor. The sweet and caring Leliana was suddenly non-existent, buried under all the anger. She seemed more like the Orlesian bard whom he'd heard some… _interesting_ stories about. At the same time, it made her a lot scarier.

Leliana crossed her arms, still vexed. "News travel fast, it seems."

"It wasn't like that. I asked what happened in Orzammar and she answered. Simple thing. Not that I liked getting so much more information than needed, but Zevran? I mean _Zevran_? Really?"

She drummed her fingers on her crossed arms, glaring. "Alistair..."

"I... better be quiet now."

"Good." Leliana breathed out, and with it, all the tension left. Her shoulders slumped as she sighed. "It was a mistake, and one I'd rather not talk about."

He nodded. "Understood. But I'm still wondering... what exactly does a woman see in a man like Zevran? I mean, doesn't he seem to be a bit too much? The hair, the clothing, the behavior... it is all so... _over the top_."

Leliana looked as if she would revert to glaring any moment, but then her expression changed surprisingly to a teasing grin. "Worried? I think Lenya is less than impressed by him."

"I—no!" He felt himself flushing and hoped the red light of dusk would cover it. "I mean, he is an assassin. Who tried to kill us. Who killed people. For money. Women couldn't possibly like that, or?"

"Where I come from they do. Oh, yes." As soon she had said those words, Leliana flinched, her face contorting with an irked frown.

"I could also punch him for you, you know? I would have no problem with that."

"No." Her face brightened again and she stifled a giggle. "Thanks, but no. I can do that on my own. And probably _should_."

"Right. Independent woman." Alistair sighed, over-dramatically. "Chivalry is _so_ dead, it seems."

"But you like that kind of woman, no?"

Alistair couldn't help but to grin. "Oh, yes, far more interesting. Eamon happened to have visits often from the nobles of the other bannorns, when I was young. I remember coming across a young noble girl one day, no older than twelve or thirteen. She was all dressed up, hair and make up… and incredibly stiff. I was covered in mud and hay, having worked in the stable. She looked at me as if I were some disgusting insect and turned away with an indignant sneer. Being my nine-year-old self, I wasn't really excited about girls in the first place, but that pretty much sealed the deal of '_girls are yucky and weird_.'"

He chuckled at the memory. "I guess I always liked women who are more down-to-earth. I'm a simple man and I don't want to waste hours of my life discussing which tunic matches what breeches. It's tunic, breeches, padding, armor, shield, stabbing thing, ready. Simple. I like it when women are the same." Not that Lenya was ever _simple_. Which was another thing he liked about her, even if it was downright frustrating at times.

Leliana knitted her brows, confused. "Eamon? Who is that?"

Right, he had forgotten that he only talked with Lenya about it. "The Arl of Redcliffe. He took me in when my mother—a serving girl to the arl—died. He put a roof over my head when he didn't need to, but I wasn't raised as the arl's son. I slept and worked in the stable when I was a boy." He shrugged. "Hence my bewilderment with nobles and their pompous ways of talking and dressing, I guess. I never got used to it."

"I see. You probably never should travel to Orlais, then. The women there are very _fashionable_. Almost ridiculously so. Ah, but the shoes." Leliana smiled, clasping her hands together with delight. "Living with those ridiculous trends was worth it for the _shoes_."

Alistair raised one eyebrow, totally at a loss with the sudden change of topic. "Shoes?"

"Yes." She giggled, completely taken in by the reverie. "Shoes with delicate, tapered heels and embellishments in the front—a ribbon perhaps, or embroidery."

"I like my boots _without_ ribbons, thank you very much. Unless you want the darkspawn to roll around on the ground laughing," he answered in bewilderment, but Leliana wasn't even _listening_. Instead, she seemed to be whispering of what appeared to be a shopping list for shoes. _Great._

His eyes flickered beseechingly over toward Lenya's tent, as if he could make her appear by sheer will. As much he liked the bard, sometimes they had very _different_ opinions of what an enjoyable conversation should contain. He was sure that his fellow Warden wouldn't make such a fuss about shoes, and with each ribbon color Leliana mentioned, he appreciated that particular trait of hers more and more.

At the color orange, Leliana finally noticed that Alistair did all but listen, due to his distraction by a very specific tent.

"Lenya hasn't come out of her tent since she went in earlier. She even threatened to stab me in the face, if I should disturb her."

He laughed, glad to be on a far more enjoyable topic again. "Sounds like her."

The girly humor from Leliana's voice faded, and a frown creased the lines of her brows. "You were right with the Deep Roads. Nothing you have told me comes close to what I have seen there with my own eyes. It is a terrible, forsaken place. I can't blame Lenya for hating it or wanting to never return there. But, it is harder for Grey Wardens to be there, no?"

Or _not_.

"It is... _different_." Alistair grimaced at the memory. He would prefer listing ribbon colors over a talk about the Deep Roads any day. _Probably_. "It's pretty much _'taint taint taint'_ all the time and not very pleasant for us to be there. Aside from the obvious reasons." He hoped the explanation would suffice, because he neither _wanted_ to elaborate, nor _could_ he. At least not without giving secrets away.

"I see." Leliana fell silent for a moment, as if mulling over his said words. The smile returned to her face. "So how are you going to approach her?"

"Huh?" Alistair was still in gloomy Deep Roads mood and thinking on Nithius' death and the disgusting broodmother, and this new change of topic threatened to break his brain. He had never thought that talking with Leliana would make his head hurt, but her jumping from topic to topic almost every minute was starting to achieve that effect.

She must have noticed his dumbstruck expression, for she added a helpful, "Lenya."

Yes, that she didn't mean the _broodmother_ was obvious to him. Still, was talking with women always so confusing?

"Approaching?" He blinked, letting her words sink in. "Oh... _that_." His thoughts instantly flipped back to the rose in his tent. He opened his mouth to answer, but then he remembered Leliana's Maker story and decided _not_ to. Maker knew, she would strangle him with her bare hands or stab him in the face if that rose from Lothering was really _the_ rose. Which was probably a ridiculous and crazy thought in of itself, but since Leliana had her very own brand of crazy, it was better not to stir things up.

So, Alistair settled for saying a dismissive, "I don't know and I prefer not to talk about it." _For now._ It was good to know that he had a woman to talk to for advice, when needed, but right now he wasn't sure if his brain would survive another change of direction or topic.

Leliana fell into a thoughtful posture. "Mmhm, maybe you could give her a gift. What does she like?"

He sighed. Exactly _that_ was what he was trying to do, but alas, she was already aslee—"Lenya!" Alistair literally jumped up at her sudden appearance at the firepit, his heart racing. Maker, he would never get used to how _silently_ she was able to move. Even the snow under her feet hadn't made its usual crunching noise, which was puzzling and should be physically impossible. Then again, Lenya had been trained as a hunter all her life, right?

The Dalish chuckled, amused at his reaction, and now he felt his heart racing for a completely different reason. He gaped at her—and, Maker, he wished he could stop doing that every time she was near—for the way she was dressed. The exquisite armor had been traded in for simple woolen tunic and breeches, almost as white as the snow underfoot. Her hair was loose, and the long blonde strands a tangled mess around her tattooed face, covering her pointed ears completely. It was as if Lenya never worried about her appearance or was fazed about it, which was a nice change from the other women in his group. Simple.

Alistair _liked_ simple.

He managed a smile. "Hey, you're up. Did the archdemon wake you?"

"No, the hunger did. _Again_." She started to stretch herself in a slow, lazy motion to shake off the remnants of sleep. The arching caused her chest to thrust forward, which gave Alistair an all too good, exclusive view from his seated position. The reluctant little part of his brain not busy with _staring_ berated himself for doing so, which didn't hinder his treacherous eyes from continuing in the exact same activity.

Leliana's amused giggle put him out of his reverie, and to his horror, made him aware that the bard caught where his gaze had lingered. "Well," she said, drawling the word with a grin as Alistair suppressed the urge to cringe, "I think I'll leave for my tent until it is time for my shift, yes?"

"Yes, that would be breast—best—_best, _actually!" Alistair let out an unmanly whimper at Leliana's laughing and briefly contemplated if it would be less humiliating to jump into the flames of the campfire.

Lenya, finally satisfied with stretching her tired limbs, gave him a withering look. "Well, aren't you an oddball today?" She shook her head before seating herself on a log near the fire. "Humans."

Leliana opened her mouth to retort, but Alistair's glare in her direction must have been so intense that the words died on her tongue. "Good night," she said instead. Then she added with another giggle, "Have fun."

Alistair didn't answer, his mind was too busy with the urge to stick his head into the nearest pile of snow and never come out again.

Lenya waited until the bard vanished into her tent. "So, is your offer still valid?"

"My offer?"

"Cheese. Bread. Fire. Roasting. Hungry." She emphasized each word as if speaking with an idiot, which was exactly how Alistair felt at the moment.

"Right. I, uh, better get it then, huh?" He got up to move over to his tent, more stumbling than actually walking. Of course, under _his_ feet, the snow made a loud creaking noise, even without armor.

Upon his return, he was greeted by the growling of Arai, who had laid himself next to his mistress and watched how she was slicing the bread retrieved from her tent.

"So," Lenya looked up to him, but didn't stop cutting the bread, "did you know that the last Grey Warden to stop a Blight was elven? Dalish, even? I found it quite interesting."

Alistair sat down and Arai growled anew. "Your dog _hates_ me all the sudden. Yesterday, we were best friends, sharing the last slices of hardtack, and today it is _'don't come near me or I'll tear your throat out_.' He is a bit moody, huh?" He tried to ignore the Mabari's angry stare and started to slice the cheese. "And, yes, I heard about that, of course."

"Why didn't you ever tell?"

The question caught him off guard. "You never asked?" Sighing at her glare, he added, "You haven't been very interested in Grey Warden history until now, to be honest. So I didn't want to bother you with a history lesson."

"Maybe I am now." As Lenya finished, she put the sliced bread on a plate right next to her and gave Arai a warning look to not come near it. Apparently, this was successful, because the Mabari didn't move a bit from where he lay. Holding up the same book Alistair had seen her carrying around earlier, she searched for a certain page and started to read:

"_The wind that stirs their shallow graves carries their song across the sands. Heed our words, hear our cry, the grey are sworn, in peace we lie. Heed our words, hear our cry, our names recalled, we cannot die. When darkness comes and swallows light, heed our words and we shall rise."_

Alistair hummed with a nod. "'The Ballad of Ayesleigh.' Quite catchy, isn't it? Although, the not dying part, well, it is a bit far-fetched, I think." He had learned about it, back in the Grey Warden compound in Denerim, but never did it sound more _exciting_ to him than when recited by his fellow Warden.

Her lip curved up to a smile, ever so slightly. "True, it is a bit dramatic, but I like it."

Alistair watched how she impaled the chunks of bread and cheese on a long stick to hold it over the fire. Her interest in the Grey Wardens was surprising and made him feel proud, knowing that she had come a long way with it. "By the way, that book there, where is it from?"

"From the Shaper's library. I planned to read it there, but I hadn't enough time, so I, well, _took_ it with me."

He laughed, not believing it. "You _stole_ the book from the dwarves? Really?"

"Borrowed, more like. I'm a Grey Warden, am I not?"

"Still, Lenya." He shook his head. "You could have simply asked me instead of stealing a book. That is not right. I would have been happy to answer your questions, as much I could. Really."

"As much you could, huh?" Lenya arched an eyebrow at him. "Hasn't been very much before now." _Ouch_. "Also, Sten told me to learn about the Grey Wardens' history myself." She shrugged, her eyes directed at the bread near the fire. "Which I did."

His stomach rumbled at the delicious, mouthwatering scent of melted cheese and toasted bread. As soon Lenya laid some of the pieces down on the plate, he reached for it and burned himself.

"It might be news to you, but fire is _hot_. Stupid." She snorted and made another few chunks ready to roast. "However, how about helping me, you lazy human?"

Alistair blinked, rubbing his burned fingers. There was no malice in her voice with those words, the prior sharpness replaced by a mischievous mocking, which was _surprising_. "Ah, yes. Of course."

They prepared and ate the food in amicable silence. Alistair couldn't help but to smile at the little content noises she made while she ate. This here was what he wanted. To simply spend time with her and get to know her better, of the little things in between that she otherwise used to hide.

"I was conscripted too, you know," he said after a long while of silence.

"Oh? How so?" Lenya looked up at him while licking the remains of molten cheese from her finger, which was an all too distracting motion for him.

He mentally kicked himself to answer." Err, it wasn't that I didn't want to join the Wardens, but the Grand Cleric didn't want to let me go. Duncan was forced to conscript me, actually, and was she ever furious when he did. I thought she was going to have us both arrested. I was lucky."

"Why did that chantry-shemlen want to keep you?"

He snorted. "Hah, good question. It isn't that I was a prime example of a templar or very religious. As in, _at all_. I think she just didn't want to give anything to the Grey Wardens." Alistair took a deep breath, looking up to the clear, now starlit sky. "I suppose they're just a bit touchy about letting their templars get away, due to the learned secrets and talents. I'm a bit of an exception here. As said, lucky me. I was saved from a boring life full of sermons and preaching." He grimaced. "And mage-hunting."

_Also chastity, _he added as an afterthought.

Lenya tilted her head and looked at him, one her hands kept busy with kneading Arai's ear. "Duncan, huh? One of the dwarves I met knew him and met him before Ostagar," she said, excitement apparent in her voice. "As much I dislike the _durgen'len_ way of living under all the rock and without natural light, I give them credit for their honest respect toward the Grey Wardens. They valued Duncan highly in Orzammar, it seems."

Alistair's face creased to a pained frown as a twinge of grief washed over him, mixed with an irrational feeling of guilt. He hadn't thought of Duncan in some time, his mind too busy with all things Lenya. It made him somewhat angry on himself. He didn't want to forget Duncan, nor what happened to him and his brethren.

Lenya must have noticed his somber expression, because her shoulders slumped in a dejected motion. "_Emma ir abelas._"

And now he'd made the woman he cared for feel bad for telling him that. _Brilliant_. Alistair sighed. "You don't have to, really. It is just so surreal that what happened in Ostagar is only a couple of months ago, but it feels like a lifetime already."He balled his fingers to a fist, frustrated. "It is not _fair_."

"Hmm," she said with a nod. "I know what you mean, _lethallin_."

"You keep saying that, but what does _lethallin_ mean, exactly?"

Lenya grimaced at his horrible pronunciation. "Ugh, do me a favor and stick to the common tongue. As for the word, the translation is actually cheese-friend. Or was it cheesy friend?" She stuck the tongue out to him. "Can't remember. Your language is so cumbersome, after all."

_Friend_. Alistair was taken aback by her words, genuine under its joking disguise. It was one thing to think they were that, but a complete other to hear it from her lips. "Friend, huh?" A lopsided grin washed the sullen expression away, his stomach fluttering in a fuzzy way. "I would like that." _You have no idea how much._

"Only when you have cheese, though," she said, matter-of-fact. "Hence, _cheese_ friend."

"Aw, bummer." The grin widened. "And that we were getting along so well." Maker, was he flirting with her? "I mean, I was even going to name one of my children after you."

Lenya raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing him for a moment. "Let me guess: the grumpy one?"

Alistair burst into a fit of rumbling laughter. "Why, yes," he said, still snorting." You know me too well by now, I guess."

"No." She shrugged. "Your sort of humor has just become predictable after all the months of enduring it."

"Ouch, wounds to the pride are the worst. But your wit is unmatched, my lady." Yes, he _was_ flirting... and he couldn't seem to stop it.

"Wit? Huh, curious. The elder of my clan always called that '_smartass-ing_.'"

_A very beautiful smartass, however._ The words lay already on his tongue, as Arai growled again in his direction, making him stop. To emphasize his gesture, the Mabari inched closer to Lenya and placed his muzzle into her lap, sighing contentedly as she started to stroke his head. The hound let out a huff into Alistair's direction, accompanied by a gloating look of his deep brown, canine eyes.

_You Maker-damned jealous bag of fleas._

"Before I forget, _your_ dog ran off today with the sword you gave me earlier," Alistair said, smirking into Arai's direction. "I suspect he has it buried somewhere near the trees."

"Arai!" Lenya shoved the Mabari away and looked at him sharply. The dog faltered with a whimper, failing to not look guilty under her stare. "This is an old, valuable Warden sword crafted and meant to slay darkspawn. You can't take that and bury it away like a bone. Speaking of which, I also have a gift for you, but now I'm considering burying it somewhere out of your reach. Like you did with the sword." Arai whined apologetically and licked her hand in the attempt to appease her. Lenya was unimpressed by that and continued to glare at her hound. "Go and get it back. Now."

Now it was Alistair who was gloating as the dog wandered reluctantly off into the darkness, his posture all dejected. Lenya's sigh put Alistair's attention back to her. "_Abelas_." She stood up to warm her hands at the fire. "I'm not used to having a pet."

"I wouldn't call him a _pet_, exactly."

"Right. I rather meant to own a domesticated animal. This isn't something we Dalish do, and often it feels just so wrong."

"You haven't done anything to own him, nor to domesticate him. Arai had _chosen_ to follow you, Lenya. He is a Mabari, a war dog, and not one of those yipping little lap dogs you carry around for show. Big difference here."

"Humans do that?"

Alistair shrugged. "Some do, I guess. The Orlesians ladies seem to prefer a more practical dog. As in one to carry around."

Lenya made a face. "Ugh. You humans are weird."

He held his hands up in defense. "Don't say that to me. Dogs and I don't get along so well, as you can see with Arai." His mouth quirked up to a teasing smile. "I suppose I'm more the _cat_ type."

"Ugh." Lenya suppressed a shudder. "_You_ are weird."

"Thanks, I guess. You won't tell me why you are afraid of cats, will you?"

Lenya sat down again and frowned in his direction. "No."

"Aw, too bad. The suspense is _killing_ me."

She chose to ignore his mocking tone and comment and went on, smiling. "I would love to have a griffon, though."

"A huge bird to ride on, which is trained to rip hordes of darkspawn apart by swooping down on them with their sharp claws." Alistair paused, feigning a thoughtful pose. "Yep, _much _better than a Mabari or cat, also would be quite handy to fight the Blight now. Alas, they've been extinct for two hundred years, so no griffons for us."

Lenya sighed, bottom lip protruding. "Life isn't fair."

He chuckled. "You're telling me." The humor faded from his voice and expression, growing soft. "I'm glad that you are back, though." _I missed you._ He shook himself at her puzzled look. "I mean, being the only Warden sucked."

Her face brightened and she nodded. "Hmm, I think so, too."

Silence fell over them after that, like a blanket of snow it lay itself over the place, the cracking fire the only sound. There was no awkwardness, nor a need to bridge the tranquility with words. Alistair was content with quietly sitting there with her, to just _be_. It was a perfect moment of peace within the chaos surrounding them. Her gaze lay fixed on the dancing flame, and the light of the fire cast a soft glow around her face, almost _ethereal_. His eyes dropped to her lower lip that she was gnawing on, a telltale sign that she was sunken deep in thoughts. The motion of her teeth boring into the delicate flesh of her lip was somehow _hypnotizing_ and awoke within him the wish—

"Ouch!" Suddenly, Alistair startled up at the clunking sound, followed by pain blooming in his feet. Arai had dropped the muddy and heavy sword right onto his boots without noticing. Within the haze of pain, Alistair believed to hear the unmistakable sound of canine snickering.

He managed to give the give the Mabari a withering look._ You dirty mongrel._

Arai ignored him and danced around Lenya in the hope for praise or a treat for obeying her orders. She blinked, as if awakening from a dream, and saw much to her bewilderment how Alistair was cringing.

"Arai. Dropped. Sword. Feet." It was one of the rare days where Alistair regretted not wearing his armor, particularly the boots.

"Shall I get Wynne? That sword is heavy, after all." She looked at it. "And, ugh, _filthy_." Lenya let out a long, exasperated sigh in the direction of her Mabari and picked the blade up.

No," Alistair gasped, putting on his brave face. "It's already better now. I think."

She observed the muddy blade, frowning. "_Abelas_. I can clean it for you." She fixed the hound with a stare. "Since Arai lacks the hands to do so." The Mabari whined, well knowing that he'd gone too far. Ears flattened, he ruefully looked up to her, but the Dalish ignored him.

"You don't need—"

"A blade is to be treated well, so yes, I need to." Lenya's tone left no room for objection. "You have some cloth and sword polish?"

"Yes, in my tent." He blinked at the realization of her words. _In my tent. Where the rose is._ She looked at him in expectation, which made him jerk up, heart beating fast. "I'll get it. I'll get it."

Lenya nodded. "Good, I'll wait here. And have a word with Arai, perhaps."

.

~V~

.

"You know, it will be a little difficult to clean the sword with a _flower_."

Alistair needed a moment to process her words. Looking down to his hands, he finally noticed what was amiss.

_Crap._

In his mental flailing whether to take the rose with him, and what to say if he should decide to do so, he had forgotten _one_ elemental thing. The sword polish. And now he stood in front of her like an idiot, the rose in his hand and nothing else, gaping at her like a reindeer caught in the front of a bow.

_Great. It could not get any better._

Noticing, with that thought, that his brain was somewhat functional again, he needed to suppress the urge to let out an unmanly whimper. Since there was no turning back anymore, it would be a good idea to form something that resembled words now.

"N-no. I... forgot that, I guess."

_Wow. Brilliant, Alistair. I already see her swooning._

"You forgot that?" Lenya repeated and blinked, bewildered. "Wasn't the polish the reason why you left for your tent in the first place?"

"I'm such a scatterbrain." He laughed wanly, more to cover up how very nervous and lost he felt. All the prepared words, all the things he wanted to say to her had left his brain at once, leaving him bare. In more way than one. Harrumphing, Alistair approached closer to her, despite the overbearing want to turn and run away. At least the damn dog was gone, but that was only a small solace right now.

_Breathe. Rare and wonderful thing in the darkness. You. Rose. Can't be too hard, right?_

Lenya eyed him suspiciously. "Uh-huh."

Not knowing what to do instead, he made another step forward and lay the rose on her open palm. "H-here."

_Argh, who am I kidding? I want to die. Now._

Lenya looked down at it, her lips quirked up to an amused smile. "As said, puppy, I can't polish the sword with a flower."

Alistair felt his face burning. "N-no. I-I wanted you to have this." He noticed that he was still standing in front of her, so he took a few steps back to sit down. Sitting was good. Stable._Solid_.

Knitting her brows in confusion, she looked up to him. "You want me to have this? Why?"

Alistair took a deep breath to calm his nerves down. "Because looking at the rose, umm, it reminds me on you in a lot of ways." _Please don't laugh._

To his good fortune, Lenya seemed way too confused to do that. "I am a rose? Are you out of your mind?"

"Yes, I guess so." He laughed, driving a shaking hand through his hair. "And, no, I wouldn't put it that way. But like the rose, you are strong, proud." He hesitated a moment. "And _beautiful_. I-I found it in Lothering. I should have left it there, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would have come and destroyed it."

"Lothering? That shemlen village?" Lenya let out a gasp. "That was _months_ ago."

"I know." Alistair nodded, feeling a bit of the tension fading. "There is so much darkness, death, and ugliness in this world, but some things are worth preserving, like this rose. So I did. I've had it ever since."

Lenya stared at its deep red petals, the lines of her tattooed forehead furrowed in confusion. The silence between them grew to something unbearable. Much to his dismay, it stretched further and it took it a long moment before she spoke again. "And you want to give this flower to me?"

"I already said that, haven't I?" He smiled, unsure. "Consider it a gift."

"A gift. This flower. To me." Lenya looked subsequently to him, then to the rose in her hands, her eyelids fluttering.

Alistair started to get nervous again, shifting in his place. "Yes? It was just a stupid impulse. I don't know. Was it the wrong one?"

Again, agonizing silence. "I-I need to go now," Lenya said after a long moment and bolted up from her seat to storm off to the trees nearby, the rose still in her hands.

For a long time, he just sat there, staring into the darkness where she had vanished, his mind unable to comprehend what just happened.

"Alistair?" A familiar voice somehow pierced through the haze and he turned mechanically around to its source, seeing Wynne standing there. "Are you okay?"

_No_. "Yes. I... I guess I'm just tired. Yes, _tired_. Wake me when it is time for my watch, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he darted toward his tent, the need to shut the world out around him overbearing.

.


	60. A Place to Belong

_**A/N:** So here now the promised second part of the rose arc and hopefully it makes sense to you now. Mackillian has once more worked her magic here and killed all grammar mistakes. Thank you._

* * *

**Chapter 57: A place to belong**

.

"How could he dare to... _ugh_."

Huffing, Lenya glared at the rose, her feet angrily kicking the snow as she walked away at a frantic pace. Not looking where she was going, she soon bumped into the last person she wanted to see now.

Zevran.

"Ah, my dear Warden, you seem most agitated. Mind if I ask what the reason is?"

"Yes." Lenya still didn't slow down her steps, but much to her annoyance the elf followed her.

"Ah, always so refreshingly direct. An admirable trait! You should keep it." Sighing, Zevran stepped into her path, making her stop. He smirked. "I fear the camp is in the opposite direction."

Lenya's annoyed groan was the only answer he got, making him grin even more. Looking down at her, he noticed the rose in her hands. "Ah, is this rose for me? This is most thoughtful of you. I'm flattered."

As Zevran tried to touch the flower, she yanked her hand away, glowering at him. "No." She scoffed. "I'm not interested in you."

"_That,_ you have made abundantly clear with all your glaring, my dear. Which makes it even more interesting for me, I confess." He tilted his head, observing her features in the half-darkness. "But what goes for me isn't what goes for your fellow Warden, hmm?"

"N-no! He is a human." Lenya hurried to object, but it sounded weak even to her own ears.

Zevran chuckled. "Always quick to judge, aren't you? Human, elf, or dwarf. Does it matter?" He shrugged. "In the end, we all bleed the same blood. We all die when a blade bores through our heart. You know, when I ran away as a boy to find the Dalish, to return to my mother's roots, I dreamt of freedom, of adventure. But instead of that, I found only elves caught up in the past, in prejudice and hatred. It is easier to hide behind all that, no?"

Lenya was shaking in anger, wanted to hit him, scream at him. _Anything_ except only glaring at that damn elf who held her furious stare with ease, smiling and waiting for an answer. And yet, she found herself unable to. "You know nothing about me, flat-ear!" she finally managed to say, her voice quavering. "Nor about my people or _how_ we live. So don't act as if you know anything about us due to the brief glimpses you caught."

"Yes, you are right." Zevran nodded, all nonchalance fading from his voice. "I know nothing about your ways, my lovely Dalish. And should I have hurt your feelings or culture with my words, I sincerely apologize. Then again, you don't even make the _effort_ to let others understand. Instead, you hide yourself behind your ways and hostility."

He walked to the side, leaning leisurely at a tree, his eyes never leaving hers. "Ah, but it adds to your mystery, no? You claim to not like me, yet you spared my life, even rescued me in the Fade, when you didn't need to. You judge me for being an assassin, for liking my job, when you know the thrill of the hunt yourself. And you have claimed to never want to return to the Deep Roads, yet you did so for Shale, so she can make peace with her past." He laughed. "You are full of surprises, my dear. Quite exciting."

For a long moment, Lenya was quiet, didn't even move from where she stood. She only stared at him, knowing well that he could see her clearly in the dimly lit clearing, for he had the same enhanced sight as an elf. Then a snort escaped her throat, almost of its own account, the tone sarcastic. "You really have figured me out, haven't you?"

Zevran shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirked up to a smile. "Ah, yes, the perks of being an assassin, I suppose. I have quite the gift of observation. Among _other_ things, of course."

"Actually," she walked closer up to him, the prior anger forgotten, "you remind me of someone I once knew. From my clan. Merrill."

"Oh? A friend of yours?"

"I hated her."

He chuckled. "How flattering."

"She is a terrible, arrogant smartass. I'm sure the both of you would get along just fine." Lenya smirked. "But then again, you are less bitchy, I'll give you that."

Zevran laughed. "Ah ha. Progress. I already can see us frolicking around the trees together."

"Once more: I _don't_ frolic. I stab things until they are dead. With sharp, pointy sticks." She gave him a pointed look. "And I'll do the _same_ to you if you turn that into an innuendo."

"Ah, violence, such a base method for a lovely lady." Lenya rolled her eyes at that, but caught how Zevran was pointing at the flower in her hands. "However, do you mind telling me _now_ why this poor rose has offended you so much you even considered fleeing camp?"

She sighed and sat down on a stump, heedless of the cold snow dampening the seat of her breeches. "We Dalish respect the nature, as this is where we live. So, naturally, we don't rip flowers out of the earth and use them for silly decoration, or as a gift." Lenya cut herself off, huffing out a short breath, as she observed the rose in her hands. It almost seemed as if it was a bit glowing in the dark, and an unnatural magic hue surrounded the petals. "Except for one occasion..."

Zevran was still standing, close to where she sat. "Yes? I'm most intrigued, my dear Warden. So go on."

"If you would shut up, I _could_." Despite her brisk words, she hesitated. "Ugh, I can't believe I'm telling you this. A flower is given when a couple is bonding as a symbol for their blooming love and all that stuff. A flower is a delicate thing, so one has to take care for it or it would wither easily. It is the same for love, or so I'm told. Not that I have really listened to such boring details."

"Oho, _bonding_. I think I might like that. Do you use ropes? Or are there no ropes in the forest? Maybe vines?"

Lenya let out a groan. "You stopped listening after that, didn't you?"

He turned to her, tilting his head to show her that he listened. "Ah, quite the opposite, my dear Warden. I'm _super_ attentive, or all ears, how we elves used to say. I just tend to ignore the whole talking about love thing. Makes life easier."

"Seems we, ugh..." She made a face at the knowledge. "...have something in common."

"How delightful. A reason to celebrate, no?" He sighed at her glowering. "Still, I don't see why this bothered you so."

"Because after the flower is given, it... it is expected for the both to... to actually... _ugh_." The Dalish shook herself, disgusted at the thought and memory. Living in a close-knitted camp let her often see and hear more than she wanted, a _lot_ more.

"Oh," Zevran said and she could _hear_ his grin. "So this is what _bonding_ means with the Dalish? Less kinky, but—_wait_." His eyes and grin widened at the same time. "You thought it means the _same_ when _he_ gave you this flower, no?" She heard a distinctive snorting coming from his direction. "Marvelous. I bet your fellow Warden had no idea." The snorting turned into a fit of laughter and Lenya felt the anger rising again.

"Stop. Laughing." To emphasize her words she bolted up and kicked him with full force on his shin. The elf howled out and cringed, rubbing his hurting leg, only to fall into the next fit of laughter. "Ah, I doubt that... our dear Alistair... is _that_ adapt in the Dalish tradition," he managed to say in between the snorting and doubled up laughing, heedless of her glowering or his hurting shin.

Huffing, Lenya whirled around to stalk off, leaving a very amused Zevran behind.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya returned to the main camp, and the conversation between Wynne and Sten ceased at they looked over at her, bewildered. She waved over to the elder human sitting at the firepit nearby. Only belatedly did she was remember that she still had the rose in her hands as she did so, seeing Wynne's smile widening at the gesture.

Quickly, she put her hand down again, frowning at the flower it held within. Despite Lenya's all but gentle treatment with the rose, it seemed to have remained the same, blooming defiantly.

_Sturdy little thing._

Not knowing what else to do, she kept walking toward her tent, her eyes unconsciously looking for Alistair. Of course, he wasn't there, the flaps of his tent across the camp center closed. Lenya sighed, feeling even more confused than before. If she was wrong about the meaning of the flower like that damn elf implied, what, by the Creators, did it mean _then_?

"Warden, care to share a drink?" Oghren called after her as she passed his place, making her stop. "Heh, c'mon, don't be a prissy nughumper."

She glanced at him, then at her tent, and shrugged. "Why not?" It wasn't that she had anything better to do and she still owed him a thanks for raising their coin so considerably. Also, the only other alternative to drinking with Oghren was to figure out _what_ the meaning of Alistair's gift was, and quite frankly, she didn't want to brood about it now. The day had already been arduous and confusing enough _without_ it.

The dwarf grinned, smug. "Heh, no woman can resist old Oghren. I knew it."

Lenya peered at the rose in her hand, opting to stash the flower away in her tent before returning to the dwarf. A gift was a gift and she didn't have the heart to throw it away just like that. After all, that sturdy little thing was pretty in its very own way. "Just wait a minute."

"Don't worry, Missy. I'm here all night. Hehe."

She let out a groan before slipping in her tent. _Wonderful. I really must be desperate._

_._

~V~

.

"Here. Don't ask."

Oghren blinked at the big flask thrust into his sight, and then grinned. "I wouldn't dare, Warden. Takes time away from the drinking." He took the brew from her hands to observe it, and his grin broadened. "Shave my back and call me an elf! King's Alley, it is. You sure know how to make me happy. It's a sodding rare brew you got there."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Happy to hear that, really. Let's say we are even now, right?"

"Heh, we're even now, Missy." He poured her some of the drink in the cup she brought with her. "Let's see how even _you_ are _after_ a round with Oghren."

"Well." She shrugged, pointing at her filled cup. "Our Dalish wine is pretty strong, so it won't kill me, I'm sure." To prove her point, Lenya drank the contents in one go and immediately regretted it. She felt her innards burning like fire after swallowing the liquid. She shook herself to get rid of the bitter taste, feeling her head swimming. "Ugh."

"Respect, Missy." Oghren looked at her, thoroughly amused. "I haven't seen many standing after downing that in one pour. Or sitting straight, more like. Heh. You better take it slow now."

Lenya glared at him defiantly, reaching him her cup for another round. "No."

He snorted. "Hah, my kind of girl. But seriously, Warden, you look as if you need it. Hard day, huh?"

Lenya thought on the events of the evening and made a face. "Yeah, pretty much."

Oghren downed his drink without so much as a blink. "I'm just glad that the stone-forsaken fools of Bhelen's are gone, now. The less of them, the better. They can all stay in Orzammar, for all I care."

"You haven't regretted leaving Orzammar?"

"Are you sodding kidding me? They treated me like a puddle fly there. I never want to go back!" He fell silent after that, swirling the contents of his flask, thinking. "I admit, though... I miss it, a little, _little_ bit. Maybe. It was a horrible place, but also _home_. Flies live in piles of dung, but I bet they miss it when they're gone."

Lenya sighed and looked at her cup. "I understand why you didn't want to come with me to Orzammar earlier, though. Returning to what once was home is hard, I imagine."

Oghren quickly raised his hands in defense, the prior thoughtful mood forgotten. "Hey, Missy, don't go all emotional on me. I feel sodding uncomfortable with crying little elven girls."

She ignored his comment, and even wondered why she had even told him that. Maybe because she didn't know him that well, so there were no emotional layers bounded to their talk like there was with Alistair. It made it _easier_. "I just mean, we are going to search for the Dalish next and..." She hesitated. "I guess I'm afraid."

"You? _Afraid_?" He scoffed, taking another sip. "Hard to believe, Missy. I saw you fell that ogre. If I were an ogre, I would be rather sodding afraid of you."

Lenya frowned, contemplating if it was such a good idea to start it at all. "That is ..._different_. Killing darkspawn is what I do and had become my second nature, without even thinking. That is... easy. But to return there where I grew up—" She faltered with a sigh. "Forget I said anything." Frustrated, she downed her drink, as if she could flood her fears and thoughts away with it. It was easier this time, less bitter and burning. She even felt pleasantly muzzy-headed. The Dalish prompted another refill and emptied that, too.

"So you're not looking forward to meeting the other tree-hugging elves of yours again, are you?" Oghren asked after a bout of silence. "Wouldn't have thought that, heh. I mean, you even went picking—whatcha call it—a flower today. Saw it in your hands not long ago. I thought you were so sodding excited to return to your forest that you already returned to your old habits. Heh."

"I didn't pick it!" Lenya said, arms crossed and glowering. Her head was buzzing and she felt flushed, so the effect of her stare was probably not really efficient, but she couldn't care less. "Alistair did it. In Lothering. And gave it too me. _Stupid_ human." Her tongue had become heavier, too, in the last moments, so the words came out partly slurred.

"A flower? Heh, if he goes on like this, he'll never get laid. At least not until the sodding archdemon has swallowed him."

"Laid?" She arched an eyebrow. "Yeees, he is sleeping. I guess."

"Hah! And now I even know _why_." Oghren let out a rumbling laugh. "Never mind, Missy. You hold your liquor quite well for little elven girl. Makes me wonder where you leave all that."

"Perks of being a Warden, I guess. We can eat a lot. And drink a lot. So less talking, more drinking!"

Oghren snorted as he refilled her cup. "You know, I'm really starting to like you."

.

.

* * *

.

"Ah, my dear Alistair, you look so gloomy. Is there anything I can do to cheer you up? A massage?" Zevran pointed behind them, grinning. "Or perhaps I should ask our lovely leader and the dwarf if they can spare a drink for you?"

"Shut up!"

Alistair hated it to have come out of his tent after the disaster the evening had turned out to be, but the duty of keeping watch was unfortunately one he couldn't ignore. And now he had to sit at the fire with Zevran and Lenya _laughing_ behind his back, of all things. The Maker must really, _really_ hate him.

"And whhyyy arree all humans soo tall?" Lenya asked loudly from behind him, her words slurred. "I have to looook up aaall the tiime. Stooopid loongleeegs!"

"Hehe, long-legs. Hehe," Oghren simply replied, chortling.

_Yep, He definitely hates me_. At least was that feeling _mutual_ tonight.

"Well, I would prefer to share this watch with Leliana, or at least have a drink like your lovely fellow Warden. Alas, my big friend, we have the important task of keeping our companions safe." He mock-saluted in his direction. "Duty calls, Warden. Zevran aboard!"

Alistair gave him a dirty look. Maybe he could hit the elf. Not for Leliana's sake, but it would make him feel at least a bit better. Lenya laughed and he forced himself not to turn around. He didn't want to see her happy or laughing right now, not when he still felt as if he'd been punched in the guts at her reaction. Why did she storm off like that? Had the thought of the rose really been so awful? Alistair didn't understand why she reacted like she had and it bothered him. Instead of simply stomping the flower into the ground to make her point clear, she had rushed off with the rose still in her hands and he was none the wiser.

And why, by Andraste's knickers, was she still up this late? Drinking with Oghren, no less? Alistair heard her laughing again and the sound hurt, felt like another punch to his guts. He should have seen it coming, though. What good, as a human, could come out falling in love with a _Dalish_ woman? It was an unrealistic, foolish dream he had. It was better to quickly forget his stupid crush and move—

"That broody look suits you, though." He felt Zevran's stare on him and it promptly stopped his chain of thought. _Ugh_. "You should consider doing it more often. I bet the women will be swooning at your feet, then." He chuckled. "I know_ I_ do. Ah, I feel all weak in my knees already."

Alistair tensed, the armor clunking even with only the slight movement. He glared in his direction and the option of punching Zevran became more and more appealing with each moment.

"And theen he tooold me I'ma rose. Doo I look liiiek a fl-fl-rose? Stooopid."

Alistair darted up, gripping his sword and shield and was already turning. "I-I'll go patrolling around camp." _I need to get out of here._

Zevran arched an eyebrow at the Warden's retreating—or, rather, _fleeing_—back, before turning to Lenya again.

"Alt-Although...it waaas niice of him to give mee thaaat, if I th-think aboouut it. No one ever giiives meee a gift, all want sumthing frroom mee. Do thiis, Wooorden. Do thaat. I still dunnoo what that means, th-though. Stooopid humans and their stooopid customs to riiip flowers out of the earth. Sooo confusing."

Regarding the volume of snoring coming from Oghren's direction, Lenya was leading a successful monologue without noticing.

Zevran smirked into the darkness Alistair had vanished into. "You always seem to miss the best part, my friend."

.

~V~

.

It took a while until Alistair felt calm enough to return. Wordlessly, he sat down across from Zevran, shoved his shield and sword aside, and started a staring contest with the fire.

"Ah, still so gloomy, my dear Alistair. No darkspawn about?"

"No."

"Hmm, I wonder how to brighten your mood?" The elf feigned a thoughtful pose. "What about a trivia game?" He clasped his hands together in delight. "Oh, this will be fun, my friend. We compare our knowledge and I win."

Alistair's tone became more warning, but he still wasn't looking at him. "No!"

"Oh, come on. I'll start, yes? Hmm... did you know that giving a flower to a woman has a completely different meaning in the Dalish culture?"

His head snapped up, flabbergasted. "What?"

"Ah, I see. Point for me then. It is your turn now."

Alistair's heart was taking up a faster rate. "N-no, _what_ did you say?"

"One point for me. I'm leading. Marvelous." His lips twisted into a smirk and Alistair was ready to strangle the elf for procrastinating his answer. "Oh! You mean with Dalish? Remind me to pick flowers before we enter their camp, yes? As for the gesture itself—"

"Oghren is boooring. Already sleeping." Lenya kicked the snoring dwarf lightly in the side, her movements swaying. "I won. Heh."

Zevran laughed. "Well then, my lovely Warden, come on over here." Of all the times Alistair wanted Zevran to shut up, _this_ was not one of them. He sighed as Lenya came closer and hated her really bad timing.

Unimpressed with it, she grinned brightly when she saw him. "Heellooo Al-Al-_Ali!_" She giggled at the odd-sounding word.

_Ali?_ He arched an eyebrow at the misuse of his name._ Right._

"And the stoopid elf iiiis heeere, too. Yoou and Leliaaana?" She made a face. "Ugh."

Zevran ignored her comment. "So tell us, Lenya, what does giving a flower in your culture mean?"

"This foor a stooopid coupling ritual, with... ugh and _uugh,_" Lenya said, disgusted and squinted her eyes, observing the sitting Alistair closer. "You have a big nooose."

"Coupling?" Alistair blinked." Huh? I... don't—oh. _Oh!_" His eyes widened and his face quickly reddened until it matched the rosy tint of his ears as the meaning of her words became clear. "Oh, Maker, I had no idea. Lenya, I'm sorry." _She doesn't hate me. _He laughed, feeling incredibly relieved at this knowledge. _It was all a misunderstanding._

"Was it alwaaays that big?" Lenya wasn't listening to his apology. Instead, she stumbled around and started to poke Alistair's nose with her finger.

"Ah." Zevran chuckled. "There is a saying about big noses, you know. Makes me wonder and curious at the same time if it's true."

Alistair had no time to retort his comment, nor did he _want_ to. Either way, he was very much occupied with fending Lenya's hand from his face and keeping her from poking his eye out. And maybe not choking up from the heavy smell of brew emanating from her, as well. How much did she drink, anyway?

"Nooose. Nooose. Nooose," she chanted, entranced, each word accompanied by a poking of her finger. At one poke, Lenya lost her balance and toppled over. His heart seemed to skip a beat as she landed with her face directly in the crook of his neck, where the armor didn't protect him.

"Comfy," she murmured, her breath tickling and hot on his exposed skin, sending several shivers down his spine. The distinctive snoring indicated that she had fallen asleep in an instant. Frozen to his spot, Alistair dared not to move, and if it weren't for Zevran's amused stare, he probably never would have.

With a sigh, he got rid of his heavy gauntlets so as not to bruise her skin when he carefully picked her up. He felt his face burning. "I, uh, better get her in her tent." Lenya slept soundly in his arms.

"I hope you are aware that our lovely leader is due for the watch in a few hours," Zevran said, looking at the dirt under his nails.

_Irresponsible woman. _Alistair's gaze grew soft as it lasted for a moment on her before looking up to the elf. "Then I'll take her watch, as well."

"You love her, no?" It was just a bare statement, without any emotions attached. And yet was there something in Zevran's voice that made him answer truthfully, without hesitation.

"Yes."

He might regret it later—especially with Zevran—but now he couldn't bring up the will to care. Without turning or waiting for a response, he headed for her tent.

.

~V~

.

Alistair placed Lenya gingerly on her bedroll, afraid to wake her up, but the Dalish seemed to sleep like a stone. Looking around in the dimly lit tent, he searched for a blanket and found it amidst the tangle of clothes, armor, and other personal belongings.

While he preferred to keep his tent neat and organized, Lenya was once more the complete opposite. Inside her tent was chaos, with things from her pack just scattered everywhere. The parts of her light armor were piled in one corner, clothes, maps, and bags of herbs in the other. Only her weapons were tidily placed beside her bedroll and—much to his surprise—the rose, _his_ rose, too. For a moment, Alistair simply stared at unmistakable contours of the flower, taken aback. Lenya hadn't thrown it away like he thought, even after the blatant misunderstanding of his gesture and gift.

Lenya's groan and shivering breath put him quickly back to the present and his attention to her. He leaned over as much he could in his armor to spread the thick blanket over her body, heart beating fast. Once more, he felt too big and clumsy in comparison to her much smaller form, especially now with her arms hugging her legs as she lay there, curled to a little ball.

Alistair remained in his leaned position longer than necessary, observing her peaceful expression in the half-dark. One strand of her tousled hair fell over her face and he couldn't help but to tuck it away behind her pointed ear. His motion was affectionate and careful, tracing the lines of her cheek with the back of his finger, once more amazed at the softness of her skin.

"I love you."

Alistair blinked at his own whispered words, surprised. He meant to say _'good night_' but his mind and tongue apparently had other plans. Quickly, he licked his lips as if he could taste the words, probing them for their weight. _Never_ he had said it out loud before and never had he thought he _would_. Even though they were just whispered to her sleeping form, he recognized how much they bore the truth. And it was okay, welcomed, even.

He was grateful for her, in more than one way. Without Lenya, he would still be stuck in his grief, _drowned_, even. Alistair still missed and mourned Duncan and his fellow brethren, but she made it better, more _bearable_. He wasn't alone, had found a place for him to belong in this chaotic world of death and fighting. At her side.

Alistair slowly stood up, a smile sneaking into his features at the thought of Duncan's warning words.

"_Don't fall for her. You will regret it, believe me."_

"Too late, Duncan. Far too late."

There was no turning back anymore, nor did he _want_ to.

Duty be damned.

.

.

* * *

_Review? Review! [/Sandal] :D_


	61. Differences

_**A/N: **__Umm...yeah, character/relationship building chapter here. Nothing special, but needed from time to time. Thanks to all for their awesome support and to Mack for once more sacrificing once more her rare free-time to beta-read my chapter. You are the best.  
_

* * *

_**You keep saying that word. I don't think it means what you think it means.**_

_~Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride_

* * *

_.  
_

**Chapter 58: Differences**

_._

Wynne did not know what she should think about the newest development.

It was clear to see to everyone in their group that the both Wardens were getting along better and better with each passing day. Maybe even _too_ well, if she regarded Alistair's all-too-obvious feelings toward his fellow Warden. The Dalish, however, seemed either to ignore his affection, or hadn't even noticed it.

Lenya was a spirited young lady, if bit too impetuous, but Wynne blamed it on her youth. In fact, they were _both_ still so young, and yet there was already such a responsibility on their shoulders, a heavy and _important_ duty. It was the reason why she hadn't hesitated a single moment in accompanying them on their mission. Maker knew they needed all the help they could get.

Wynne loved her life in the tower, but in the time of a Blight, she couldn't bear to sit about in her room while the darkspawn devoured the land. She needed to do something, as long she still had the... time. Lenya had a good heart under her fierce, sometimes hostile demeanor, but it was obvious that she needed guidance. It was good to see the both Wardens worked together as well as they did, despite their differences in the beginning. Wynne, however, was torn about what to think of Alistair's attachment to Lenya, an attachment that went far beyond the usual camaraderie. Even if it was heart-warming in some kind of way, it wasn't proper, because, for a Grey Warden, duty should _always_ come first. Their task of stopping the Blight from spreading was much more important than dwelling on some adolescent infatuation. It would only lead to distraction and needless heartache, like love always did.

The mage sighed and smoothed the creases out of her robe while watching the both of them sparring. For hours and hours, the steel of their blunt blades clashed together, the sound reverberating over the makeshift camp area. Still, both Wardens seemed far from being exhausted, which made Wynne wonder if the fabled tales of their enhanced stamina were true.

"Watch your defense, your side is exposed!" The stern tone in Alistair's voice was surprising, given his normal joking and amiable personality. Lenya had her sword-hand bound to her back and was fighting with only her weaker right hand. Time and time again, he stopped to correct her stance and give her advice, which always resulted in a frustrated glare of her into his direction.

"Yes, because I only have one weapon, _idiot!_"

Alistair was unimpressed by her glowering and readied himself for a new attack. "Then _use_ it. Be quicker!"

As a mage, Wynne didn't understand much of the melee arts, and yet it still seemed the movements of Lenya's blade were not as confident as usual. The Dalish now practiced fighting with a sword where she normally used a smaller and lighter dagger, which caused her actions to look a bit rough_,_ yet not entirely without grace.

She saw the Warden smirking, as if challenging the much bigger human. "Faster, huh? Good, I will, puppy. Just watch."

A flurry of movements followed, swords clashing again and again with a speed too quick for Wynne's old eyes to follow. For a moment, it looked as if Alistair would once more keep the upper hand, but then Lenya feinted and Alistair fell for it. Before the Dalish could make her next move, Arai ultimately ended their sparring by jumping on Alistair with full speed. The weight of the Mabari knocked the man down to the ground instantly in the mud of melted snow, his sword landing falling beside him. Standing on top of Alistair, Arai started to growl and bared his teeth, while the Dalish doubled over in a fit of laughter.

It was an amusing picture to behold, if Wynne was honest with herself.

"Lenya? Lenya! Maker, stop laughing and get your damn dog off me!"

"Arai, we were just sparring. Alistair would _never_ attack me, right?" The tone in her voice was mocking.

"R-right. Never!"

The dog seemed unconvinced. Huffing, he peered in Lenya's direction, and then back at Alistair, his canine eyes narrowing.

"Maker's blood, you stupid bag of fleas. We are fellow Wardens. What reason would I have to fight _against_ her?"

Arai's only answer was a new growl, which sounded more like a sneer to Wynne's ears.

Wynne had heard that Mabari were very intelligent, but able to sneer? That was... different. Shaking her head, the elder mage turned toward her neglected book again. Since the sparring of the Wardens was over, there was little left to do otherwise. Also, she needed to know if Lady Talia Lyonne would give in to this arrogant chevalier, Garren, or if the far more sensible Juston would win her heart.

.

~V~

.

With a deliberate sniff into Alistair's face, the hound backed away to run over to his mistress.

Jumping up, he cautiously pulled with his teeth at the rope that bound her hand to her back.

"Arai, it is sweet that you are so worried about me, but even this was part of the sparring. I want to learn how to use my off-hand more and better. Alistair is _helping_ me."

The growling of the Mabari gave away that he didn't believe his mistress.

"Ugh, dog-spit." Alistair wiped his face with the backside of his gloved hands, which only smeared it even more across his face. "Arai did that with full knowledge, I'm sure." He paused, waiting for her to help him. "Umm, hello? Lenya?"

"Yeeees?" With an impish grin, she loomed over his form in the mud. "Need something?" Without a second thought, Lenya reached out her hand to help him up. Naturally, this attempt resulted in him pulling her down to him rather than the other way around, due to his heavier and larger form. His heart stuttered out several beats when she landed directly on him, laughing.

"You stupid metal can," Lenya managed to say in between the snorting before bursting into another fit of laughter, heedless of the mud near her.

Alistair didn't answer, _couldn't_. He was suddenly too mesmerized by the weight of her closeness, the flush of her heated cheeks, and the smell of her skin inebriated his senses. His eyes dropped to her lips and he noted that if he didn't move now, he probably would do something _very_ stupid.

Not for the first time, Alistair wondered how it would be to... kiss her.

When he was younger, he'd managed to kiss a girl once or twice, simply for the purpose of sating his curiosity. But the action was never bound to such emotions like he felt for Lenya. He'd heard from others that you would forget the world around you when you kissed the person you loved. Alistair rather believed his head would either implode or be severed by the blade of her sword if he dared an attempt. Still, it was so damn tempting to forget it all, even if only for a little mom—

"Ugh, you _reek_."

He blinked, coming back to his senses. "What?"

"Of wet dog." Lenya rolled to the side and off him, a fact that he disliked more than he'd admit.

"Tell that Arai." _Damn dog._

In one fluid movement, the Dalish was on her feet again, the back of her leather armor unsurprisingly damp with mud and remains of snow.

The weather was _crazy_ at the moment. During the day, the sun came out, melting all of the snow that had fallen over the course of the night, only to have a freezing night and new snow follow again. It made it incredibly difficult to march long distances over the day and find a suitable place to camp for the night. He hoped that the weather would be more stable once they have reached the borders of the Brecilian Forest.

Then again, they were in _Ferelden_, which meant for all its craziness, the winter was astonishingly mild this year. But why, by the Maker, was he even thinking about the weather while lying in the cold mud?

Groaning, he rolled over, which was not an easy task in his heavy armor. Though, due to his years of practice of wearing it, he eventually managed to get up on his own, only to see that Lenya had wandered off toward Wynne.

Not knowing what else to do, he shrugged and followed her.

.

.

* * *

.

"Why do you confine your mages in a tower of stone?"

Wynne reluctantly peered up from her book. Of course Lenya had to appear at a very interesting part in it. Sighing, the mage closed the book and nearly jumped at Lenya's appearance. Her whole form was caked with mud, which mingled with the sweat in her face, her skin still heated from the long sparring. Heedless of it, the Dalish sat down right next to Wynne, which unconsciously made the mage move an inch away from her. Lenya's expectant gaze lasting on her reminded her that the Dalish still waited on a reply. Before Wynne could do so, however, the growl of a mud-caked Arai announced the arrival of a no less mud-caked Alistair.

Wynne wrinkled her nose. It was obvious that they all desperately needed a bath, especially the wet Mabari, who reeked like, well, _wet Mabari_.

Alistair smiled at the elder woman and sat down across from Lenya. Thus, Wynne gave up any hope of reading the end of the chapter today and suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She frowned. "My, what a question. The answer should be obvious. You have been there and seen what happens when mages are out of control, or have you not?"

Lenya wasn't impressed by her answer. "Given, that Uldred-shemlen was... nuts, but I was not surprised to see some others fighting for freedom. And I would have done the same, if I had been confined there all my life."

Wynne's eyes narrowed in anger. "I don't think you can judge what it means to be a mage, child. All it takes is one slip, and everything you are is simply gone... replaced by madness. You have seen the abominations. They had been mages before they gave in to their weakness, to their desire for power."

"You know, we _have_ mages within the Dalish clans. Mages _free_ from your shemlen Chantry, using the old, nearly forgotten magic arts. _Free_ from your Templars' watch and control. And still they don't turn into abominations all of the sudden. The ones in the tower were the first I ever encountered, in fact." Lenya looked at Wynne, frowning. "So, do you think the magic of my people is wrong, just because our mages aren't confined and locked away in a stone tower?"

"Magic needs to be controlled, supervised. That the mages are being watched by the templars and tutored in the tower is most important in learning to control their powers." Wynne let out an exasperated sigh and looked over to the human Warden. "Don't you agree, Alistair? You almost became a templar, after all."

Alistair shifted uncomfortable in his seat and saw how Lenya glowered at the elder mage. "Actually, as said many times before, I never _wanted_ to be a templar. I attended one Harrowing in my time as an initiate. The girl... didn't make it. And to imagine I'd have to hunt mages all my life, or keep watch over the mages all day... _no._ I'd rather be a Warden." He swallowed at the memory. "I simply prefer to run my sword through darkspawn, instead of girls no older than sixteen. And then... there is the lyrium. Enough reasons to say I was lucky to get away from that fate."

"Lyrium? The potion that restores mana?" Lenya asked.

"Yes." He bit his lip, hesitating. "The templars are given lyrium to help develop their magical talents, you see... which means they... become _addicted_ to it."

"A-addicted?" Lenya let out a gasp, and her eyes widened. "So, you have been..."

"Thankfully, no," he hurried to say. "You only start receiving lyrium once you've taken your vows and you don't need lyrium in order to learn the templar talents. Lyrium just makes templars talents more effective. Or so I was told. Maybe it doesn't even do that."

Lenya shook her head, bewildered. "_Mythal'enaste! _I don't understand why you humans are so fearful of magic that you do this to your own people."

Alistair scoffed. "The Chantry, however, feels _perfectly_ justified. They like to keep a close reign on their templars."

Wynne returned her glare to the Dalish, feeling her anger rising. "It seems there is a _lot_ you don't understand, child. I don't want to argue any longer, but it is obvious that you have much left to learn."

Lenya tensed, the hands at her side balled to fists. "Right, because I'm just a stupid Dalish, a savage unable to grasp the miracles of your society. Thanks for letting me know." Lenya sneered, and her tone was tone derisive and bitter. "Humans. In the end, you are all the same."

"Lenya... don't." Alistair raised his hands in the attempt to placate the Dalish, but found himself glowering at Wynne, too. He didn't like the direction the conversation was taking, nor the condemning undertone in the mage's voice.

"I didn't say that," Wynne said. "But you shouldn't forget that you aren't within the bounds of your clan anymore. You are a Grey Warden now, which means your duty is about serving others, about serving all people, whether elves or dwarves or men."

"_Duty. _So that is what being a Grey Warden means. How could I forget? Silly me." Lenya let out a laugh, cold and without mirth, the volume of her voice increasing in her fury. "You know, for me, being a Warden means being able to _survive_. If I hadn't left my clan to go through the Joining, I would have been dead by now, tainted as I was. Excuse me for just trying to make the best out of a _fucked_ up situation." She jumped up from her seat, her stare at Wynne disdainful and hurt. "But what do I know? I'm just a stupid child in your eyes." Immediately, she whirled around and stormed away, without waiting for any answer.

Arai tilted his head and whined, surprised t his mistress's reaction. With a growl toward the elder human, and then at Alistair out of habit, the Mabari trotted after her.

For a moment, Alistair couldn't do anything but stare in shock after Lenya and back at the mage. He frowned. "Wynne, you're the first mage I actually like, but I don't think you have the right to judge Lenya like you did. She's really trying hard to acclimate to her role as a Grey Warden and one must be blind to not see it—how far she has come with it and how much she's done for _everyone_. So using this against her now is, I don't know, _unfair_."

"It is?" Wynne looked up at him, the anger still apparent in her eyes, but slowly fading. "Such an indignant question. She _should_ know better."

"Maybe she just asked because she really didn't understand it." Alistair breathed a long sigh. "Given, I'm not the most neutral person here, being her fellow Warden, but I knew her from the beginning and _before_ you did. And while it hasn't been always easy with her, I'm fully aware that without her we wouldn't have come so far. Maker, I'm sure I would be—" Another sigh. "Nevermind. I better get cleaned up. Mud and all."

Wynne watched how he turned and left. Suddenly, she had unexpected time to finish the chapter in her book, and yet felt no desire to anymore.

.

.

* * *

.

"_Shem'alas, nan'din! Shem'alas, venshiral'din_._"_

Lenya stood in front of her tent and cursed in her native language while cleaning her face with a wet cloth. She had thought that Wynne was like Ashalle, a person she could turn to when there were things she didn't understand. Obviously, she had been wrong, and felt beyond stupid for comparing this shemlen to her foster mother in the first place.

Having finished her cleaning, she threw the cloth to the ground with such force that Arai winced at the sudden motion. _"Shemlen dar alasbora!" _Still vexed, she groaned at the approaching steps behind her and the unmistakable feeling of the taint in her blood. "I'm no delicate flower. I don't need your comfort. I'm _fine_."

Alistair arched an eyebrow at her back. "I see that. Anyway, you forgot your blades when you were stalking away. So I thought I'd bring them to you."

Lenya's shoulders slumped as she huffed out a long sigh and glowered at the tent. Still, she did not turn around. "_Ma serannas._"

Much to her surprise, he didn't say anything after that, which resulted in a longer awkward pause. She could hear him breathe in and out, as if struggling for words that failed to leave his tongue.

If the growling of Arai was any indication, Alistair eventually advanced closer to her. "I know I repeat myself, but you are doing a great job so far. You were thrown out into this world beyond the borders of your clan, where so much must have been foreign for you. And still you're always trying and never giving up, even if that would be the much easier path." He breathed out. "Such strength is an admirable trait, really."

An unwanted smile crept onto Lenya's face. "Reverting to obvious flattery now?" It sounded harsher than intended, if only to cover up how _much_ his words had moved her.

_Damn that human._

"I'm just saying that it's okay to not know or understand everything." He chuckled. "Maker, I probably only know _half_ as much as I should. So, obviously, I don't agree, nor do I appreciate what Wynne said, despite my fondness for her."

Finally, she turned around to him, frowning. "Was my question so wrong?"

"No." He hesitated. "Well, probably the word 'confine' in one sentence with the tower, which _is_ Wynne's home, wasn't the best idea, I guess."

"Hmph." She took her blades out of his hands, and her frown deepened. "You know, thinking about how you humans treat the mages makes my head hurt."

"I guess you aren't alone with that, either. Just a tip: Blood magic? Very sensitive topic. Avoid whenever possible."

Lenya glowered at him. "I'm _not_ stupid, puppy! I have been there in the tower and seen what it can cause. Also, my people deplore those form of magic. It is way too dangerous." Her glare then softened to a doleful expression. "At least it makes me understand Nithius better now. Why he ran away from there. Or that other mage we met before entering the tower."

"Is this why you let that girl in the tower away?" Alistair struggled with saying the following words. "The blood mage?"

She nodded. "I couldn't kill her. it didn't seem... _right_. Even if I can't use magic myself, my clan taught me to respect magic as something natural and not to be afraid of it as you humans are."

"I see." Only two little words from him. Lenya was surprised he left it at that. There was no condemning, nor judging from him like she had expected it. "You know," he went on, "you could be the second Dalish to stop a Blight after Garahel. It's great that history can repeat itself."

"He _died_ doing so," Lenya said with a serious expression and enjoyed the obvious dread that formed itself on Alistair's face at that.

"Maybe you could leave out the dying part? I would like that better. _Much_ better. Also, we shouldn't take twelve years to end the Blight, perhaps. I'm not sure if I can endure Morrigan for so long, really."

At that name, Lenya grimaced. "There is something I need to tell you."

"Given your tone, I won't like it, will I?" Alistair shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. "So, what is it now? Rats running amok? Cheese supply running low? I can take it."

As so often when he was insecure, he reverted to humor. Lenya was already used to this tactic, yet she still shook her head, amused at that. Then she remembered the reason why she needed to talk to him and her amusement faded. "Yes. You won't like it."

He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Then out with it already. You're killing me here."

"I promised Morrigan to kill her mother in the Korcari Wilds. Flemeth."

He went completely still, and then rubbed his eyes. For a moment, it looked as if he was trying to poke them out." You did... _what?" _Another pause and his fingers wandered to his temples, massaging them. "You_—why?_ I don't even... no. Just. No! There are no words to describe how stupid that is!"

He started to pace frantically up and down and she followed his movements with her eyes. "I know she is asking for much, but I couldn't say no after knowing what would happen to her if I didn't help her."

"Funny, you are so _good_ at it otherwise."

Lenya felt her anger rising. "Flemeth would kill her and inhabit her body, you idiot!"

"Right, that is what I would call an _improvement_, actually."

"_Ma venshiral'din, alasbora?" _Lenya huffed an exasperated sigh, her arms crossed over her chest. "Like her or not, Morrigan is a valuable companion we can't afford to lose. And we are heading in that direction either way to find one of the clans of my people."

"I don't see what one has to do with the other."

"We need to find a clan for the treaty, but they are very good at hiding themselves during winter. The clans are most vulnerable during this season and don't want to be found. The cold, the sparse supplies, the few animals to hunt—take your pick for a reason. So, instead of sitting about and waiting for spring to come, we could head to the Korcari Wilds first to do this, and afterward, leave for the Brecilian forest. I think my people will be easier to find then."

"Great plan, really." He glared down at her. "Kill an old woman because Morrigan says so? How did she know about it, anyway? Did Flemeth sneak into her dreams and threaten to kill her?" Alistair shook his head. "You're trusting her too much, Lenya!"

"And you not _enough._" Lenya rolled her eyes. "Remember the tome we retrieved from the tower? She read about it in there."

"Right, a book only _she_ can read. How convenient." Alistair drove an agitated hand through his hair. "Why, by the Maker, _why_ are you even telling me this when you've resolved to help her either way? It's not like my objection would matter, right?"

She snorted. "Because you _might_ notice when we take a trip into the Korcari Wilds instead of the Brecilian Forest." Stopping, Lenya fidgeted with her hands, voice quiet. "And I will need your help. Flemeth isn't just an old woman, but a powerful abomination. I'll need your templar abilities."

Alistair sent a sigh toward the sky, as if someone above could help him in his dilemma. "You're asking _me_ to help _Morrigan_. Of _all_ people. To kill the one maleficar who saved our lives. Am I the only one seeing the irony hidden here?"

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Probably. Or... not."

"Great. How comforting." He let out a groan and didn't stop his pacing. "I'm not liking this. You have no idea how very much I despise even the idea of wasting our time there. For... _Morrigan_." He fell silent for a moment, as if mulling over his words. "Then again, I know how stubborn you are and that arguing with you won't change _anything_. And I don't feel comfortable in letting you wander off into unknown danger. So, I will come with you, even if only to say _'I told you so'_ in the end."

Her face brightened, the smile genuine and relieved at the same time. "Thank you, Alistair!"

To her bewilderment, he turned crimson at that and sputtered a few unintelligible words before finding his voice again. "Maker knows you will be my death someday." With a shake of his head, he turned to leave for his own tent, still mumbling under his breath.

Lenya watched after him until he vanished into his tent and decided to do the same. "Let's get some rest, Arai. The march tomorrow will be annoying enough."

She didn't know why, maybe the Blight was to blame, but the North Road was packed with bandits at the moment. Fighting them was more bothersome than challenging, because it needlessly impended their journey across the Bannorn toward the Korcari Wilds.

Sighing, she was about to duck into her tent when the shadow of a huge figure halted her motions.

"I wish to speak with the painted Warden."

"Shale," Lenya said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile onto her face as she turned toward the approaching golem. Arai growled and barked at the giant figure, equally as annoyed at being disturbed in their attempt to rest.

The creature glowered down at the hound. "If the animal wants to end as a bloodied paste under my heels, It should continue to growl at me."

Arai made one last snarl in the golem's direction before retreating with a wince behind Lenya's back.

Shale snorted at his reaction. "Wise decision."

"Right, what is it?" _Can't it wait?_

Shale hesitated for a long moment, her white glowing eyes resting on the much smaller Dalish. "I... wanted—" She stopped with a sigh, struggling with her next words. "To thank the painted Warden. It didn't have to go back to the Deep Roads and risk Its life for me and yet It had done that."

Lenya felt her tension and exasperation ebbing away at Shale's words. She had expected another request, yet _another_ question from her companions, like it was so common these days. Instead, the golem offered words of thanks, which was a nice change. She smiled up to the golem. "I think it is important to know one's history, from where you come from—" The smile faded, a frown was replacing it. "Although, this knowledge isn't always pleasant."

"It doesn't like to be a squishy, fleshy thing?" Shale chuckled. "I can understand that."

Lenya didn't answer at first, as she was too occupied by the memories of Ashalle telling her what had _really_ happened to her father. She hadn't been much older than a _da'len_ at that time, and it had given her many years to develop a deep hatred not only toward humans, but flat-ears, as well. She shook herself, as if the motion could dispel the memories from her mind.

"I actually like it very much, but it isn't easy." _Was it ever?_

"Hmph. Yes, I can imagine. How very fragile it must be. One touch and its kind crumples, spilling liquid everywhere."

This caused Lenya to laugh, her dark thoughts forgotten. "I didn't meant _that_, but thanks for the laugh. I guess I needed that." The chuckling turned into an impish grin. "So, Caridin was right, huh? You really were a woman once?"

Shale let out a noise that sounded like a disgusted shudder. "If it looks forward to talking about dresses and what shoes to wear, I'm eager to disappoint It. The painted Warden should rather consider talking to the Sister for that. For me, the only girlish thing to do is to crush something soft and watch it fountain blood." The golem laughed. "It does have fun doing that too, doesn't it?"

"Well, it is better than talking about shoes, for sure." Lenya nodded, still smiling. "Is there anything else, Shale? As every other 'meat bag' around you, I get tired, too. I would like to rest a bit before we watch darkspawn fountain blood again." The Dalish demonstratively stretched herself and envied Arai, who had already stolen himself into the tent to sleep. She was about to do the same, as a rumbling sigh halted her motions.

"I..." Shale hesitated, her shifting stone feet creaking in the motion. "It has occurred to me that I haven't been good to it." Another sigh. "Excuse me, this is not easy. I haven't been nice to yousince I was freed in Honnleath. And despite that, you have helped me to find out who I was, my past."

Lenya blinked, taken aback. "_You_? Are you calling me _you_?"

"It noticed that, has It?" Shale chuckled. "It shouldn't get used to it. It was one of those one-time things, just like I can crush a head only one time to let it go _squish_. Sadly, it doesn't make any noises after that. But I wish to thank it, for I have not only found my past, I have also found..." She faltered with a grumble, struggling to say the missing word.

"A... _friend?_" Lenya offered, one eyebrow raised. She was almost sure that the golem would laugh her off, but instead, she surprised her.

Shale nodded in earnest, without her usual dry sarcasm. "Yes, _exactly_ so."

"Thanks, Shale, it means a lot to me." Lenya smiled, baffled and delighted at the same time. It was an odd concept to be befriended by a huge, stony golem, but she liked that grumpy creature in its very own way. Also, she already considered a _human_ as her friend. How much more strange could a golem then be? "Since I'm one of the fleshy, soft creatures, I mean," she added with a grin.

"Yes, yes," the golem said in a hurry. "I would prefer if we'd never speak of this awkward bonding moment again."

The Dalish shrugged. "Of course. I understand that you have a reputation to keep."

With a chuckle, the creature turned and stomped away.

.

.

* * *

.

"Morrigan!"

"Oh, 'tis you." Her cold, golden eyes regarded him no longer than necessary before returning to the tome in her lap. "What do you want?"

Until a few moments ago, it seemed a brilliant idea to Alistair to confront Morrigan about her request. Now, he wasn't so sure anymore. She sat there in front of her own little campfire and read, ignoring him as if he didn't even exist. Normally, he preferred to do the same with her, but tonight it made him angry.

"What do I want?" He scoffed. "The question is, rather, what _you_ want."

_Oh, brilliant._

One dark eyebrow rose without looking up at him. "To have my peace and not be bothered by dimwitted idiots. But alas, it seems this wish is made in futility."

Alistair stepped closer until he stood right in front of the witch and still was she ignoring him. If it was a tactic to make him furious, it was working. "I know Lenya trusts you and now you're using her trust for your own purpose. I shouldn't be surprised that you're shameless enough to do this."

"Oh, that is what your needless visit is about. 'Tis heartwarming how concerned you are for the well-being of your fellow Warden, but compared to you, she can look after herself." Morrigan turned the page and rested her head in her hand while reading on. "'Tis not surprising me she told you about it, as close you both have grown over the past weeks. Sickening to watch. I surmised she had a better taste."

"Yeah, go on insulting me. Very clever." There was a hint of fury in his voice. "If that's a method to distract me from the real reason for your request to kill your mother, it isn't working. You're just searching for someone to do your dirty work. That was your plan all along, I'm sure."

"Your revealing gaze has laid me bare, templar. If Lenya has talked with you, you surely know the goal I want to achieve with it._ Survival_. 'Tis simple. Even your limited mind should be able to grasp it."

Eyes narrowed, his tone grew sharper, almost threatening. "Then do it _yourself_! I won't let you use Lenya for this. She might trust you, but I do not!"

"Another simple thing you failed to grasp, it would seem." Morrigan finally peered up, her gaze cold. "I merely made a _request_, which she _agreed_ to. So, the problems you seem to have with this accordance are to discuss with your fellow Warden. If you are not too occupied with looking at her all doe-eyed, that is."

Alistair felt a sudden fury burning inside of him as he continued to glare at Morrigan. Normally, he had no problems in controlling such emotions and tucking them under his discipline he'd learned as a templar initiate. In the presence of Morrigan, however, it was all too easy to forget his control and instead to indulge in his anger. He didn't even know why he was so furious all the sudden. A part of him was aware that it was due to his own powerlessness to change this particular situation, to protect Lenya from the insanity Morrigan's plan obviously was. He had grown vulnerable to everything concerning _her, _and this damn witch hadn't hesitated to seize it to her advantage.

Still, the emotion flared in his throat, raw and unchecked, ready to spill over. His hands squeezed into tight fists. Belatedly, Alistair noticed he had made a step toward the witch and one fist had risen, the arm tensed. With effort, he put it down, still breathing heavy. "I _hate_ you!"

She shook her head in mocking amusement, her tone a single sneer. "My, 'tis such strong emotion and wasted, too. I couldn't care less for a twit like you. Fortunately, it appears we have finally discussed everything unneeded and obvious. Now leave!"

Alistair ignored her subtle warning, too caught up in the anger that still got had hold of him. "I will do it for _her_, not for _you_! And should something happen to Lenya while we are in the Wilds, I swear by the Maker you will _regret_ it!"

"Whatever allows you sleep better at night."

He huffed into her face, and feeling too sick to stay into Morrigan's presence, he turned to stalk away. Hence, Alistair didn't catch the frown that carved itself into Morrigan's expression as she glanced over to Lenya's tent. The witch blinked and shook herself, as if willing the unwanted emotions from her mind.

.

.

**A/N:**_ Next stop will be Lothering. Yes, you read that right. Heh. Review?_

* * *

**Elvish notes:**

* * *

"_Shem'alas, nan'din! Shem'alas, venshiral'din_._"_ - The stupid human knows nothing. The stupid human don't see it.

_Shemlen dar alasbora!_ - Humans are idiots!

"_Ma venshiral'din, alasbora?_ - Don't you see it, idiot?


	62. Shades of Grey

_**A/N:** This time: Ripping hearts out, Part 1. Heh. Yes, there is a series of that within my FF. There is quite a bit clicking in place now I have been working on to build up before...and then again, there are new things that are over-arching into other chapters. Did I catch your interest? Good. Have fun *cackles*_

* * *

_**When you were standing in the wake of devastation  
When you were waiting on the edge of the unknown  
With the cataclysm raining down  
Insides crying, "save me now"  
You were there and possibly alone**_

_~ Linkin Park - Iridescent _

* * *

**.  
**

**Chapter 59: Shades of Grey**

.

It had been a mistake.

They should have _never_ followed their instincts and thus the trail of taint and darkspawn in its wake. Lenya shuddered a breath as she jerked her blade free from a darkspawn corpse, its corrupted blood contaminating the muddy ground. It was neither their sheer amount, nor the regularity in which they appeared during their weeks of travel through the bannorn that startled her so. She was used to fighting these creatures by now, it had become a natural act to kill them without even a second thought.

No, it was the sight in front of her eyes that terrified her.

She was looking at the outskirts of a destroyed Lothering.

Even with a good amount of distance, Lenya felt the heat of the scorching fires prickling on her skin, hot and disconcerting amidst the remaining cold of a fading winter. Billows of smoke clung to the sky, darkening the horizon with its black thickness. Above all this, the heavy feel of taint was palpable, its denseness bearing the stench of death, and thrumming in every vein of her body.

Behind her, she heard Leliana whimper, a quiet sound somewhere caught in her throat and yet so loud in the despaired silence. Lenya bit her lip and had to will her feet forward, the grass becoming more scorched and bloodied with each of her advancing steps. Crossing Lothering was the fastest way to reach the Imperial Highway to get back to the Wilds, but now the Dalish wished they'd taken the far more convoluted path, instead.

It was a _mistake,_ and every inch she got closer to the bare skeleton of buildings and sickly sweet stench of decay made her more aware of that. Lothering wasn't a human village anymore; it was a _grave_. A dead witness to the havoc the darkspawn caused as they fell over it without mercy, unstoppable.

It was_ their_ world, now.

"Maker's breath." Alistair was the first to break the shocked silence, as they waded in between some decaying bodies. Lenya turned around to him. His grimy face bore an expression of concentration, his jaw set firm. Like her, he tried to avoid looking at the bodies on the ground, lest they recognize anyone they had met during their first visit here. Out of the corner of her eyes, the Dalish saw how Leliana threatened to crumble into a heap. Surprisingly, it was Zevran who hurried over to her side and held her upright. For once, Leliana didn't seem to mind.

"Let us quickly move on," Lenya said. Another glance toward Alistair and she knew he felt it, too. The taint was thick here, overbearing. "Don't touch _anything_."

"Heh, that's a command I have no trouble following." Oghren shook his head. "By the stone, it almost looks the same here as the Deep Roads."

"I'm serious, the concentration of the taint here is... _sickening_. We don't know how stable the effect of the anti-corruption potions are in such environment. So I want you all stay in line," said Lenya.

"They _are_ working." Morrigan looked over to Lenya, eyes narrowing for her implication. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here."

Alistair glared at the witch. "How unsurprising that you would never risk your own skin. Because you have _others_ doing your dirty work, right?"

She stepped closer to him, scoffing. "Oh, how so? You seem to forget that I risk my life every day by fighting at your idiotic side."

"Are you insulting my warrior abilities? That's low, even for y—"

"Enough! You two are worse than any bickering _da'len_ I have ever seen." At least Alistair made the effort to look ashamed, while the witch whirled round, huffing. "_Dar alasbora!_ You can kill each other later for all I care, but now it is important we get out of here." Lenya frowned as she peered around. "Wait! Where is Leliana? She was here just a moment ago. Zevran!"

"Ah, I'm deeply sorry. I guess I have been too torn between admiring the bickering in between decaying bodies and suppressing the need to throw up all my breakfast at the smell. So I might have not looked for a moment or two. By the way, was it your idea to take the shortcut, my dear Warden? Lovely."

"Great." The Dalish sighed and nearly gagged at the foul taste that met her tongue on exhaling. "We need to find that stupid shemlen." She looked around, brows knitting scarves across her frown-carved forehead. "Still-burning fires and fresh bloodied corpses littered on the ground, darkspawn and humans alike. The traces of a horde are fresh, but how could that be when Lothering fell months ago? We heard about it in the tavern before entering the tower, after all."

"Maker, I hate to say it, but it seems as if a _second_ horde just came through here and killed the rest of the survivors," Alistair said, his expression grim. "We... we probably encountered those darkspawn on our way here and killed them already."

"It would be foolish to linger here." Sten observed what once had been the bustling main area of Lothering, the tavern burned down to the ground. The thick, black smoke made it difficult to see anything that lay further beyond. "Leave the human behind."

For a moment, Lenya was tempted to agree. She wanted nothing more than to get out of there, and certainly the rest of her group felt the same, as well. And yet, she glared up at the giant man, knowing full well that she couldn't ditch Leliana because she disappeared. "No!"

"No?" Sten snorted. "You have led us here, elf. Tell me: do you plan to wander aimlessly through these lands until you find the archdemon by sheer luck?"

Still glowering up at the Qunari, she was about to answer when a familiar tingling went through her veins. "Hold that thought—Darkspawn!" Before she had even drawn her blades, Alistair was already running toward the source of taint. The creatures were invisible from where she stood due to the dark, acrid smoke clouding the area.

Before she arrived, she heard a wet crunching noise, indicating Alistair had already succeeded in killing the darkspawn. The tingling in her blood stopped, replaced by the overall heavy feel of taint again. Lenya advanced to the side of her fellow Warden and gasped for air. Her lungs ached from the constant stench and smoke, yearning for a bit of fresh air that was near impossible to find here.

"Just two darkspawn. Stragglers, I suppose."

She made a face as she recognized that the darkspawn had been feasting on the rotten flesh of a corpse. "Ugh... lovely."

Arai cocked his head, sniffed the air, and then winced. The dog turned around to his mistress with a confused whine as the contour of a humanly shadow appeared from the smoke. Lenya didn't hesitate. She rushed toward it, her companions following. The shadow stooped down here and there to the bodies on the muddy ground, mumbling repeatedly under her breath, "Survivors. There must be survivors!"

"Leliana!" The Dalish made a frustrating noise when the human didn't stop, but instead, wandered off into the opposite direction. The smoke was less thick there, letting a good portion of light permeate through. The human woman eventually stopped in front of a small pile of corpses, and under great exertion, she heaved one of the bodies aside.

"H-He is alive. _Alive_." She laughed, the sound detached, almost desperate. "I _knew_ I heard something." Wynne hurried over, releasing a stream of her healing magic at the supposed target before she even saw who the person was. The magic washed over the figure on the ground, and then a faint groaning became audible within the eerie silence.

Leaning down to what was the bloodied form of an elderly man, the mage shook her head. "He is past the point where I could heal him and sick with the taint. All I could do was to ease his pain and fever for the moment."

"Wardens?" The voice of the man was weak and he coughed as he propped himself up, spitting out blood. "You are late, but maybe not _too_ late." His eyes flickered to Wynne. "I know your face, mage. You were in Ostagar at the king's command."

"Ostagar?" Alistair swallowed even at the bare name of the place, his breath shaking.

"You... were there with Duncan. I saw you. You are one of the Wardens," the man said to Alistair. "I was there to guard the king. H-he was my friend, you know." Another cough, followed by a bitter chuckle. "I certainly deserve my fate. I was so afraid of what would come that I panicked and ran away from battlefield, abandoned the king. I… I'm a deserter, and now, a dead man."

Lenya scowled. "You ran away? How ironic that you still ended up here in a darkspawn infested pit."

"Isn't it? I tried to reach a town, to contact the Wardens somehow. I heard rumors that some survived Ostagar. The Maker has a twisted way of humor to have you find me here."

Alistair was confused. "Why are you here and _why_ were you searching for us?"

"Bann Loren's men nearly caught me, so I needed to hide for a while. But then a darkspawn horde surprised me and I fled, ending up here. First I thought myself lucky for finding this village, but I was so wrong." The man paused for a moment, having trouble breathing. "I was entrusted by the king with the key of the royal arms chest and my task was to bring it to the Wardens, if something should happen to him. To guard the key for so long was the least I could do."

His face distorted in pain. "I couldn't let it fall into the wrong hands. I hid it in the house there." He pointed to the strangely intact small building that stood out amongst the ruins. "It was probably a stupid idea to hide it there, but better than letting Bann Loren's men on find it on my body. Please..." He gasped and Lenya could see that life was escaping him. Wynne's magic had only prolonged his futile life for a few moments. "Please... don't let the king's supplies and documents fall into the wr—" With a strangled gasp, the man's body convulsed and fell to the ground, dead.

"Maker watch over you, Elric Maraigne." Wynne bent down to his corpse and closed his eyes.

"You _knew_ him?" Alistair asked, baffled.

"He was one of the king's honor guard. I saw him several times before." The mage sighed. "I simply kept quiet because I knew he hadn't the time to exchange niceties."

"Dead. Another one." Leliana whispered, her eyelids fluttering. "So much death here."

Lenya was about to yell at her for her needless disappearance, but faltered at Leliana's devastated expression, her normally cheerful gaze full of sadness. Even if there wasn't much Lenya and the bard had in common, she understood why she was reacting like this.

Lothering had been her home once.

Seeing the devastation the darkspawn left behind—all this _death_—must hurt her deeply. Lenya looked at the human for a longer moment, observing how she leaned on Zevran without any protest and bit her lip. She felt a twinge of guilt for pushing them on to hunt the rest of the darkspawn, which had led them here in the first place.

It was a mistake.

"Let us leave."

But Alistair was already moving toward the door of the house and the Dalish had once more no other choice but to follow.

Lenya rolled her eyes. _Nice, how all of them stayed in line._

"We should get the key first," he said, voice quiet, his eyes fixed warily on the half-destroyed door. There was a slight hum of taint originating from the house, different from the drowning feeling covering most of the immediate area.

She gritted her teeth. "All right. Let us check for your stupid key, so we can finally leave. I want you all to wait at the bridge toward the Imperial Highway. We will meet there."

Her companions nodded their consent and turned to leave. Lenya motioned Arai to follow and hesitantly entered the building at Alistair's side.

.

~V~

.

The shack was more spacious than it looked from the outside, the furniture covered with dirt and dust, but surprisingly whole. The stink of decay was less intense inside, but still apparent. Wanting to spend no longer time here than needed, both Wardens started to search for the key in the shelves and the drawers underneath. It seemed as if a family had lived here once, their personal belongings littered everywhere on the ground. Lenya first found a book about gardening, then cookware, and even a doll. Everything was partly burned or soiled with filth. Somehow, it was a depressing sight to her to see whole existences left behind just like that. They apparently had not even time to pack their few belongings before fleeing from the darkspawn.

Considering the bodies remaining within the destroyed village, Lenya wasn't even sure if they managed _that_.

Arai followed a trail he had discovered, and appeared agitated as he sniffed on the ground. Only a few seconds later, the Mabari stopped and started to scratch repeatedly on the wooden planks in the middle of the grimy floor. Lenya halted her search, confused at her dog's reaction. The animal turned to her with a plaintive whine and she finally gave in to check what Arai found so interesting.

"I think," Alistair stopped to observe the object in his hand: a golden ornamented, metal key, "I have found it."

Lenya didn't listen to him. She was kneeling in front of the place Arai had scratched at and tilted her head to the side.

Alistair frowned and walked over to her, stashing the key in the pouch at his belt. "What is it?"

"There is someone crying. _Underneath_ the floor."

"I don't hear anything." Despite his words, he bent over, his gloved hands brushing aside the dust on the floor. The outline of a little trap door became visible on the ground, the handle still hidden underneath a half-burned rug. Lenya looked, confused, at her fellow Warden, having never seen anything like this before. "It's a root cellar," he explained and begun to pull at the handle. It came loose with some effort, the trap door creaking loudly at the movement.

The hole was dark, the air within humid and still bearing traces of vegetables. The crying—now audible even to Alistair—stopped, replaced by a sharp intake of air. Lenya frowned. She had almost forgotten the existence of this feeling after entering, but now where the door was open, the slight pull of taint within her blood had returned. One that was different from the soothing humming of her fellow Warden or the drowning feel of it outside in the destroyed village.

There was someone down there, and whoever it was, was likely sick with the taint. She exchanged a quick glance with Alistair, more to check that she didn't imagine this feeling than anything else. His gaze remained unreadable within the second that their eyes met; he was too concentrated on finding out who this person down there was.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

No answer except the sound of hesitating, tiny steps coming closer. Arai whined and cocked his head, and the hound seemed equally as worried as his mistress.

"A-are the bad monsters gone now?"

A girl's voice. It sounded young. _Too_ young.

Alistair gave in to the urge to blink, needing a moment to process the words. "Y-yes. We're Grey Wardens. You can come out."

Lenya wasn't even sure if she still wanted that to happen. Her hand clawed into the dirty fur of her Mabari as she continued to stare at the dark hole, waiting. For a long moment, there was agonizing silence, only disrupted by the coughing of the girl.

Lenya startled as she suddenly appeared right next to her. "You are Grey Wardens?" Red-rimmed blue eyes peered distrustfully into the grimy and bloodstained faces of elven and human Warden alike. "Have you seen my mommy? She will be angry that I ran away, but I was afraid, so _afraid_." The girl was on the verge of tears again, clutching the doll in her arms to her chest, and whimpering.

Lenya couldn't do anything but to stare at her.

_No..._

She was no older than six, maybe seven, her once white woolen dress dark from soot and dirt. Underneath the filth that covered her far-too-gaunt face, her skin was sallow and sweat dampened the long, dark red hair. The child wiped her upwelling tears with the back of her hands and shuddered involuntarily. Arai looked at the girl and whined, licking over her cheek with his tongue to comfort her.

"Doggy." For a moment, she forgot her distress, even smiled a little as she impulsively threw her arms around Arai's thick neck. Lenya awoke out of her state of shock and glanced over to Alistair, his appalled expression telling her that he was feeling it too.

The girl was tainted.

His brows creasing to a painful frown, he shook his head and blinked, unwilling to accept what he was seeing and feeling.

And what it _meant_.

"No!" he whispered the word very quietly, yet loud enough for her elven ears. Lenya was about to answer when a childish voice stopped her.

"Is this your doggy? Do you have griffons, too?" The girl was looking at her now, eyes wide and curious. They were puffy from all her crying. "You are an elf," the girl said brightly, without contempt, and even approached closer to touch Lenya's pointed ears.

Normally, the Dalish would have already backed away and scowled or yelled at the child for daring to come so close, but now she simply let it happen. Her fingers were unnaturally hot on the sensitive skin of her ears. A feverish warmth emanated from the girl's presence, something Lenya knew all too well herself. This was how the taint always started, before it'd get worse. "Yes, this is my dog. He is a Mabari and his name is Arai." She avoided telling the girl her own name, as well as looking into her into the eyes.

The child turned to the dog and took one of his big paws to shake it. "Nice to meet you, Arai. I'm Nelia." Arai barked once and slobbered over Nelia's cheek, wagging his stumpy tail as she giggled.

"W-why are you still here? Where is your family?" Alistair had trouble speaking, as if a big lump was beginning to form itself in his throat. Much to his horror, the girl's face contorted into a crying expression and she started to sob again. "Mommy." Nelia sniffled, and then hiccupped a few times before again wiping her tears away with the back of her hands. "Daddy was sick. So we stayed here in Lothering. And helped the others to make it nice here again. But then the... the bad monster came back. They... they..." She faltered and wept bitterly and only stopped when Arai whined. Then she leaned closer to the hound. "I ran and hid here. Mommy told me to. Have I done anything wrong?" Her tearful eyes peered up at Alistair. "I waited and waited, but Mommy didn't come back. I knew I wasn't allowed to drink the water or eat the vegetables in the cellar, but I was so hungry and thirsty. Is my mommy angry? Did she leave me alone because of that?"

Alistair swallowed hard. "N-no, of course not. I'm sure she is... waiting somewhere." Even Lenya knew that was a blatant lie, for her mother and family likely died when the darkspawn attacked a second time. He threw a glance over to his fellow Warden, then back at the child. "Can you stay here with Arai for a moment? I need... to discuss something with Lenya. We'll be back in a minute."

Nelia looked over to the elf and her face brightened, if only for a moment. "Okay, I'll wait, Mr. Warden."

Before the Dalish even had the chance to glare at Alistair for giving her name away, he dragged her out of the hut, voice hushed. "We should get Wynne!"

Lenya scowled, hating the futility of his request. "And what shall that be good for? You know there is no cure."

"She's a little girl, Lenya! We have to do something!"

She didn't say anything, but her eyes caught his, the meaning of her unspoken words clear and horrid at the same time. "No!" The word was more audible this time, had a more despaired edge. "I refuse to hear anything more of this. She's a little girl. No!"

"Then tell me I'm wrong in what I'm feeling." Lenya's expression grew hard and she struggled to keep her voice low. "Tell me I'm wrong when I say the girl is tainted and already showing the first signs of it. It will only get worse from here on." Her voice broke and she needed to swallow hard. "I _know_ what I'm talking about."

Alistair didn't answer and lowered his gaze past Lenya and onto a corpse he had avoided looking at before. The body still wore the rags of a filthy and bloodied chantry robe. It was possibly one of the sisters they had met on their first visit here. He bit his lip, still staring at the ground. "I can't. Don't ask this of me. It's bad enough that I—we—couldn't do anything for these people, so... no, I can't ki—" He struggled with the word, refused to even say it. "She's just a little girl."

The wind howled in between the skeletons of once beautiful buildings and was, for a long moment, the only audible sound. Lenya felt herself shivering and she was aware that the cold was not the reason. "Then... I will do it."

"W-what?" His head snapped up, his gaze toward her furious. "How could you say that so easily, as if this is nothing?" He stared at her and trembled in anger, his gloved hands at his sides balled into fists. "Right," he said as he sneered, caught up in his ire. "I forgot this must be easy for you. You don't like humans, after all."

The ring of the slap reverberated loudly through the silence, momentarily drowning out every other sound. Lenya ignored his shocked expression and withdrew her stinging hand, only to get a grip on her dagger, unsheathing it. She placed the cool metal on his throat, her expression hurt and angry. "Leave. Or I swear I'll..." Lenya left the sentence hanging, the added pressure of the blade on his throat leaving a scratch, drawing blood.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Their eyes still remained locked on each other, their breath ragged at the raw emotions clouding them. Eventually, Alistair touched his hurting cheek, glanced over to the hut and wordlessly turned into the opposite direction, literally _fleeing_ from there. Lenya looked down at the dagger in her hand, how the drops of blood shimmered on its surface in the light... _his_ blood. She choked back a whimper, but couldn't stop her hand holding the blade from quavering. She knew what she had to do.

And she had never felt more alone.

.

~V~

.

_She is just a human girl... I don't even like kids, so why? Why do I feel so bad about it?_

"Oh, hello!" As Lenya reopened the door to the shack and saw Nelia smiling, she knew why. She was just an innocent little girl thrown into this havoc. The Blight that raged over her home and village had taken everything from her, and still the girl _smiled_ at her.

At the one person who was going to kill her for being tainted.

_It is better this way... instead of letting her suffer. Instead of letting the taint change her..._

"Where is Mr. Warden? Did you fight? You look so sad now. Mommy and Daddy fought sometimes, too."

Lenya blinked, jarred from her thoughts. "N-no. He is just... searching for your family. Maybe they are still outside." She took a deep breath, the lie heavy and bitter on her tongue.

_Melava inan enansal. Ir su araval tu elvaral. U na emma abelas._

The old song of her people roamed unbidden through her mind. Maybe she sought comfort in the familiar sound of her tongue, maybe even forgiveness for what she was about to do. Lenya couldn't say for sure.

"Are we going to her?" Nelia gasped, excited. "I miss her. Do you have a mommy, Lenya?" The girl advanced closer to her, tilting her head. "Leeen...yaaaa. That is a pretty name."

"I needed to leave my family, my clan, to become a Grey Warden." Why was she even telling her this? It was only making it _harder._

"You miss them, or?" Nelia nodded and looked up to her in wonder, before her blue eyes wandered to the griffon on her armored chest. "You know, my mommy told me stories about the Grey Wardens. How you drove the bad monsters away. You are _heroes_. When I'm a grown up, I want to be a Grey Warden, too."

Lenya choked back tears. Her mouth curved into a deep frown as she watched the girl's fingers trace the lines of the griffon stamped on the leather. There was nothing heroic about being a Grey Warden.

Nothing at all.

"You are going to see your family soon, Nelia," Lenya whispered in a trembling voice, kneeling down next to the girl. Her fingers clawed around the hilt of her dagger, struggling for a moment to draw it.

_In elgar sa vir mana. In tu setheneran din emma na._

"Really?" The girl's face brightened. Oblivious to the unsheathed blade in the elf's hand, Nelia hugged her. "Thank you."

"_Emma ir abalas. Abalas. Abalas!"_

Lenya did not look at Nelia as she drove the blade through the girl's heart, paid no heed to Arai's agitated barking, just _felt_ how the tiny arms around her went limp. How, with a last gasp, life escaped the little girl. Lenya didn't want to see all the blood that was now seeping everywhere: on the ground, on her hands, marking her. So she turned away, the bloodied dagger clattering on the floor when she suddenly felt too weak to hold it. She stared at her blood-soaked hands and felt sick, so very sick_. _Giving in to the urge to empty her stomach on the floor, she heaved until there was nothing left but one thought:

She was no hero.

.

.

* * *

.

The atmosphere within camp that evening was tense and silent.

Even Zevran was aware there was no room for his jokes to lighten up the mood, as he would usually try to do.

Not after all they had seen.

Everyone seemed to dwell in their own thoughts, or had retreated into their tents as soon they had been erected. Not only did he wonder about what had taken the Wardens so long in the hut, but even more about why the human returned first, and without their lovely leader. Neither of them had answered his questions later, or had spoken a word at all.

Zevran wasn't stupid. He knew _something_ had happened between both Wardens in the shack. The occasional angry glares that the templar threw in Lenya's direction while they marched was a tell-tale sign, after all. For now, the elf had no other choice but to drop his curiosity, because the templar had retreated into his tent and Zevran hadn't seen Lenya all evening, either.

Zevran cursed about the camp's rocky ground as he crossed the area to reach his own tent. A faint humming stopped his motions and he turned to its source, seeing Leliana sitting at the fire, all alone. She had been the other one who hadn't spoken a word since they left Lothering behind for good. With a sigh, Zevran walked over to Leliana and sat down next to her.

"This was once your home, no?"

She didn't stop her humming, a sound that seemingly kept her from breaking down, but to Zevran's ears it just sounded sad, despaired. "I couldn't save them. They are all dead," she said, her voice only a hushed whisper.

"None of us could." He looked over at her and startled at the despondent mask that was her face. "At least we killed the darkspawn that caused all the destruction." Ironically, without them, they would have never set a foot into the destroyed village in the first place, but Zevran was smart enough to keep this thought to himself.

Leliana nodded with a hum and fell silent again for a moment. "After what happened in Denerim, with Marjolaine... I had no place to return to. Orlais was no longer my home, and threaded with memories I not longer wanted." She attempted a smile, but it faded quickly. "Eventually, I found guidance and a new purpose as a lay sister in the Chantry, here in Ferelden. The Revered Mother sent me to Lothering two years ago." Leliana halted and took a sip from her steaming mug that smelled like herbs. Her gaze was distant, fixed into the empty darkness beyond the cracking campfire, as if dwelling in memories.

Zevran decided to say nothing and instead waited for her to carry on.

"It was not easy there, in the beginning. They only called me 'the Orlesian' for a long time, avoided even speaking with me. They were all simple people with simple fears and I could understand their... reservation toward me. It made me work even harder–because, as stupid as it sounds, I _wanted_ to be accepted by them. I wanted to do some good, show them that I was _more_ than just _the Orlesian._" She sighed. "I have done many things in my life I'm not proud of, so I guess that was the reason I didn't give up, no matter how hard it sometimes was. I wanted to do it right..." Her voice broke and she fought back the tears that were welling behind her eyes. "And now they are all dead."

Guilt was a heavy, drowning feeling, one that Zevran knew well himself. At times, it was even irrational. Like now. "It is not your fault," he said, voice and gaze sincere. "You would be dead, too, if you hadn't chosen to go with the Wardens, no?"

Leliana nodded, biting her lip. "Still... I feel like I abandoned them. The bodies there were all people I knew."

"Ah, so you would rather be one of them?" He _tsked_, preferred to revert to joking again. "How very morbid, my dear. I like being alive, after all. Come to think of it, isn't it ironic how traveling with the Wardens and constantly fighting darkspawn has saved both our lives?"

The bard scowled at him for his sudden change in tone. Zevran thought she would be used by it by now, but apparently he had been wrong. After another silent while, her expression surprisingly shifted to something more friendly. "I guess there is... _truth_ in your words, as crude as they sounded." She even smiled a bit. "Thank you for listening. Really. It helped me at least a little to talk about it."

"Ah, never say I'm not here for you, _carina._ I would even lean myself on your bosom, if that would soothe your pain. The sacrifices I'd make to see you happy again."

Leliana sighed. "And here I was beginning to think that you are more than just the impertinent elf. Thoughtful, even." She shook her head, one corner of her mouth quirked up in suspicion. "You will never fool me again."

"Maybe I have fooled you already? Or not. Who knows?" Zevran grinned. "Ah, well, at least I made you smile."

"Oh?" She touched her cheeks as if she hadn't noticed her own smiling. "I guess you have. Thank you for that, then. Even if I'm not in the mood to smile, to be honest."

The elf pointed over to Oghren's tent, from which originated a loud snoring. "Ah, it seems that the dwarf is deep in the cups and sleeping. Shall I demonstrate to you my unmatched sneaking skills and steal his booze? You might need it."

Leliana scowled. "I won't drink with you. Ever again."

"Aw, that is too bad. Though, I wouldn't need alcohol to seduce you, my dear."

"So full of yourself, aren't you? Makes me wonder why you haven't tried your luck with Lenya, so far. She seems to be your type."

He arched an eyebrow. "My type?"

"Well, she is breathing. So she _is_ your type, no?"

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy, my dear?" He chuckled, amused at where the depressing topic had led to. "As for our lovely leader, well, she seems to be... let's call it _uninterested_ in the sensual pleasures. Which makes it not less interesting, I admit. But I fear I might be a bit too late, as the both Wardens seemed to already have forged a strong bond."

Oh, so you noticed it too?"

It was always fascinating how gossiping could distract people from the deepest despair, if only for a little while. Leliana seemed to be exceptionally receptive to this method of distraction. So, Zevran decided to continue and laughed. "I fear one has to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to notice it." He stopped to look over toward Lenya's abandoned tent, wondering where she was. "Though, I might have insulted our lovely leader just now. For that, I sincerely apologize."

"Well, she is a bit slow on the uptake concerning Alistair's dreamy looks in her direction, the ones he gives her every time he thinks she is not looking." She sighed. "I really like him, but he is all but subtle. And their tip-toeing around each other is so frustra—" Leliana stopped with a frown that carved itself deeper and deeper into her expression. "This is not a topic for tonight. I—can you leave me alone again? Please?"

"Ah, yes." Zevran was distracted by the moving shadow at the edge of the camp. "I will see you later, then?"

"You aren't even listening, are you? You are _impossible_."

Leliana's frustrated groan made him chuckle as he quickly moved toward the conspicuous elf-shaped shadow at the other side of camp.

.

.

* * *

.

"Aren't you a bit too old to play with dolls?"

Lenya startled at his voice and greeted him with a scowl. Typical.

Zevran advanced closer to the huge stone she was sitting on, noticing that she was wrapped in a woolen cloak, her loose, long hair still wet. "Where have you been?"

"Away." She could also have directly said _'none of your business' _and slapped him. It'd have the same effect as the sharp, icy tone she was using. Instead, she continued to scowl at him, like he was used it from her, and she faltered, looking down at the doll in her hands. It was an ugly, worn thing, half burned and still stained with blood, despite someone's effort to wash it out. "It belonged to a little girl I needed to kill today, because she was tainted."

For once, Zevran was speechless.

Her scoff was bitter. "What? No smart comments?"

"I... no." He sat down beside her, still shocked by her confession. "How? Why?"

Silence. It stretched so long that even Zevran started to feel uncomfortable with it. She didn't stop to fiddle with the doll, her eyes fixed on it. "You know, I was asking myself the same thing over and over again. Ironic, isn't it? I have killed humans before and did it with a whistle on my lips." She swallowed hard. "Not so long ago, even. When I was still with my clan, three _shemlen_ men came too close to our borders. So instead of letting them get away, Tamlen and I finished them off. We couldn't risk that they would reveal the place of our camp to the other _shemlen_."

"I see. Your resentment and distrust of humans certainly didn't help there, either, no?"

Lenya gave him a sour look. "Maybe. That was how we have found the cave in the first place."

"The cave?"

"Oh, right, you don't know. The _shemlen_ found an ancient cave with Tevinter artifacts, but fled as a wild animal attacked them. So we decided to go there, maybe to find lost pieces of our history. Bad decision on my part, because within the cave, we also found a mirror, which somehow tainted me and... Tamlen."

"Tamlen?" Zevran started to feel stupid for asking so many questions, but the curiosity got the better part of him. There was so much he didn't know about her and why should he deny her the wish to tell him all that?

"He... he is—_was_—my best friend, like my brother. I grew up with him." Lenya struggled to bring the words out, her voice strangled. "The taint killed him. I only survived because I became a Grey Warden. There is no cure, otherwise." She scoffed as she repeated the sentence. "There _is_ no cure, indeed. Being a Grey Warden is going to—" She halted her words, as if remembering something. "Nevermind."

"I... am sorry." Zevran was aware there was much she still didn't tell him, and yet he was at a loss for a better answer, for a joke that normally came so easily from his lips. He was beginning to understand _why_ their Dalish leader was like this. Like himself, she had been through a lot, and like himself, she preferred to keep it to herself. After all, it was easier to pretend that everything was okay than it was to face the pain that surely would come with admitting the mistakes made in the past.

"How... how are you doing this? Being an assassin, one who kills for money?" Lenya looked at him for the first time since he came here. Her eyes were glistening like broken shards of glass in the pale moonlight, indicating that she had been crying. "I shouldn't feel—"

"Guilty?" Unbidden, he completed her sentence. There was only the slightest nodding motion of her cloaked head, and the rest of her posture tensed and trembling.

Zevran let his eyes roam over the wideness of the night. It was easier than looking at her at these words. "It is harder when the one you kill has a name and a face, instead of being a mindless monster, no?"

Another nod, teeth digging into the flesh of her lips. "Have you never killed an innocent?"

"Ah, my dear Warden, tell me: _who_ is really innocent?"

Her eyes narrowed, apparently peeved by his insolent question. "That girl was."

"And you ended her life to spare her further suffering from the taint, no?" He canted his head, scrutinizing her. "Not everything is black and white, my dear. Sometimes, there are shades of grey you would rather not see. Or _need_ to see." Zevran exhaled a breath. "As for killing innocents such as children and relatives and bystanders and such... never on purpose, but it happens."

Her inquiring stare fixed him. "Like that elven woman in the Be—Fade?"

For a moment, Zevran felt as if someone had pulled the ground out from under his feet. A gasp was the only audible sign for the pain Lenya's question caused him. He managed to retain his cool expression after it slipped for a second, the surprise too sudden to completely hide it.

Rinna. He hadn't killed her like he had with the demon impostor, but that didn't make him less guilty of her death. She had been innocent, too. She had still trusted him after he had long ceased to trust her in return. She had begged him to stop... and he had spat in her face. She was a better person than he could ever be.

"Y-yes." His features grew hard, replacing the frown that stole itself into his expression while thinking about her. "But I wish not to talk about it." He noticed her eyes, how they still lingered on his face, observing every little shift.

"I see." Her brows knitted together in comprehension. "Maybe you and I aren't so different, after all." She heaved a long, suffering sigh, looking back at the doll in her hands. "How... how do you live with that?"

Zevran laughed out loud, but its tone was bitter and mirthless. The truth was that he came to Ferelden to _die_ at the Warden's hands, to go down in flames. It was better to die than to live and face this overbearing guilt inside. But then _she_ had so completely and utterly thwarted this plan by sparing him. Fate was a sadistic bastard, indeed. "You simply live, Lenya. You go on and _on_. You _survive_. Surely you have some practice with it now, no?"

Lenya hummed with a nod, one eyebrow raising at the same time. "You called me by my name just now. For the first time!"

"Ah, I guess I did." He chuckled. "If I had known that you are so easy to impress by merely calling you by your name, I'd have already done that. And we wouldn't be talking now, but rolling in passion in my tent. Ah, such a pity."

"Just because you never used it before, idiot!" There was the typical roll of her eyes again and an annoyed groan that made him smirk. It was a tell-tale sign that she was concentrating on everything _but_ on what happened today, just how he wanted it. _Why_ it was so important to him to distract her from her sorrow, he couldn't even say. Maybe because she was right—they weren't so different, after all.

"Ah, but it is effective, no?"

"Can I talk to you?"

Just as he was starting to get along with the lovely Dalish—no small feat—the sulking templar decided to re-enter the stage.

_Pity._

Zevran turned with a wide grin toward the bigger man. "Oh, of course we can talk, my dear Alistair. What about? Tips how to woo a woman? Or, rather, personal hygiene?" As annoying as the timing of the human Warden was, it was amusing to annoy him. He always reacted in such a deliciously predictable manner.

Alistair didn't even look at him, his tone cold. "I'm not talking to you, _assassin_."

Or not.

Zevran had expected him to blush and stutter, not to coolly retort his provocation. _Interesting..._

Lenya rose with a sigh, and for a long moment, it looked as if she would pass Alistair wordlessly by. Until she started to embrace him in an impulsive motion, that was. Now it was Zevran who heaved a sigh. "Ah well, you know where to find me, if you should change your mind, no?" Whether this sentence was addressed to Lenya or Alistair, he didn't say, but he was grinning as he left.

.

.

* * *

.

She still could smell traces of sweat, rust, and dried darkspawn blood on his skin, his simple tunic mottled with dirt. And yet, for once, Lenya didn't care, wanted to not even think about the reason _why_ she was embracing him all the sudden. He was warm and comfortable against her chilled skin, a protective shield against the coldness that was this world.

Lenya knew she should be yelling and glaring at him for leaving her alone, for accusing her, but she quickly figured out that she was missing the energy to do that. She felt completely tired, yet too restless to sleep, the guilt inside a heavy burden. She wanted to _forget_—if only for a little while—and when it was the place in his arms that achieved that, then it was okay to embrace him. Stupid human or not.

"I'm sorry." After what seemed an eternity, he raised his voice, his breath tickling on her hair.

"Hmm..." she simply hummed, not moving away.

"I... was an idiot. Again."

"Hmm."

"I shouldn't have left you alone with that." He gave a long sigh. "I was too afraid, I guess." Lenya felt how his fingers drove through her hair; a simple, comforting motion. "You're a lot stronger than I am, really."

At that, she jerked away, so abruptly that the night seemed to be a lot colder. She looked up at him, angry and confused. "Why is everyone praising me for killing a _child? _What is _wrong_ with you?"

"I'm not praising you," he said softly and shook his head. "I'm just saying that you were able to do what I couldn't. I didn't want to see that it was _needed_ to be done, but you were. She would only have suffered more and changed, if the taint had been allowed to spread in her body."

A scoff bubbled up her throat. "Oh great, really. Now at least I know what Duncan meant with '_by all means necessary_.'" Her angry tone lost its edge, changing into something more sad as she bit her lip, frowning. "We are no heroes."

"W-what?"

"Nel—_she—_had called me a hero and even _thanked_ me, before I... before I…" She faltered and swallowed hard, her frown deepening. "There is nothing heroic about being a Grey Warden."

Alistair stepped closer and enclosed her again, a motion she let happen without protest. "We can still save many lives, Lenya. We can see to it that it won't happen to another village, to its people. We are the only ones who can, even. To stop the Blight, I mean."

Lenya didn't answer. Eyes closed, she leaned on his chest, caring not for anything but the steady rhythm of his heart and breathing. "I can hear your heart beating."

"Well, that's... good, right? Means I'm alive." He laughed, its tone nervous, somehow. "Alive is always, umm, _good_."

"Hmm." She fell silent after that and the moment of stillness stretched when her fellow Warden didn't speak, either. It was a comfortable pause, and Lenya allowed herself to enjoy for a moment of time, away from all the death and fighting. "I'm so tired," she eventually said, voice low. "So very tired of all this."

"I'm here for you, you know that, right?" He took a deep breath and leveled his head to search for her eyes. "I won't leave you alone with that, ever again. This I promise."

His sincere tone and gaze startled her, made her step away from him. "Still, it was a mistake. We should have never returned there," she said.

"Hmm... perhaps."

"If only we had taken another road, but then again, this was—_is_—the fastest way to the Korcari Wilds. And I couldn't go back on my promise to Morrigan."

"I know."

Lenya scowled at him, though only half-serious. "Could you stop being so damn understanding? Stupid human."

Alistair smiled wryly. "I already tried that today. Didn't work so well."

"Right, _alasbora_."

"Although, it seems to be a nice sounding word, I somehow have the inkling that you're insulting me here."

One corner of her mouth quirked up, amused. "You don't say." She tilted her head, looking up at him again. "I always forget to ask, but what was your real intent with giving me the flower? Since it means something different for you humans, I mean."

"The rose? ...Ah." Alistair hesitated and fumbled with his hands before continuing, "Well, it sounds a bit odd now after all what happened, I guess. But since your Joining, you've had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and _tragedy_. I thought maybe I could do something." He took a deep breath, as if willing himself to go on. "Maybe I could tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this... _darkness_. Like the rose."

Lenya smiled. "That is a beautiful thought, although a bit... corny."

He grimaced, but one corner of his mouth looked suspiciously like it was threatening to quirk upward. "Somehow, I thought you would say that."

"Smartass." For the first time that day, Lenya laughed out loud and it felt _good_. It didn't change any of the events that had happened, nor the guilt she still bore inside, but at least for a moment, it made it all_ easier__._

_._

_.  
_

* * *

___**A/N:** ____Review? Also...wow...____holy Halla crap. 400 reviews O.O This is insane...but the good kind. Wow. WOW. Thanks to you all. Really. Your support and enthusiasm for this story never fails to amaze me. Extra thanks once more to Mackillian for already putting up with my grammar salad for so long. You are the best._


	63. DisEnchantment

**A/N: **_Heh, see what I did there? A title with a two-sided coin. While Alistair is more and more on cloud number nine, Lenya is facing the non-fluffy reality of what being a Grey Warden and leader means._

* * *

_**Give me back my innocence cos I wish to dream again  
Like I never outgrew my old playground  
Where the sun sets slowly with a golden crown  
and the leaves sing lullabies 'round vacant swings  
Give me those wings**_

_~Poets of the Fall – Given and Denied_

* * *

**Chapter 60: (Dis)Enchantment**

**.**

"How many times must I explain to you _how_ to find Mother's hut?"

Morrigan heaved an annoyed sigh, glancing up from the map that was spread out in the middle of camp. "'Tis easy! Now listen to me." The witch trailed a way on the map with her finger, her words as slow as her limited patience allowed. "Here, at this point, you will have to turn left, then go straight until you reach a split, and then march further east. You have to cross the swamp by walking around it, before you see an overgrown, thick clearing. Pass it straight to the north and you will reach my mother's hut."

Lenya scrunched her eyes as she looked at the map, trying to concentrate on the many directions Morrigan was giving her for the umpteenth time. As much the Dalish admired her unusual patience, it still didn't make more sense to her. Her people never used maps, never needed them. The Dalish elves didn't have a certain direction on their never-ending journey. Her clan always went where the grass was the greenest, the hunting looked promising, and the clan was protected from outsiders. Hence, Lenya never bothered much with reading maps until now, instead had always trusted her instincts that she honed as a hunter all her life. Up to this day, it had served her well, but reentering the bland, identical environment of the Korcari Wilds was putting her ability to a new, difficult and confusing task.

"So I first have to turn right?"

"Left, Lenya, _left!_" The witch groaned. "Are you even listening? I can only lead you to a certain point into the Wilds without my mother sensing my presence, so you have to go the rest of the way without me. And I thought, as a Dalish hunter, your sense of direction would at least be better than that of the dimwitted templar."

"It is not my fault." Lenya crossed her arms and pouted, eyes still defiantly fixed on the map. "Everything in the Wilds looks the same sickening green color, so it is very easy to get lost there."

"Oh, I'm deeply sorry." Morrigan shook her head, her voice adapting a sarcastic edge. "Perhaps I should have asked my mother to erect a huge sign with _'Flemeth. Ancient Abomination. This way!_' written upon it to help you find her. 'Tis a pity I missed that chance."

Lenya smirked, not really serious. "That really would have been helpful, I suppose. Though, indulge me: What would happen if I turned right instead of left in the beginning?"

"You would most likely end up in Ostagar again."

"Oh, is that so?" She tilted her head, intrigued. "Interesting."

The witch sighed. "You are not truly enticed by the idea of returning _there_ for the trash some human king left behind, are you?"

The scraping sound in the background stopped, traded in for a snort and dry comment. "Says the woman who sends my fellow Warden after a _book_."

Lenya knew she shouldn't laugh, and yet couldn't stop that the corner of her mouth rose upward. Morrigan rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed by the interference of the other Warden. "Don't you have anything better to do than creeping in the background, fool?"

"Besides waiting for the demons to arise out of the ground to celebrate a family reunion with you?" Alistair shrugged, the motion only faintly visible in the dim night." Not much. Maybe sleeping, but then I decided my sword needed some attention. It's been awhile since I sharpened and polished it." The well-known and familiar scraping sound filled the edges of the camp again, as Alistair dedicated his attention back to his blade.

Lenya could see how Morrigan's eyes narrowed at his retort, how her mind was feverishly searching for another jibe to hurt or embarrass him with. In more ways than one, the childish bickering of the two humans reminded her on her own relationship with Merrill: pure, mutual animosity and nothing beyond that. It was indeed that simple and always had been—unchanged right from the beginning when they first met.

She couldn't say the same for _her_ relationship with Alistair.

Somehow, it had become far more complicated the past weeks. The intense sparring with him every day had been effective, judging on how much _faster_ the darkspawn and beasts now fell to her blades. Her defense in battle had improved, too. She acted calmer, less _impulsive,_ when fighting. She even had learned how to stand her ground better against bigger enemies. Which was all Alistair's merit, without a doubt.

The hours long training with her fellow Warden had also another, more unwanted and _very__confusing_ side effect. They had become closer, more at ease with each other. Lenya wouldn't hesitate a second anymore in calling Alistair a _friend_. Although, somewhere inside her, a part of her defiant Dalish pride still cringed at the fact that she _trusted_ a _human_.

_Her_, of all people.

How that happened, Lenya couldn't even say. Within mere months, her hate and distrust toward him had melted like snow in the fading winter. It was replaced by a comfortable understanding that was subsequently _frightening_. While building up her defense in battle, he had nearly effortlessly broken her own defenses _toward him_ down. Those protective walls of animosity and bitterness—which made it easy to keep other people away and her from getting hurt—were simply not there anymore. Like Tamlen, Alistair grounded her whenever she was unable to see reason within her impulsive, stubborn mind. He was like her childhood friend: the needed sensible and comforting voice whenever things became too much and unbearable.

It was scary how easy it had become to compare the two, the lines swiftly blurring. Somewhere inside, a huge part of her Dalish pride was angry and ashamed at doing that, because Alistair was incomparable, a _human_. _Not_ kin. How could she dare to compare Tamlen or even trade him in for someone like _that_?

A loud noise pushed her out of the deep sea of thoughts, as Morrigan swiped the map from its place and into the dirt. The thin strings of her patience had lasted unusually long, so Lenya wasn't surprised to see them now snapping. "I better write it down for you. I don't want to spend days staring at this map." Morrigan huffed and glared at Alistair. "Especially not with that dimwitted fool in the background."

Once more the scraping stopped. "Aw, you wound me, Morrigan. Deeply so." Alistair waited until the witch had vanished into her secluded part of camp before turning to Lenya and grinning. "You still haven't told her that it is _me_ planning all the routes we travel, hmm? Then again, it was amusing to watch her despairing while giving you directions _on_ the map, so thanks for that."

She gave him a sour look. "As a Dalish, I never needed a map. We have always oriented ourselves on the altitude and cycle of the sun or the combination of the stars when wandering, not some stupid paper."

"I see. And it's worked well so far, really." He stood to pick up the map from the ground, and then carefully folded it. "Though, this time, _this_ stupid paper is needed to find Flemeth, I fear."

"So you want to lead us through the wilds?" Her eyebrow rose. "I remember we walked in circles the last time you tried that."

The grinning changed into something sly. "Well, everything looks the same there, after all. But at least I kept my trousers on, so there is hope."

"Hope that Ferelden's not going to lose the last remaining two Grey Warden to the confusing Korcari wilderness? Unlikely."

"Yeah... that would be... awkward." Alistair chuckled. "I guess with our luck we'll stumble over a High Dragon living in the swamps, as well." The humor faded from his expression and he took a step forward, standing so close to her that she could almost feel his breath on her skin. "You know how much I detest the idea of helping Morrigan, but you asked me to help you, so I will. I won't leave you alone with that, not like I did in Lothering." His gloved hand found hers in the half-dark and lightly squeezed it in a comforting manner.

Lenya backed away and blinked up to him, surprised.

So he'd noticed.

After Lothering, her following nights had been plagued with nightmares, and for once, the darkspawn were not to blame. Lenya awoke several times in the night with a start, every time haunted by the same face. Guilt was an irrational and persistent burden, one she could suppress during the day, but it still lingered in her consciousness. She knew she'd had no other choice but to kill the child, that it was for the best, that it was her duty. And still, it was Nelia's innocent face that stared sadly at Lenya night after night, asking her _why_ with her plaintive expression. It made her almost wish for the incoherent darkspawn nightmares, as they were less real and painful.

No matter how much she had tried to muffle the screams that forced its way out of her throat then, Alistair had still noticed her distress. He was concerned for her and it was... oddly welcomed. She didn't need to play the strong and invulnerable leader in front of him, a role that was often beyond exhausting. She didn't need to shrug off what happened as if it left her unfazed, as it was expected of her as the strong, independent leader.

She could just _be_.

Another trait he shared with Tamlen, awakening even more conflicting emotions within. Still, Lenya smiled up at him, momentarily grateful for his support. "Thank you."

"Warden!" The shadow of a huge figure loomed over her from behind, making her turn around in an instant.

"Sten. What is wrong?" Lenya frowned at his fully armored and armed appearance. The Qunari wasn't due for watch tonight, so he was definitely overdressed.

His expression was stony in the flickering light of the bonfire. "I'm displeased with your useless plans to return to the Wilds."

Oh? That is too bad, Sten." She shrugged, not really caring. "Anything else you feel like telling me?"

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "You are no leader. A leader would bring us to the archdemon, just as your duty dictates. Instead, we are heading away from it, to find the witch's mother." The Qunari reached over his shoulder to unsheathe his giant sword. It came free with a snick. "I will not simply stand in your shadow and watch how you run from battle_. I_ will take command."

For a moment, Lenya simply stared. She couldn't fathom if the Qunari was making a really bad joke or had just gone crazy. Considering the big weapon pointed at her, she surmised the latter case. Before she could react in any way, Lenya was shoved aside and pushed behind Alistair's broad back. His sword pointed at Sten, and his voice was edging on a growl, the glare at the Qunari furious.

"Don't you dare to raise your weapon to her!"

"Step aside, human. I have no quarrel with you."

Alistair took a step closer to the much bigger man. "No. You are insane if you think I would follow you. I will not let you harm her."

Sten snorted. "So you have a backbone, after all? A pity you only seize it to impress the woman you wish to mate with."

"I... what?" He wavered for a moment before recovering. "No, this is about you threatening my fellow Warden! I knew it was a mistake to let you out of that cage, you backstabbing giant!" He rolled his shoulders, his muscles flexing with the movements. "If you want to get her, you have to get through me first!"

While Alistair's loyalty was heartwarming, he seemed to forget that she wasn't a dainty princess who needed to be protected and rescued. Lenya was more than able to handle herself. Before the argument could go out of hand and Sten started to attack, she raised her voice. "Stop it!" The unexpected objection caused both men to freeze, giving her the time to step in front of Sten and glare up to him. "You want to lead? By pointing the weapon I bought for you at me? Unbelievable."

"_Parshaara_. You have not the strength to lead. I will do this now."

"No, I think not!" She turned to her fellow Warden, ire present in her voice and features. "Go and get my blades!"

Alistair refused to move. "No, Lenya. I will not leave your side."

"If a fight is what Sten wants, a fight he gets."

"What? You can't be serious!" he replied in a flabbergasted tone, his eyes and sword not leaving the Qunari. "No, I will remain here! I won't let him hurt you!"

"You stubborn, stubborn human." Lenya shook her head, smiling despite the situation. "Don't you see this is the only way to settle this?"

"But –" Still, he hesitated, yet seemed a bit more unsure of what to do.

"No 'buts,' Alistair." Lenya sighed and looked up at him to meet his eyes. "Please trust me. I know what I'm doing. You do trust me, right?"

Another glare into the Qunari's direction. "Y-yes, but I don't trust... _him_." Despite her arguments, Alistair's loyalty was still unbroken and he defiantly stood by her side. A gesture that was touching and so unlike what she had heard and learned about humans within her clan. Still, she needed her weapons, or they would spend the whole night glaring at each other.

"I will be fine. Sten won't start fighting until I have my blades." Her angry gaze seized Sten. "Unless you are going to strike me down while I'm unarmed." It was a bit of a risk, true, but spending so much time with the taciturn Qunari gave Lenya at least an idea of what made him tick. She was aware that no words in Thedas would bring Sten to back down, but at least his strong sense of honor wouldn't allow him to attack her before she was ready to defend herself.

"No, I will not. That wouldn't be honorable." Sten glowered down at her. "Prepare yourself, Warden. We will settle this."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Alistair muttered under his breath and turned for Lenya's tent.

The commotion was starting to lure the other companions out of their tents to see what the loud argument in the middle of camp was about. The first to appear was Oghren, his movements swaying as he sized up the situation before his eyes. "So, the giant finally snapped? 'Bout time." Then, with a bellowing laugh, he turned toward Sten. "You really want to fight the boss? Been nice knowing you, Qunari!"

"It wants to crush the painted Warden?" Shale stared at Sten, her white lava eyes glowing in the dark. "I disapprove."

Lenya raised an eyebrow in her direction. "That is... unexpected."

"If anyone is to crush the painted Warden, it would be me."

"Okay, that was more expected," she added.

Shale chuckled. "I thought It would like it. I can also smash the Qunari, if It does not want to do it."

"I thought you two get along well? So why the sudden desire to kill him?"

"Because I wonder if its big head makes a different noise between my stone." The golem let out a wistful sigh. "A longer _squiiish_ would be fun, for a change."

The eyebrow quirked even higher. "Shale, your obsession with squishing heads is starting to get unhealthy."

Shale kicked the dirt on the ground, and due to her size, it was a comical sight. "Bah. You are no fun."

"Ah, is there a party, I missed? Or has this wondrous gathering of all my lovely friends a meaning?" asked Zevran.

"Sten wants to battle me for leadership, apparently," Lenya said with a shrug of her shoulder, pointing at the Qunari beside her.

Zevran glanced over to Sten, back to the Dalish, and then burst out into a fit of laughter. "Ah, that was fun," he eventually said after calming down. "Now, what is the _real_ reason?"

"I will take leadership. The Warden is unsuited for it."

"Oh my, you _are_ serious!" He patted the Qunari on his armored back, still snorting. "If you have a death wish, my giant friend, there are better ways to leave this world than to be shred to pieces."

Sten glared down to him. "_Vashedan_, I will not fail. Shut up, elf."

"So what are we waiting for then, hmm?" Zevran asked.

"Alistair. He is bringing my blades," Lenya answered in a by way of explanation.

"Ah, I see." The elf shrugged and tilted his head to look over Sten's huge figure. "Do I get his tent when it is over? We might sell his armor, too. I bet Qunari armor is pretty rare around here, and thus valuable."

Lenya didn't know if the unshakable faith and the resulting casual demeanor of her companions should be flattering or worrisome. For now, she couldn't do anything but wait and comply with this more than ridiculous task. "Let's go over there, where there's more room to fight. I would hate to see these new tents destroyed."

.

~V~

.

The picture upon his return was none Alistair would have expected.

He still felt very uncomfortable with leaving Lenya alone with the backstabbing Qunari, but apparently, he was the only one thinking so. Instead of a tensed atmosphere as it was normally usual before a life-threatening duel, he saw his companions casually chatting and joking as if it they were attending a Summerday party. They had placed themselves in a circle around the participants of this needless duel and were seemingly eager to see it start. He even heard Zevran and Oghren placing bets, while Wynne tried to intervene between Qunari and Dalish, but to no avail.

"Thank the Maker," the mage said, relieved, as she discovered Alistair's arrival. "Please stop this madness." She fixed him with a disapproving look. "Where have you been, anyway?"

He faltered under her stern stare, feeling like a boy caught doing something bad. "I… I picked up Lenya's blades..."

Just before Wynne could answer and Alistair thought the evening couldn't get any worse, a disheveled, grumpy Morrigan entered the picture. She was hastily clothed in her leather rags that revealed more than they covered. "There is a reason I have erected my camp that far from you." She glowered at them all. "To have my peace from you, fools."

"Erected, hehehe."

The witch rolled her eyes at Oghren's remark, sighing loudly. "What is this commotion about?"

"Sten wants to duelour leader to become the new leader," Zevran said. "Want to join, my dark beauty? Maybe place a bet? So far the quotes for Sten are... devastating."

Morrigan ignored the elf and whirled around to the Qunari, her angry glare burning in his direction. "Then _you_ are the greatest fool. I would _never_ follow you." To emphasize her words, she conjured a ball of energy within her hand, and the sizzling light accentuated her dark glower.

Perhaps Alistair was only imagining things, but maybe the group wasn't as calm and unconcerned as they appeared at first glance. Morrigan's surprising words aside, he saw how Zevran was suddenly armed and leisurely playing with his dagger while his eyes never left Sten. Oghren has traded his beloved booze for his no-less-beloved axe and was observing the Qunari's every step, too. Even Shale's stone body seemed more tensed than normal.

Alistair blinked as he reluctantly moved toward his fellow Warden. Could it be that Lenya had ignited a strong sense of loyalty in them with her more than unconventional methods? He know he would fight for and protect her without a second thought, but seeing that her—_their_—companions would do the same for her was a most unexpected discovery. Our leader, Zevran had called her, and maybe it was true. They undoubtedly saw her as that and would defend and follow her till their last breath. It should be a comforting thought, and yet he was still afraid, _so afraid,_ of losing her. Sten was a very experienced warrior and had fought for many years on various battlefields, after all.

Coming close to her to pass over the blades, he tried one last time to convince her. "Don't do this. Let me—_us_—handle the rogue Qunari."

"Trust me, puppy." She looked up at him, green eyes locking in his brown. An amused smile played around the corners of her mouth, speeding up his heartbeat. "It won't take long. I trained well, remember?" Before he could answer, she evaded his reach. Her soft, amused expression was sober as she fixated on Sten in concentration of a looming battle, blades twirling.

"So it begins. Prepare yourself, Warden."

"I will kick your giant ass so much, you will hear the rushing of Seheron's sea."

"Hah, I bet!" Oghren laughed. It was the last fragment of verbal noise that reverberated through the camp, as now the blades would do the talking.

Unfortunately.

.

~V~

As Sten hauled out with his enormous two-handed sword and placed the first strike, Alistair unconsciously flinched. If one of his massive attacks hit her, then all intervening from him and their companions would be too late. Though, as the blade hit the ground, Lenya was long not there anymore, much to his relief. She danced around the Qunari, too quick to reach for his slow, but dangerous, attacks.

Alistair quickly recognized a pattern in her movements, one that they had trained over and over again. Lenya tried to tire the much bigger opponent first and then place one of her pinpointed jabs into the weak points of Sten's heavy armor. It was the reason Alistair always had sparred in full plate with her in the past weeks—to get her used to such armored, bigger enemies and how to handle them without getting overwhelmed by their strength and protection.

And Lenya was a quick learner, it seemed. Not without pride, he watched how she lured the huge Qunari into her next subterfuge, a move that left Sten grunting in frustration, as he wasn't fast enough to turn and deflect her following blow. The frustrated grunt was replaced by a pained one when her blade found the weak point at his hip, where cuirass and faulds met.

Alistair had battled a hundred times at her side by now, knew her movements and way of fighting by heart. Yet, to actually _see_ her fighting from his detached position, without being involved was certainly... different.

And it was exciting to watch.

Somehow, her movements oddly reflected her personality. No matter how huge and strong the opponent in front of her, her bearings were always confident and proud. With her head held up high, she fixed the enemy in front of her, her expression scrunched in concentration and utter determination.

Lenya was damn fast, too. What she lacked in strength, she compensated for with speed, her blades flashing in a wild flurry around herself. He was aware that this was an art in itself—a deathly dance that required life-long training to reach perfection. And it wasn't only her blades that moved so fluently and nimble, it was her body, as well. There was a sudden tightness coiled low in his belly at that, conjured by the mere meaning of the word and watching her move, ever so gracefully, but also panting, _sweating_.

He closed his eyes to will away the thoughts associated with the picture; the years in the Chantry taught him well how to do that. Though, this time, it didn't work, and the closed eyes only gave room to fit images to the thoughts and he mentally cursed his vivid imagination. Alistair had learned all his life to suppress and step away from what _he_ wanted, because it was _wrong _to want, to _need_. And still, the feeling was there, burning low in his stomach and threatening to travel further south. He shifted in place, the armor and sitting slowly getting uncomfortable.

Though Alistair promptly sobered when he heard his companions scream out, alerted of the sight. Eyes flinging open in panic, Alistair saw how Lenya staggered back, her right arm bleeding with a long cut. Superficial or not didn't matter to him, it was enough to pull him out of his seat, shield and sword ready in an instant.

_No..._

Alistair came to a sudden halt as he watched her next move, the dreaded feeling inside fading for fascination. Growling, Lenya whirled in a wide arc away from Sten's thrust, which led into nothingness, making him lose his balance. She appeared behind him for a stab in back, her blade finding the previously opened wound on his hip, boring even deeper. The other blade delved into the backside of his knees, another weak point in the steel of his armor. Additionally kicking the other back of his knees, she forced him to fall, his huge weapon clattering to the ground. Pulling her weapons out, she climbed up his back and pointed a blade at his neck and grinned. "So Sten, what now, hmm? Still want to lead?"

Oghren snorted. "Hah, got your giant ass handed back to you." The snorting turned into a bellowing laughter. "By an _elven_ girl."

Alistair stared at her in wonder while their other companions applauded and laughed. Lenya was disheveled, sweating, mottled with dirt and blood... and the most beautiful woman he ever had seen.

As soon the Dalish got off his back, Sten rolled over, grunting in pain. It took another moment for him to get up on wobbly feet, only to kneel down in front of her. "I... I was wrong. I am sorry. You are strong enough to lead." He lowered his head in a respectful gesture. "My fate is now in your hands."

Lenya regarded him coolly, the grip around the hilt of her sword lessening in intensity and eventually, she lowered it fully. "Just get back in line, Sten. But don't do this ever again!"

The Qunari nodded, head still low until he stood up. "As you wish, _kadan_."

Knowing her, it shouldn't surprise him that she gave Sten a second chance. For some inexplicable reason, Lenya had a fondness for the stone-faced, stoic Qunari. Alistair couldn't exactly say that he liked it, but the defeat seemed to have the desired effect of putting him back in his place. Maybe the duel was really needed, even if it appeared gratuitous at first. At least with Oghren and Zevran in their group, it was ensured that Sten would never forget about it, as the two would certainly mention his defeat at every possible turn. A notion he completely supported, for once.

After the brief distraction of Sten's unmistakable submission to Lenya's command, his undivided attention fell back on the lovely form of his fellow Warden. She was panting, still gasping for air after the exertion of the fight, the fast rise and fall of her chest an all too hypnotizing motion for him. Then she laughed, a sound so loud and entirely haughty... and so unlike her usual demeanor. Alistair knew the reason, had experienced it often enough himself. Inebriated by the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, she was flying on a momentary high. "Anyone else here in the need of a firm kick in the butt?"

"Ah, such delightful offer, my lovely, and very _deathly,_ leader, but I fear I must decline." Zevran chuckled. "I do admit that I'm disappointed in not getting Sten's tent, though. It is much bigger than mine." He shrugged, already waving off the issue. "Ah, well. Pity."

"Show is over. Heal him up, Wynne. We have to reach the Wilds tomorrow, and thus, we've no time to waste," Lenya said in a commanding tone Alistair never heard her using before. It left no room for objections. Grumbling under her breath, the mage strode over to Sten, only to chastise the Qunari for his improper behavior with a never-ending tirade. Alistair didn't really envy him now, but figured it was a fitting punishment for what the Qunari had done.

Lenya turned away from the rest of their companions and his heart made more than one skip as she came to a halt right in front of him. Looking up at him, he saw how her lips curved to a cocky grin. "Told you."

Unconsciously, he made a step toward her, feeling drawn to her very presence. "That was... wow. You are crazy," Alistair said in a low murmur, laughing. His eyes wandered over her face, down to the crook of her throat. For a moment, they were transfixed by the fine sheen of sweat glistening there in the pale moonlight. Maker, he couldn't help but to wonder how the salt on her skin would _taste, _what flavor her lips would have, when the smell of her alone was _that_ enticing to him. But she was already backing away before he even had the chance to thinkabout leaning in.

Maybe it was better this way.

"And you are... _weird_." She shook her head, not without amusement. "Good night, puppy." With that, Lenya left him standing there alone, still enthralled by the feel of _want, _his blood and heart thrumming in unison. His face was burning, his breathing frantic, as he stared after her into the darkness.

"Good night," Alistair eventually managed to say, though he was sure he wouldn't find much sleep tonight.

.

.

* * *

.

"Lenya? May I come in?"

Before the Dalish could object, Wynne had already entered her tent.

"Sure, why don't you sit down and have some tea, too?" She heaved an annoyed sigh at the mage's action, but didn't stop to undo the buckles of her armor while sitting on the edge of her bedroll. Arai had claimed the better part of it, and was snoring loudly in his sleep.

"No need to get flippant, young lady," Wynne chided her, but without the usual sternness. She looked around, seeing supplies and clothes scattered everywhere on the ground, for a moment at a loss where to place herself. "So this is your tent. It certainly is... stuffed."

"What do you want?" Another sigh. "I'm tired and I want to get some sleep before my watch."

"I want to talk about what happened tonight. How could you agree to such reckless and dangerous foolery?"

For a moment, Lenya was inclined to roll her eyes. She suppressed the urge and instead continued to fumble at her armor. "It was necessary."

"Necessary?" Wynne frowned, disapproving. "Necessary is to bandage a bleeding wound, but not to battle a Qunari for leadership."

"Yes, _necessary_." Lenya threw her gauntlets on the ground with more force than needed. "I doubt that Sten would have sat down with me and discussed our differing views on effective leadership over a cup of tea, as you might have wished it to happen. Which was the reason I dueled him and won, putting him back in line. So I don't see your problem here."

"Then you are blind to the obvious. You, as Grey Warden, should know better than to pointlessly endanger your life like that. You have a much more important duty to fulfill."

Lenya groaned, unable to stop the sound from escaping her lips. As much she valued the mage's presence for her invaluable ability of healing, the uncalled lectures grated on her nerves. She was aware that Wynne probably meant well, but it was way too much like listening to the never-ending squall of scolding the elders of her clan always fired into her direction. And it was no secret that Lenya wasn't exceptionally receptive to such lectures, especially when the one scolding only _pretended_ to know better.

"Duty... you keep saying that word," the Dalish said with a scoff, crossing her arms. "Tell me: what do you know about the Grey Warden?"

On the reaction of Wynne, Lenya noticed that this kind of question was unexpected. There was hesitation that the mage tried to cover up by taking a deep, exasperated breath. "A Grey Warden is a guardian of men who serves all people. They have always defended us from the darkspawn, taking losses so we do not have to. People may have forgotten about that over the centuries, but nothing has changed."

Wynne paused to glance past Lenya, resting her eyes on the flickering campfire that was visible through the slits of the tent, and smiled. "It was said that watching the Wardens ride in on their white griffons was enough to rouse a weary heart, and put the dance back in the step of an old man. The Grey Wardens were powerful—feared and respected—but they also inspired the common people. This knowledge has been blessing and burden to Grey Wardens past, and now, it shall be _your_ blessing, and _your_ burden."

"Oh yes, battlefield, riding griffons, and all the nonsense." Lenya shrugged, pointing at the leather-bound book near her bedroll. "Great stories, I read them, too. But they are _stories_. History and legends of heroes perhaps, which, however, have nothing to do with the reality of _being_ a Grey Warden."

She looked up at the mage to the place where she had seated herself when crouching became too tedious in the crammed, narrow tent. Her words were pointed, well chosen and not without scorn. "Being a Grey Warden is no fairytale as it is in the book; it is nothing heroic or legendary. It is dirty, _painful_. I have lost everything that was ever important to me: my clan, my home, my best friend. I have been thrown out in a world that I didn't know and never _wanted_ to know." Lenya stopped to swallow, and her hand drove absentmindedly through Arai's fur, who lay beside her. "I have become a Grey Warden not because I wanted to, but out of necessity, to survive the taint that would have killed me otherwise. And even in that, I was forced, as I would have rather chosen to die than to leave my clan. Duncan needed to carry me away from them—from my life—thrown over his shoulder like a burlap sack."

Wynne looked over at her, her expression suddenly soft and sympathetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Lenya nodded in acknowledgment and drew a breath, the lines of her face furrowed to a frown. "I'm no hero, nor will I ever be. Being a Grey Warden, to me, means _survival_ and I kill—frequently and without hesitation—to ensure it stays this way. I have more blood on my hands than you can imagine: darkspawn, beasts, bandits and... others have already fallen to my blades. Most deserved their fate, some... did not. Especially not the little girl in Lothering, whose life I needed to end because she was tainted." Arai looked up with a tentative whine and buried his muzzle in Lenya's lap, sensing her distress. Her shaking hand found the hound's head, caressing it. "I'm no hero," she repeated in a whisper.

Silence. It seemed as if the elder mage needed a moment to digest the unexpected, grim information. Lenya let her gaze linger in the darkness of her tent, waiting. When Wynne finally spoke, her voice was etched with a shocked disbelief. "How? When? There were no survivors."

"Indeed." The Dalish laughed, bitter. "No survivors except one girl who hid herself in a cellar, only to die at my hands in the end. I... I know it was better this way, because I know what the taint would have done to her, but—" Lenya stopped herself before she voiced her thoughts, her regrets. "I did it because it was _needed_, because there was no other way," she said instead, hand digging into Arai's fur, eyes lowered to the ground. "Like so often. And still I'm here, because I have no other choice other than to go on." At that, Lenya's mind drifted, unwanted, to a fragmented memory of her and Tamlen running through the woods, hunting, laughing. Life was easier and innocent_, _back then. While she had accepted her role and was living it, these months of being a Grey Warden had already taken a lot away from her ability to be carefree, had jaded her. Lenya blinked back some upcoming tears and closed her eyes, swallowing hard as she added, "Because there is nothing else left for me anymore other than to fight." Heaving a deep breath, she opened her eyes again and fixed Wynne with a stare. "So, no, I don't think you have even the slightest idea what it _means_, nor _how_ it is to _be_ a Grey Warden. No matter how much you are trying to cover it up with fancy words like _'duty'_ or with the stories you have read."

Normally, Lenya would have stalked away after that, but Wynne was in _her_ tent. So she had no other choice but to lay herself down onto her bedroll, back turned to the mage to signal that their conversation was over. For a long while, there was no sound, no movement. Then she heard a rustle of fabric and an extended sigh, maybe a huff.

Wynne stood up and left the tent without a further word.

The truth was often something one didn't want to hear, because it was unsolicited, painful. Lenya had never dared before to put the meaning of being a Grey Warden in words for herself, least of all for _others_. Though Wynne's unfounded, continuous lectures about duty of a Grey Warden and the latest events made her think. And the resulting truth of this knowledge was disillusioning, emotionally draining. She had to give up everything in her life for a never-ending circle of _killing_ and _survival_.

Was that really all that the future had to offer? Was she even Dalish anymore?

Lenya refused to go down to the depth of these thoughts, didn't want to return to the old pattern of self-pity. Instead, she pressed herself into the bedroll and Arai's warming fur, waiting for sleep to claim her. It probably would take hours, she knew, but she needed the rest, needed to be fit and _strong_.

Because she was their leader.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N:** Thanks to all who have read, faved/alerted and reviewed this story. Your support for my looong drivel never fails to amaze me and is damn motivating. A special thanks once more to my beta fairy Mackillian._


	64. Between a rock and a hard place

**_A/N:_ **_It was actually planned to publish in two pieces, but I figured that I have no reason to drag this Flemeth arc out so much. Hence this looong chap. Thanks to all reading, reviewing and faving my story. Especially to Mackillian for her __once more superb beta-work. Enjoy. _

* * *

**Chapter 61: Between a rock and a hard place**

.**  
**

They were lost.

Hopelessly lost in a sweltering, stinking swamp that looked the same at every turn. Lenya suddenly remembered how she always had hated this place and _why_. Despite Morrigan's exact description, they had run in circles, passed countless swamps, and stood now in front of a dark clearing with no one being the wiser if they were going the right way.

Probably not.

"Bah, _more_ sodding trees. Do we need to go through there as well?" Oghren's questioning gaze into her direction did not help. Lenya might have been their leader, but she was not less at a loss than anyone else present.

"Let's have a look at the map again," Wynne suggested, and then took the map out of Alistair's hands. The elder mage squinted her eyes as she subsequently looked at the paper and the location in front of them. "It looks like the same on the map. It is marked as the one clearing we need to pass."

The Dalish looked over her shoulder and back to the mage. Wynne had only begrudgingly agreed to accompany Lenya on this task. Thus, the elder mage let no opportunity pass to let her know how _much_ she disapproved of her intention to help an apostate and possible maleficar. Knowing well she would be dealing with ancient magic, Lenya couldn't afford to go without Wynne's healing arts, but it did little to lift the sour mood between them. The mage seemed peeved at Lenya talking back to her, of doubting the wisdom that age brought her. Lenya felt her gaze upon her now, but saw no reason to take back anything she had said to Wynne last night. It had been the truth, after all.

"We thought so several times before, so why should _this_ clearing be different?" the Dalish asked the others.

Instead of the elder mage answering, it was Shale. "If It wants to spent more time staring at trees because It misses them, It should stay here. I will go and crush the mage." Muttering in sync with her loud steps, the golem moved forward, giving the others no choice but to forget their hesitation. So they followed the golem through the depths of the dark meadow until they finally reached the other side.

Lenya sighed. Again, there was nothing to see but the stinking swamps of the Wilds. Slowly, she gave up hope of finding _Asha'belannar_, not to mention seeing anything other than the Korcari Wilds in her life ever again.

"And so you returned. Ah, I see you even brought your friends." There was a distinctive cackle before the person to whom it belonged became visible. "Lovely!" Within mere seconds, the hut appeared before their eyes, first only a blurred picture, as if it was a dream, and then clearly visible, as if it had been there the entire time. The sudden appearance made Lenya jump back in surprise and she crashed into Alistair's hard, sturdy armor behind her.

He immediately caught her fall, two strong hands setting her upright again. "Are you all right?" They were the first words he had spoken in a long time, his questioning gaze upon her soft but also tired, his eyes somewhat bleary. He had been up before her this morning—like always—but still looked as if he not caught much sleep in the night.

Lenya blinked her thoughts away and nodded, making a mental note to ask him for the reason later.

Flemeth was amused by her reaction. "My, my, so much fear of an old woman. _Asha'belannar_, you called me, if I remember correctly. The woman of many years. Amusing. Fitting." She laughed, the tone of it broken, edging on madness. "I must confess, I wasn't expecting guests... or maybe I was?"

The sentence made Lenya's head snap up in awareness, taking in her surroundings. The little hut was the same she had seen the first and only time she'd been here. Strings of bones dangled from its withered, brown moss roof and clacked together in the humid breeze. In front of the shack was still the old fire pit, unused for a long time and coated in remnants of black ashes. Small moldy bones surrounded the pit in neat piles. The air bristled with power, making her shudder. Lenya looked up to the sky, seeing that the fog overhead was less intense and thick here, as if cleared by the magic, and she could feel prickling on her skin.

Flemeth had waited, maybe even had toyed with them, and watched their progress ever since they had entered the Wilds—_her_ Wilds. There was no other way to describe it; the old witch had been a part of this place for so long that she seemed to own it. The Dalish took a moment to observe the woman, the... mage she was determined to kill. Flemeth looked older than before, her face carved with heavy, deep lines. Her body was scrawnier, gnarled to the point where it was just pale skin drawn taut over brittle bones. Her hair was now snow-white instead of grey. She stood in front of Lenya's group with a smug, amused smile on the dry, thin lips. It was as if the witch knew exactly why Lenya was here and her confident posture daring her to tryto succeed.

"Bah. I walked all that way for _this_?" Shale glowered down at Flemeth, clearly disapproving. "I only wanted to come with It for a chance to crush a mage, but this one here," her stone finger pointed at Flemeth, "is _old_. Even older than the elder mage and that says something. I'm not even sure it will make a squishing sound anymore when crushed. How disappointing."

"Interesting, your friends." Her voice cackled with easy amusement, her dark eyes fixing first the golem, then Lenya. "My dear Morrigan is interesting, too, isn't she?"

"Rather annoying, I would say," came from Alistair's direction, before he apparently could stop himself. Lenya gave him a pointed look that made him avert his eyes, but at the same time, she smiled in despite the situation. It was like a reflex to him to let everyone know how _much_ he disliked the young witch, even if it was her mother.

"And still you are here, young man." Flemeth cackled anew. "_Interesting_. Shall we make a guessing game as to why you are here, visiting the good, old Flemeth? Maybe even sing to the tune Morrigan already has you dancing to? Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

Wynne's eyes were warily focused on the old witch. "I don't like this. Here there's magic present that is old and very powerful. Best be on your guard, Warden."

Lenya ignored her gratuitous comment, and felt the presence of it herself. She made a step forward to _Asha'belannar_, her posture straightening. "We are here for your head."

Flemeth laughed, not perturbed in the slightest by the threat. "And here I thought you were here for a book. But dear Morrigan always knew how to survive best. So, will you dance to her tune or will you listen?"

"Listen?" Lenya frowned, slowly fed up by all the disguised words the witch used.

"There isn't only one tune, Warden. There are many, as there are choices." She shook her head, laughing. "Or so I hear."

"So I should dance to your tune instead?" The Dalish crossed her arms and glared up at her.

"Ah, no. I like singing more. Like the song of the daughter getting what she wants, what she seeks through others." Flemeth moved leisurely away from the female Warden and toward her hut, but only a few steps. "Give her the book. You are free to take it. Let her believe I was slain."

Lenya gave in to the urge to blink upon the sudden clarity of words of the witch; her offer was most unexpected. "Yes, fun. Tricking Morrigan," she heard Alistair say in a skeptical tone, before its heaviness lifted to something lighter, amused, even. "Oh, who am I kidding? That _does_ sound fun. I'm a bad man."

It wasn't surprising to Lenya that her fellow Warden reacted like that. In a way, it would be the most sensible thing to do: to take the grimoire and leave the Wilds unscathed. The Dalish wasn't buying the charade of _Asha'belannar's_ old appearance before her eyes, was aware that there was _more_ to the witch than she decided to show. Lenya could feel the air thrumming with power and magic, and somehow had the inkling that Flemeth was only toying with them for her own amusement. Maybe with Morrigan, as well. It was hard to see clearly when the lines of lies and truth blurred and who of both was honest with her.

"Why should I do that?" Lenya asked.

"It's far easier this way, don't you think? The lies are always more fun. And you are going to keep her around... for a time. So will you dance or sing? Which will it be, I wonder?"

_Asha'belannar's_ smug expression at the words _'for a time'_ unsettled Lenya. It made her remember that Morrigan was trusting her to help and _not_ to betray her. Even if it would be the easier path to simply take the book, it was something Lenya couldn't agree to. "No, I can't do this. I promised this to Morrigan and I can't go back on my word. It wouldn't be fair thing to do to a _friend_."

Somewhere behind her, Alistair let out a groan.

"Friend? My daughter?" Flemeth seemed surprised for a tiny moment before the smug expression returned. "Amusing. So you were listening to her melody all along, I see. Very well, dancing it is, then. Let us see if I remember the steps." As soon the words were spoken, Flemeth started to shift, to grow. The air sizzled with energy and the witch was wrapped in a glowing ball of light that didn't stop, but expanded in size. Lenya took a step back and watched in horror how _Asha'belannar's_ skin grew and warped, turning into purple scales.

She felt Alistair's stare upon her, but didn't avert her eyes from the shifting mage. She couldn't, felt frozen in place at the sight. "You couldn't just walk into the hut and take the book, right?" He made a frustrated noise back in his throat while drawing his sword and unbuckling his shield for whatever was to come. "No, of course not! Because that would have been _too easy._ Crazy woman, you. _Crazy_," he muttered under his breath and steadied his stance.

"Oh, so the old mage is changing her flesh into something _bigger_ to crush?" Shale seemed almost giddy at the prospect. "Fun!"

The earth shook under the sudden weight, making them take a precautionary step away from the now giant Flemeth. There was an audible flap of wings, and an ear-shattering roar vibrated through the air while the light slowly faded. It gave sight to what Flemeth had become and it was something Lenya would have never expected to happen, nor had ever seen outside her nightmares. So, for the fraction of a second, she simply gaped, bewildered at its large, leathery wings, the thick-scaled skin, and the behemoth size of the creature. Her mouth snapped open. "Flemeth is a... _dragon? _Oh, shit!"

"That's a very appropriate reaction." Alistair shook himself free from the shock, already moving to flank the giant creature. "Remind me to kill Morrigan after this."

"Not if I get her first!" Lenya muttered under her breath, and together they braced themselves to fight against an overpowering opponent.

.

.

* * *

.

"_No, Mother! Please don't!"_

_Morrigan pressed the golden mirror to her chest, tried to protect it from Flemeth's hands. But, as always, the witch was stronger than the young girl, and jerked it out of her grasp. The smile on her lips grew into something triumphant as she looked into Morrigan's appalled expression, seeing her on the verge of tears._

_"You risked being discovered for such useless bauble. I will teach you a lesson to not do this again!" Flemeth hauled out and slapped the child across the cheek, the force of it making the young girl wince in pain, the tears now flowing without restraint._

_"I will not do this again." Morrigan's voice was strained, thick with tears. "I learned my lesson, Mother, so give it back to me." She rubbed her cheek, looking defiantly up to her mother, who was still looming over her._

_Flemeth smirked. "Oho, dearest Morrigan. This isn't the lesson." The witch observed the mirror in her hands, how it reflected the shards of moonlight within. "My, it is beautiful thing, isn't it? But beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning. Power has meaning. Survival has meaning."_

_Flemeth glanced over to Morrigan, her expression smug as she smashed the mirror on the ground with such a force that the shattered pieces flew across the hut. The young girl managed to cover her face from its sharp shards just in time. After lowering her arm again, she stared in shock at the remnants of the mirror._

_"This is the lesson! Never forget this!" Flemeth said and turned, leaving the child alone._

_Morrigan sat there for a long time, simply staring on the ground with the broken pieces of a once beautiful object. Touching the shards, her sadness slowly turned into defiant anger. She silently swore herself never to get attached to something again like she did to the mirror._

.

~V~

.

Morrigan blinked, as if awakening from a dream.

Frowning, she saw the furrowing of her brow in the reflection of the mirror, a mirror that was very similar to the one her mother once destroyed. The mirror Lenya had given her as a gift months ago, just like that. She still didn't understand why the Dalish had done that. There was not any purpose or intention behind her gift, nothing from which Lenya could benefit. Her gesture back then had been nothing but friendly Even after all these months, the notion still confused Morrigan, because it made _no sense_.

Why did the Dalish see her as someone she could trust, even called her a friend once? She, who did her best to be as rude as possible to Lenya to keep her away and saw the Warden only for her own purpose? There was nothing to gain for her and still, the Dalish didn't hesitate long before agreeing to kill her mother for her. This loyalty, this _respect_ Lenya showed her despite Morrigan's less than amicable behavior toward her was irritating and so very... confusing.

Absentmindedly, Morrigan's fingers traced along the golden frame of the mirror, over the fine intricate ornaments carved within its surface.

_Never get attached to something again..._

She swore that to herself as a young girl, and still was she excited_, thrilled_,even, when Lenya gave her the mirror. It was just pretty bauble, and yet, the first gift one had ever made her without expecting something in return. It was a most surprising gesture, like everything else about that odd Dalish woman.

The witch huffed and averted her eyes from the mirror to look up into the slowly darkening sky. Lenya must have been arrived there by now, bad sense of direction or not. A sudden gust of wind made her shudder, making her inch closer to the warmth of the separated bonfire. Like her tent, it was erected far away from the assassin and the foolish Chantry bard, her solitude self-chosen and wanted. With a sneer that bore contempt and defiance, Morrigan spared them a glance, hearing them talking and laughing.

Her tolerance for company was very limited, and unlike the Chantry twit, the witch preferred not to indulge in mindless chats about shoes and her ridiculous god... figure. Then again, she found herself oddly enjoying the conversations she had with Lenya, here at her fire pit. Morrigan respected her unyielding sense of pride and strength, saw many things from a similar perspective like the Dalish. Her eyes went to the sky again and she watched for a moment how the thick clouds above passed by at a hasty pace, accelerated by the cool and heavy breeze.

Maybe she should have said something, maybe warned Lenya _more_ of what her mother was capable. Morrigan knew that friendship was a fleeting, foolish notion—one she _shouldn't_ pursue—and yet couldn't she help but to be... _worried_.

The plaintive whine of Lenya's Mabari told her that she wasn't alone with that bizarre, unwanted emotion. Morrigan's eyes wandered toward the huge animal, seeing that he watched her intently. She didn't even know _why_ the hound was always by her side when the Dalish didn't take him with her, but had begrudgingly accepted the canine company.

"Don't look at me that way, mongrel. 'Twas not I who ate all the herbs." She shook her head. "One should think your oh-so-intelligent Mabari mind had learned not to do it again after the one time, but alas, no. Now, you had to stay in camp instead of going with your beloved Warden. Pity."

Arai growled at her for that, but it missed the sharpness. Unbidden, the Mabari came closer and lay his head into her lap, whining. Morrigan sighed, starting to awkwardly pat his head. "Don't worry, your precious mistress will be back soon." A pause ensued, her golden eyes strayed into the dark edges of the Korcari Wilds. "I _hope_."

.

.

* * *

.

They were losing ground.

With combined efforts, the group had managed to wound the Flemeth-dragon in a considerable way and yet it seemed not enough. The inflicted injuries and slashes across its scaled, giant body made her_—it—_even more furious. The earth shook as the creature spun with an earsplitting roar, the uncharacteristic disdainful stare of its big, dark eyes directed at the Dalish. Flemeth breathed through her fang-filled mouth, each yellow tooth as long as an arm and snorted black smoke out through her nostrils, right before charging anew.

Lenya saw her coming and jumped out of the way just in time, landing hard on some stones that wheezed the air out of her lungs. She fought to get up, every strained muscle protesting, her several cuts and blisters burning like fire. A wave of dizziness swam over her, but she managed to keep her bearings, even though only with difficulties. Lenya was beyond exhausted, they all were. Unfortunately, the battle was far from being over. Her mind raced with the futile possibilities on how to bring such a powerful creature down. It was moments like this where Lenya sorely missed Morrigan's magical prowess, a strong elemental spell would give them the time they would need to breathe, to think. There was Wynne, but the mage was too busy with keeping everyone alive to cast an offensive spell, while Shale was mostly busy protecting Wynne. So they were down to three against Flemeth's relentless fire attacks with fire, claws, and superior size.

"Whenever possible, aim for the head!" she shouted after Oghren, who buried his axe in one of her wings, the silverite blade slicing through the leathery skin like butter.

"A bit busy here, Warden!" he said with a grunt, but immediately stopped his task to follow her command.

The Flemeth-dragon let out a sound similar to a haughty sneer, kicking after the dwarf with her massive flanks and claws, as if he was nothing more than a bothersome insect. The impact barely missed Oghren, but gave Lenya the opportunity and needed distraction to dive in to inflict another slash on the scaly neck. Dark red blood gushed in a high fountain from the wound and covered her completely, but Flemeth did not so much as _twitch_.

There was a slight roar of pain, yet it frustratingly subsided all too quickly for an... _amused snickering?_ Lenya's head snapped toward the odd sound, and with horror, the Dalish watched how the dragon faced Alistair, directly in front of her and all alone. Through her momentum, Lenya had whirled away from his side, and now the massive body of the creature was making sure it would stay this way. She hacked her blades into the thick flesh, knowing it would cause only little damage there where the skin was protected with strong scales. Damage wasn't Lenya's intent, however, but distraction. With frustration, Lenya had found out that her action did nothing but fuel Flemeth's amusement while she continued to toy with Alistair. There was no way for Lenya to reach Alistair, no way to help him, and it was as if the shape-shifted witch had planned to separate the both Wardens all along.

He was momentarily holding his own against the dragon, but she could see that he was tired, his movements slower and less pointed, his concentration fading due to exhaustion. Before Lenya could probe another point for sinking her blades in, Alistair's boot slipped on moss as he was trying to get away from the dragon's front. Eyes wide in horror, she watched helplessly how he lost his balance and the Flemeth-dragon snatched Alistair into its huge jaws before he could recover.

_No..._

Flemeth shook him violently, his limbs flying in every direction, twisting and flailing in impossible ways. The dragon finally spat Alistair out, as if fed up with chomping on him, and he crashed hard somewhere on the ground, unmoving.

_No. No. No. No!_

The word rushed like a cacophony through her mind, again and again, as despair tried to worm its wrecking way into her consciousness at the sight. And what it likely meant. Yet the wrath, a sudden indescribable anger, hot and seething, was quicker in arriving into her system. Her hand clawed around the hilts of her blades and Lenya glared up at the dragon, her body shaking furiously. Killing Flemeth had been 'just' a favor, a promise made to Morrigan to her before, but now it had become something _personal_. Even if it was the last thing she would do, Lenya would make sure to see the old bitch _dead_.

The Dalish moved before Flemeth did, the wrath inside like a rejuvenation spell to her tired mind and limbs. Dodging the attempt of the creature to snap at her, Lenya sprinted to Flemeth's massive tail, and without a second thought, raced along the purple ridges of her spine.

"Oghren, Shale, flank her. The neck, the neck!" Lenya shouted in the need of a distraction, but did not stop her furious tempo. It was a foolish, dangerous idea to climb her back, but the only possible way she could think of to bring that giant bitch down. The golem and the dwarf immediately did as told, while Wynne's exhausted mind tried to reach out to Alistair, the blue, magical flaring in the distance a tell-tale sign.

The Flemeth-dragon roared and twisted in anger, suddenly anything but amused by the combined assault. While Lenya did her best to hold her balance on the dragon's back, both her companions struck with axe and stony fists at each side of Flemeth's neck. Lenya seized the moment of distraction to focus her steps on getting up the spine, heedless of the tremendous height. Finally at the top, she hesitated not a second and rammed both of her blades into Flemeth's eyes, and even deeper, up to their hilts until they reached her skull. All attempts of the witch to shake her off were forsaken. Blinded, the shape-shifted dragon roared in agony, twisting and shaking at the impossible fact of being defeated by a mere mortal. The Dalish gritted her teeth, too stubborn to let go, she held herself on by hilts of her blades, ignoring the burn in every fiber of her body. The hectic movement of the creature and the elf's weight caused severe damage of its own. Flemeth roared once more, its sound desperate, and with a final twist crashed to the ground.

Lenya fell with her, the impact of the landing only slowed down by her shoulder. The bone gave away with a sickening crunch. Completely drenched in blood, miserable, and hazed by fierce pain, Lenya lay there and watched how Oghren smashed his axe into Flemeth's unmoving skull to ensure the witch wouldn't rise again.

The Dalish gasped for air and yet couldn't refrain from... _laughing_. It was done. Flemeth was dead and Morrigan free, at least for a time.

But at what cost? The thought made her jerk up. Ignoring the blooming pain in her shoulder and her protesting body, she rushed over where she surmised Alistair had landed. Lenya found his beaten form in between weeds and rocks, not far from the battlefield. There was blood, so_ much_ blood, around him and _everywhere_ that she feared the worst.

_No, please gods, no!_

Kneeling down to him, she recognized how his chest still rose up and down, although shallowly. His armor was dented and in some places pierced through from Flemeth's teeth and jaw. She didn't want to picture how his body looked underneath the metal, how severe the injuries were. Still grateful for the small wonder of finding him _alive_, she released her own breath, before held in dread.

"Did we win?" His faint voice startled her, unexpected as it was to hear him talk in his battered state. Lenya swallowed hard and nodded. "Yay." Alistair even attempted a smile, his bleary eyes searching her gaze. "I'm so glad you are okay. So glad..." His look drifted off her and remained momentarily unfocused, before his eyelids threatened to shut close. "But also so... tired..."

"_Ar in dartha!" _Lenya whispered at first, repeatedly patting his cheek to keep him awake. She felt him drifting away in despite of her efforts and her voice adapted a more despaired edge. _"Ar in dartha, _Alistair!_"_

_Not again... not again._

Every time she let someone become close to her and started to call the person a friend, she lost them again. First Tamlen, then Nithius, and now... _him_. Lenya bit back the despondent feeling swarming her, clenching her healthy fingers defiantly to a fist. She was not going to let this happen, not again.

_Not_ Alistair, _not_ her fellow Warden.

"I like your voice," he said drowsily, as if talking in his sleep, his eyes still closed. "Speaking... elvish. And I like... you. No, I… I l-lo—" Alistair's head lolled to the side, unconscious, but still breathing. Despite the blood loss and injuries, he was fighting for his life, she knew, his mental will unbroken.

"Wynne! _Wynne!_" she cried out for the mage as loud as she could, ignoring her own pain and injuries. Lenya turned to him again, and too afraid to touch his battered body, she only patted his cheek. "Hold on. Please."

Behind her she heard approaching steps and the clinking of a glass vial as it hit the ground. The mage was resting her weight on her staff, beads of sweat running down her face, her breathing ragged. Lenya looked pleadingly up at the human. "Please." Dignity or pride was not an option now. "Save him!"

The mage spared her a glance and frowned at her various cuts and blistered skin. "You are injured, too."

"Don't care. I'm alive. I want for my fellow Warden to be the same."

"Very well. I will do what I can." Wynne nodded curtly and directed her words at the unconscious Alistair. "I'm sorry. This will hurt. A lot."

Placing her hand on his chest, she called on the power of the Fade, and even though he was not really conscious, Alistair let out an agonized cry as the magic encompassed him.

It wasn't the last.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya's hand clamped on her wounded shoulder while she leaned on the old wood of the hut and stared at the ground.

She had no idea how much time had passed since they had slain Flemeth, but it already felt like _hours_. Agonizing hours of waiting while Wynne was in the hut with Alistair and tried her best as an experienced healer to keep him alive. Together, they'd carried him into the small building, even managed somehow to peel him out of his dented armor until only the bloodied padding and underclothes were left. At least he had stopped screaming, his deep unconsciousness a blessing while the painful treatment of mending flesh still went on.

_So much blood, there was so much blood..._

With a sigh, Lenya let herself sink to the ground, feeling in every part of her body physically and emotionally drained.

And so very guilty.

That Alistair lay in there on the brink of death all just happened for a stupid _book... _and because of stubbornness and inability to back down was once more a flaw that got someone—a friend—hurt. First Tamlen, and now her fellow Warden. Lenya's expression shifted to a frown, anger at herself seething up in her system. Why couldn't she simply have taken the grimoire and left, as Flemeth suggested?

The answer to the self-imposed question promptly sprang to her mind, as well: Morrigan. If Lenya could have known what would have been the result of her promise—the consequences—she couldn't say if she'd have done the same in hindsight. But the decision had been long made, Flemeth was dead, and she could only hope that Alistair wouldn't have to be a victim of her stubbornness.

Lenya breathed out, tilting her head upward to the misty sky and leaned on the foul-smelling wooden panel, and felt her body aching. Now, where the numbing effect of adrenaline was gone, her injuries were burning into every inch, every fiber of her body and her skin. Though, this was nothing in comparison to Alistair's wounds. So she fought the urge to shut her eyes and rest on this very spot, filthy and exhausted as she was. She had to stay awake, wanted to wait until Wynne returned, until it was sure that he wouldn't... wouldn't—

"You look like nugshit, Missy." Lenya was pulled off her grim thoughts by a sudden voice and looked over to the approaching figure. Oghren was limping and a stink of alcohol mixed with burned hair emanated from the dwarf, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

"Likewise, Durgen'len," the Dalish said, and then hesitated. "_Ma serannas... _for helping Alistair just now. I wasn't able to do much with my arm, I mean." Her gaze flung to the ground again and she shuddered, her voice barely a whisper. "I wasn't able to do much..."

"No, of course not." He made a sarcastic snort. "You just killed the witch dragon. No sodding big deal."

Lenya spared a glance toward the massive pool of blood and gore that Flemeth had become. "Yeah, I should have done that earlier, though... or not at all."

"Morrigan tricked you, huh?" Another snort. "Never would have expected it from her. Seems to be such an honest person, otherwise."

She didn't answer his sarcastic remark, simply stared blankly into the wideness of the Wilderness and stayed quiet. Ignoring her own pain, she reached out her senses to feel the humming of taint, his presence. It was weaker than normal, but still _there_. At least this was a small comfort for her in the mess the day had become. Being the leader, she knew she needed to stay strong, to plan ahead, no matter the circumstances or how very empty and weary she currently felt. "Where is Shale?" she eventually asked, after another bout of silence.

"Heh, saw her walking around the borders of this sodding place in the search for darkspawn, or something. Seemed to be miffed that you had been the sodding one to crush the dragon. Her words, not mine." Oghren paused, and a grin snuck into his face despite the situation. "So Shale really was a dwarf woman once? _Hot_."

Lenya groaned, and for a moment, she didn't know which was worse: the burn of her injuries or the near physical pain of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with a stinking, half-drunken dwarf as the only company to talk to. She was inclined to opt for the latter.

"Focus, idiot!" Mustering the last of her inner reserves, Lenya glared over at the still-standing dwarf to get his attention. "We need someone who can quickly get back to the others to bring them here. We lack the proper equipment and supplies to stay here for days, hence I will need someone who can carry a lot. Shale would be the most obvious choice for that, don't you think?"

"Days?" Oghren's eyes widened. "You want to stay here in this pesky swamp for days?"

Lenya's glowering gained in intensity and anger. "Oh, I'm sure Alistair will be as good as new in a few hours. It is not like he was chomped on by a dragon or is severely wounded. No, not at all. So if you are done with asking me stupid and superfluous questions, get Shale's stony ass to me."

Oghren gaped at her for a second or two before turning with a grumble under his beard. It was probably not fair to snap at the dwarf like she had, but Lenya had currently no time, nor room for exchanging niceties. Not when she had to struggle with the urge to rip herself out of the filthy armor and roll herself in elfroot to stop the constant burning of her skin. Her physical misery aside, she also had to make sure that she and her companions got everything needed to survive at least a few days out here in the Wilds. Until Alistair was mobile enough to move on.

It didn't take long until her two companions returned, although Shale walked with obvious reluctance. Lenya explained her plan to the golem, which only was met with an annoyed groan. "So let me repeat Its inane intent." She let out a disdainful snort. "I should walk all the way back through the stinking swamp, only to return here again with the others, carrying once more Its useless stuff?"

The Dalish sighed, looking up to her massive form. "Please? We need supplies. Also, the Wilds are filled with darkspawn, and with Flemeth dead, we don't know how long her magical protection against them will last, if at all. As you can see, I'm hardly in the condition to fight right now, so I—_we_—need the support of the others."

Shale grumbled, still not convinced. "Why It doesn't go Itself? Unlike the clown knight, It was not squished by the witch dragon." Her white lava eyes glowered down at their leader, observing her for a moment, hesitating. "Can I crush every darkspawn I meet on the way? Unless It wants to do this, too."

So it was true what Oghren said. Shale was _jealous_ of her being the one to kill Flemeth? The thought was so ridiculous and yet fitting of the golem that it even brought a smile to Lenya's face. "You have to ask? I even expect you to smash every darkspawn head you see. As long you bring the others here, of course."

The golem narrowed her eyes, still not convinced. "Of course."

"Y'know, golem," Oghren said, pointing at his injured leg, "I would go myself to spare us this whole sodding discussion, but I'm not the fastest sprinter at the moment." He took a swig out of his flask. "Sodding nug-humping witch!"

As Shale still didn't move to go, Lenya scrambled to her feet, her face contorted in pain. Beads of sweat were running down over her tattooed forehead. "Right, forget it, Shale. Thanks for nothing. I'll go myself, instead of losing more time with stupid talking and reasoning."

Before Lenya could storm away to Flemeth's body to gather her weapons, Oghren stepped into her way. "You ain't going nowhere, Missy."

"I'm fine! Now, out of my way, dwarf."

"Fine?" He snorted and poked her on the right shoulder, where her arm dangled uselessly down on the side. The light touch was enough to make her double over and cry out in pain. "Heh, didn't think so." The dwarf glared up at Shale. "Ya better let the sodding stubborn pile of stone do the work."

The golem muttered under her breath, but seemed more inclined to obey. "I will go. The painted Warden would only get lost again and die a horrible death. As much the last part is likely Its fate, I don't want to be the one responsible for it. Unless I accidentally sit on It, that is. Also, the clown knight wouldn't ever stop complaining if the painted Warden would get lost or hurt. And then I would have to sit on It, too. Less accidentally, of course."

"Wow. I'm so touched by your concern." Lenya shook her head, sighing. "I really hope you have a better sense of direction, though. Now be gone and quickly return. Please."

The Dalish watched after Shale and waited until she was out of earshot before turning to Oghren. "Although I should kill you for touching my injury, I thank you for your help." She sank down to the ground again, exhausted. "I truly don't know if I would had been able to go, if Shale had remained unconvinced."

The dwarf grinned. "Heh, never say old Oghren can't be persuasive. That golem is as stubborn as you, Missy. Almost." He took another pull of his flask before offering it to Lenya. "Wanna have a share? It keeps you warm, and you look as if you need it."

Lenya didn't listen. Staring at the entrance of the hut, she waited for Wynne to come out. Waited for the mage to tell her that he would _live_. But nothing happened and all was still, the silence drowning. If Lenya couldn't feel a certain tingling of magic on her skin, or the hum of his taint, she would be even more frightened than she already was.

Oghren noticed where her eyes lingered and the deep frown on her face. "Nah, don't worry. Fancy boy whines often more than a teakettle, but he is also... tough. A Warden, like you. He will be—" He stopped with a groan, shaking his head. "Ugh, I'm not good at this, so I better stick to the things I am good at." With that, he took a deep pull from his flask.

She didn't look at him, her gaze still fixed on the door. "I know. Still, I feel somewhat responsible that he is wounded like that. If only I had taken the book and left, none of this would have happened." Her voice was tiny and trembling, her mouth still carved in a pained frown.

Another groan, accompanied by a roll of his dark eyes. "And If Branka hadn't been a few columns short of a hall, I would be the sodding husband of a sodding Paragon right now. Probably sipping dwarven ale out of fancy golden tankards, even. Alas, life isn't—nevermind."

Lenya turned to the dwarf, surprised. "You still miss Branka?"

She observed how he shifted his weight from the injured leg to the healthy one, leaning on a stacked pile of firewood for support. His expression remained unreadable for a moment before he looked up to her in anger. "What do you think, Warden? I mean, she was my sodding _wife_! I spent two years trying to save her, while she was off boffing that tramp and feeding my cousins to the darkspawn!" The anger subsided for a fleeting display of anguish, his brows knitted across his forehead. "And now she's dead. There's no way to ever make things better anymore."

"Hmm..." Lenya hummed, letting her gaze slip past Oghren and watch how the high-grown weeds bent back and forth in the cold breeze. "I know what you mean." She paused as pictures of Tamlen flooded her mind, unbidden. "There was no chance I could let Branka live after what she had done, but I'm sorry you had to be there when I killed her."

"You did what you thought was right, Missy. I just wish there had been another way for it to end." Oghren shook his head and, with a deep sigh, drank some more from his brew. "But enough of this emotional hogwash, it's going to get sodding cold out here. Better get a fire started." He rummaged in his pouch on his belt and brought forth two oddly shaped stones. "Heh, now watch how Oghren works his magic."

Lenya couldn't bring herself to answer, but was still glad about the odd company and distraction the dwarf offered. And so she watched him silently as he built a firepit with the wood behind him and started to clack the stones together. There was little to do, otherwise, until Wynne returned to them with good news.

Hopefully.

.

.

* * *

.

It was in the middle of the night when Leliana heard a loud noise at the edge of camp.

Together with Zevran and Arai, she decided to investigate its suspicious source more closely, weapons ready. Though, instead of the expected darkspawn or bandits, the intruder turned out to be... Shale. She relaxed the taught string and lowered her bow, letting a breath out she didn't remember holding. Zevran remained tense, his eyes flinging all over the place as if searching for the rest of their companions, but there was no one who followed.

"By the Maker... Shale, what are you doing here? And where is Lenya?"

"The clown knight got squished by the dragon." Without further explanation, the golem passed them by to their stored supplies in the center of camp.

"Ah, my stone friend. As elaborate as ever, I see." Zevran's casual words were betrayed by his wary posture, the daggers lowered but still clawed in his hands.

Leliana hurried after her massive form, completely at a loss. "Squished? Dragon?" She felt a twinge of panic rising at Shale's sparse words. "What happened? Explain yourself."

The golem sighed, still not turning around to the bard at her back. "If It would stop Its wagging with Its little, fleshy tongue, maybe I would. Or I just continue to crush feathered fiends in the stinking swamps." Her chuckle faded into a disgusted shudder. "Bah, even this place is plagued by the birds."

"You have returned, I see." Leliana looked up and saw Morrigan approaching, quiet as a cat in the wilderness. Her face was impassive, but had the ever-present hint of a sneer. "What news do you bring?"

"The swamp witch wants to know if Its plan has worked?" Morrigan tried to keep her expression even, but Leliana recognized a spark of confusion that flit over her face. It seemed as if she had finally grasped that Lenya hadn't returned with the golem. "The other swamp witch is dead; sadly, I wasn't the one who crushed it," Shale continued, snorting. "It didn't tell the painted Warden that Its mother could turn into a dragon, I assume? I doubt It would have agreed to kill it, then. Clever, very clever." Her amusement faded and she glowered down at Morrigan. "I'm going to watch the swamp witch from now on. _Closely_. It is not to be trusted."

Leliana couldn't believe what she was hearing. Whirling around toward the witch, she fixed her with a stare. "A _dragon_? You knew about it and willingly sent them into the Wilds, not caring for the danger that would await them? And for what? To get your dirty work done? I can't believe it!"

"You seem to forget that this was an agreement between Lenya and I," Morrigan said calmly, crossing her arms. "I don't see how this concerns _you_, chantry tart."

A hot wave of anger seethed up, and Leliana's gloved hands balled to fists as she took another step toward the witch. "It concerns me because it was _you_ who—"

She felt Zevran's arm on her shoulder in an attempt to hold her back from springing into Morrigan's face, his words interrupting her own. "As much I enjoy seeing your fiery side, my dear, are we not forgetting a little detail here?" He turned to the golem, who stood impassively beside them. "_Where_ are the Wardens?"

"I thought with Its big ears, the Crow would be able to hear well." Shale shrugged. "I already said that the painted Warden decided to stay in the stinking place because the clown knight got crushed by the other swamp witch. I'm here to carry all the useless fleshy stuff to them. _Again_." She picked up a huge bundle of supplies, not caring what it contained. "So can we go?"

"Alistair?" Leliana blinked, and a feeling of dread sank into her stomach, burning low. "Did you say that Alistair is..." She couldn't form the last word, her mouth suddenly too dry, her throat too tight.

"Dead? No." Shale snorted. "The other swamp witch crunched on It while It was a dragon, but the clown knight is still alive. Although, I don't know if the elder mage can repair Its fleshy body device."

For a moment, Leliana simply stared. She couldn't fathom whether to be relieved by the news, or be mad at the witch, who did not do so as much as blink. The following internal struggle was brief and the anger quickly won, worming its way into her system again. "This is all your fault! Do you even care what happened?" She glared at Morrigan, her body trembling with barely controlled ire. With much effort, the bard turned away, not wanting to make the situation worse than it already was. They needed clear heads now and break up camp to reach Lenya and the others as quickly as possible.

_Calm..._ Leliana took a deep breath and another step away from the witch. _...down._ Her tactic to avoid another confrontation with Morrigan worked. At least, it was until the silence was broken through her voice.

"Why should I? That fool is still alive, apparently." The witch paused to shrug. "Too bad."

That was it. Too much. All the months of her indifferent and cold behavior Leliana endured boiled down to this moment and could no longer be ignored. Especially not when that damn witch was not caring in the slightest whether a companion would live or die. That ignorance was the final straw and Leliana's patience snapped like a dried twig.

With a shrill shriek, Leliana whirled around and launched herself at Morrigan. Her attack caught the witch by surprise, and so the two went over in a heap, rolling on the muddy ground of camp, screeching. Being in such an utter and complete rage, Leliana had forgotten all finery of combat or manners and was reduced to a screaming pile of fists and nails. Momentarily having the upper hand, the bard clawed a fistful of Morrigan's raven-colored hair, yanking on it before the witch could land a hit of her own. Thoroughly caught up in the fight, it seemed to have slipped from Morrigan's mind that she was able to use magic. They continued their rolling, hitting each other with every dirty trick they knew, teeth and nails and fists all balling up as they scrambled in the dirt.

.

~V~

.

Zevran didn't do so much as watch, trapped between utter fascination and bewilderment. Only when Morrigan was starting to ooze off a dangerous glow, a glow coming from unrestrained magic, did he act. He yanked Leliana away from her target, the kicking and thrashing around making it hard to keep his hold on her. With horror, the elf watched how Morrigan got to her feet, a spell summoning on her lips, her wrath palpable.

Jerking Leliana with him, he ducked just in time to get out of the way of the fireball, which fortunately flew into the emptiness of the night. It scarcely missed Lenya's tent and set some trees ablaze in the distance. Right before Morrigan could conjure another element at her will, there was a distant hitting sound. Sten loomed over the sorceress.

"_Parshaara_. This is why we have our mages leashed."

Despite Morrigan being knocked out, Leliana continued to squirm and wiggle under him, caught up in her ire. On another occasion, Zevran would have found her movements more than pleasant, but now he needed her to calm down more than anything else.

"Let me _go!_ That _bitch_, she will—"

His mouth came down crashing hard on hers, stopping any further words. Leliana still fought him, now a mixture of wrestling herself free and struggling against the sudden kiss. Her lips were as fiery as her temper and he could taste a hint of blood on them, there where Morrigan's strikes had been successful. Her resistance slowly dwindling, Zevran smirked against her hot mouth as she felt her melting beneath him, relaxing. Her heart was still pounding madly, her breath ragged, but the anger was no longer to blame for the response of her body, he knew. With a weak sound of protest, Leliana managed to get her hands in between their bodies and shove him away, gasping.

Immediately, the bard sat up, her glare furious on him. The slap came in only a second later, hitting him across the face. "I _hate_ you!"

Despite her words and action, Zevran sat there on the ground and _laughed_, amused and satisfied to have transferred all her anger to him. Morrigan was obliterated from her mind, their fight forgotten. It was what he wanted, for her to focus again, so they could move on and back to the Wardens, who needed their support.

He chuckled as he saw how Leliana crossed her arms and sulked, heaving in angry, strangled breaths. "I guess I earned that." There was a silence only disrupted by the rummaging sound of Sten and Shale, who had abandoned them in favor of breaking up camp. He used the pause to get back on his feet, grinning at the sight of her disheveled form. "However, my dear, may we finally focus at the task at hand? Not that I didn't find it riveting to see two women fighting, but, alas, the situation of the Wardens sounds more dire than your strife with Morrigan."

"I... yes. You are right." To his surprise, her anger faltered, replaced for a flicker of embarrassment on her face. Leliana's gaze wandered over to the witch, who lay unconscious on the ground in front of the cracking campfire. She sighed, driving a shaking hand through the tangled mess of her red hair. "It is all her fault. Alistair is... heavily wounded and she doesn't even _care_. I mean, I know they don't like each other, but it wouldn't have happened—" Another sigh. "It just made me so... _angry_."

"I know." Zevran nodded, no hint of humor in his voice. "Let us just hope we will reach the Wardens in time, as Sten has knocked out our guide through the Wilds. And now we are stuck with our stony and very grumpy friend to lead us back, alas."

Leliana regarded her sleeping, bruised form coolly. "Served her right."

"Ah, cruel to the end, no?" He chuckled, already turning to their task. "Come on, we should break up camp and be quickly going."

.

.

.

* * *

**Elvish Note: **

_Ar in dartha! -_ Stay with me!


	65. Dying to Live

_**A/N:** Useless info aside: The lyrics of this song are one of my two theme songs for Lenya/Alistair. The other and more poignant being "Fragile by - yes, you guessed it- Poets of the Fall. Love it. _

_Thanks to all reading, faving and reviewing my story. You know who you are. And of course to Mackillian for her ever steady and awesome beta work. Go and read her stories, too they are brilliant._

* * *

_**I tried many times but nothing was real  
Make it fade away, don't break me down  
I want to believe that this is for real  
Save me from my fear  
Give me something I can believe  
Make my heart a better place**_

_~Within Temptation – All I need _

* * *

**Chapter 62: Dying to live**

.

Lenya drifted in and out of a slumber filled with frightening wisps of images, but not long enough to dream.

It wasn't only the pain in her limbs, but also the will to see Wynne's return that kept her from completely dozing off. The wind around her was a chilling, moist breeze and made her shiver despite the warmth radiating from the still glowing embers of the slowly dying bonfire. She probably should bank what was left of the flames by adding another wooden log before it was too late, but that would require _moving_. A notion Lenya couldn't reconcile with the burning ache in her shoulder that shook her down to her very core. She hadn't moved or used her right arm, tried to keep it stable, yet it did little to stop the pain.

The wind whistled in the trees far overhead. Restless, they danced to its wheezing music as they stood there in the shadows and silence. It was nearly dawn, but the thick mist enshrouding the Wilds seemed to delay the light, and the darkness lingered. Along with the ominous whispering of the air with the trees—a sound so unlike what she knew from the forest—only Oghren's snoring was audible. The silence, the absence of sound coming from the hut, was _deafening_. Worrying.

Lenya shifted, her back screaming for rest after hours of leaning on the hard wood. She forced herself to open her eyes, her sight hazy as she watched the first rays of light defiantly fighting their way through the fog blanketing the sky. Her pointed ears twitched at the sudden sound of approaching steps, setting her heartbeat to a faster rate. She had waited so long for it to happen, but now, when Wynne truly returned, Lenya couldn't find the courage to turn around to face her, let alone ask.

"My, you are still up?" The mage's voice trembled a bit, sounding exhausted. "In your condition, you should have gone to sleep long ago." A long sigh. "But I can imagine why you're still awake, despite your injuries. Stubborn as always, aren't you?"

The Dalish did not move nor speak. She stared down at her hands, feeling petrified by the fear of knowing the truth, a pang of remorse washing over her. After what seemed an eternity within the silence, she swallowed and raised her voice. "Coming to lecture me again? Go on... I deserve it this time."

"Lecture? No." Wynne chuckled softly and walked over to the pile of firewood, using her staff for support, her steps weary. She paused, looking bewilderedly down at the dwarf, who snored deeply right next to it. She took a log and chucked it into the dwindling flames, which hungrily enclosed the wood, cracking loudly. With a sigh, the mage leaned her staff at the wall and sat down next to Lenya. "True, it was your choice to go into the lair of a powerful maleficar, but you surely don't need an old biddy like me scolding you about the consequences of your choice now. It was yours to make and you made it—independent from right or wrong—like a leader would. You have a loyal heart, which you didn't even lose under the heavy burden of responsibility those choices bring with it. I simply question if some of those you are loyal to are deserving of such a trait. But lecturing? No."

Lenya exhaled, glancing over to Wynne. The mage looked older than normal. Her skin was sallow with deep circles under her usually bright blue eyes. She bit on her lower lip, feeling every muscle tensing under the struggle to ask. "Is he... " She didn't go any further, the lump in her throat too tight.

"It was... close." Wynne rubbed her wrinkled face with one of her hands, sighing again. "Alistair had more fortune than judgment. One of the many piercing wounds was awfully close to the heart, and then, even the best healer couldn't have pulled him away from the entry of the Fade anymore."

Lenya laughed out loud, mirthless. Such a cynical way to avoid the word 'death.' She should feel relieved by the news, but all she felt was an uncertainty that lingered heavily over her like the thick fog overhead. Her teeth dug deeply into the flesh of her lips, drawing blood. It was a welcoming ache that distracted her from the other pain coursing through her body. "Will he be all right?"

"I have done what I could, and it was an exhausting struggle to heal his wounds, because the blood loss was severe. Fortunately, Alistair has a strong mind and will to live, but we have to wait for what the day will bring." Wynne leaned herself at the wood of the hut behind her, briefly closing her eyes. "We should rest, at least for a bit." She smiled. "It was a dreadfully long night for both of us, after all."

"Hmm... true." Lenya nodded with a hum. "I sent Shale back to the others, to bring them here. We need their support." Another bitter chuckle. "I'm not exactly in the condition to keep watch, let alone _fight_."

"That was a good idea. I will heal your wounds as soon I'm able to again, but you really should keep your arm still until then."

Lenya shrugged with her healthy shoulder. "I will survive this. I always do." She hated the layer of scorn in her voice, even more that she was showing it to the mage. The Dalish paused to gather her emotions and thoughts. "You mean Morrigan when you talk about deserving of my loyalty, don't you?"

"You are observant."

"I asked myself many times within the night, if it wouldn't have been easier to simply take the book, to make a deal with Flemeth. That none of that would have happened, then. But no matter how I turned and twisted the thought, I couldn't do it, not even in my mind. I simply couldn't live with the idea of breaking a promise given to a friend. And I don't think it is a matter of deserving or not." She halted to take a deep breath. "Morrigan has saved my life many times by now, the last time in the tower. So it was simply my turn to save hers, I guess. All the other little or not-so-little dissonant details of what happened, or how I feel about it, are mine to discuss with _her_, not with you."

"I see." Wynne nodded, yet seemed to be displeased by her answer, apparently too tired to make the effort to hide the notion.

A sigh escaped Lenya's lips. "Will my life now always be that complicated? Does it ever get easy?"

"No, it won't be easy, quite the opposite. Being a Grey Warden is in your blood now. You can't escape it."

The Dalish snorted. "Are you old people not here to reassure the younger ones? Besides the annoying scolding and lecturing, of course."

Wynne gave her a look, amusement shining through the attempted sternness. "What do you want me to say?" She arched an eyebrow, smiling. "Yes, it's terribly simple. We'll always defeat the darkspawn and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after."

"Liar." Lenya shook her head and laughed, if only for a precious second before falling silent again.

"You wonder sometimes, don't you? If your life would be better if you weren't who you are?"

The question came crashing down onto Lenya, so unexpected that she could only gawk at the mage for a moment. It also brought memories with it of a time where life had been peaceful, far away from all the fighting, responsibilities, and death. A life that was now so distant and foreign.

"There were months where I couldn't think of anything else. And there are times when I still do so, even now." Lenya blinked away whatever tears were forming behind her eyes and stared out into the foggy landscape of the Wilds. "_Especially_ now. It is so _weird_ to be here again, back where it all started."

"I can understand that, young lady. And this isn't just an empty phrase, because, as a young woman, I was as angry and moody about my given fate as you now are. Family, love, a simple life—these were things that others took for granted, but I would never have." Wynne sighed deeply, her gaze lingering unfocused in the distance, as if lost in a memory.

"All I could think of was being trapped in that tower, with no way out and no end in sight," the mage finally continued, after a bout of silence. "I started hating my life, and myself, and one night I found myself in the tower's chapel. I was seeking refuge, maybe answers... I must have looked tearful, or made some noise, because the Revered Mother came out and decided to speak to me. And because I had no one else to talk to, I talked to her. I must have said many silly things. But she told me that the Maker puts us all on our paths for a reason, and fighting our intended course is what causes so much anguish."

Lenya rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Oh, wonderful, I wondered when the preaching of the shemlen god would come. You humans seem to be _obsessed_ with explaining everything that happens with it, after all."

Wynne chuckled. "My reaction was about the same as yours just now. I thought the old biddy was full of rubbish. I was younger than you, fifteen, maybe sixteen, but I knew _everything_. So I left. But, somehow, I always found my way back to that chapel, and as the years passed, I began to see the truth of her words. Independent of believing in the Maker or not, she taught me that you can find your family in the people around you, that you can love your work and find fulfillment in duty." She looked over to the Dalish, slightly amused. "But what I wanted to actually say with this story, before I used too many words, is that you can scream and cry and be angry about life as a Grey Warden. Or you can accept it and allow yourself to see the good in it." Smiling, Wynne shook her head. "Maker, I lectured after all."

"Can't live without it, I see." Lenya stood up, her movements sluggish and uncharacteristically clumsy. "Maybe it is just me being deprived of sleep, but I actually appreciate the effort. _Ma serannas."_ Her eyes darted toward the little hut, and she halted with a frown, unsure." Can I go...?"

"Sleep? Yes. See Alistair? Also yes. Just make sure to get rest yourself afterward. These old bones of mine will do the same. The fresh air will do me some good after the hours of being in the hut." Wynne looked at the snoring pile of dwarf right next to her. "Don't worry, I'll wake up Oghren to keep watch. After I hide his booze, of course." The mage laughed, although its sound was tired. "That will keep him busy and, most importantly, _awake_."

"Good night... or whatever," Lenya managed to say in a murmur, her weary mind only able to focus on approaching the shack.

.

~V~

.

Inside the hut, a mixed smell of herbs and burned firewood wafted through the stale air, the metallic tang of blood also present. The flames cracked and sizzled in the fireplace, the sound deafening in the otherwise tranquil place. A part of her felt drawn closer to the comfortable warmth, but her eyes were fixed on the muscular figure lying there in the bed, unmoving.

Lenya knew the bed. It was the same one she had once woken up in after being overrun by darkspawn in the Tower of Ishal. It should have killed her, but it hadn't. Just as Flemeth's attack as a dragon should have killed Alistair... but it hadn't.

_Not dead._

The thought finally pierced through to her hazy, tired mind, the realization slow, but relieving. Still looking at him, she laughed, feeling as if a drowning heaviness were taken from her shoulders.

_Not alone._

Tentatively, Lenya approached her fellow Warden, subsequently afraid and curious of what she would see from a closer distance. His skin was paler than usual, nearly sallow. The bloodied sheets thrown into one corner easily explained the reason. It was like Wynne had said. The blood loss had been severe. Critical.

Fresh sheets were draped over his body, but they only covered the lower half of him. Thick bandages were wrapped around almost his entire midsection, and his broad chest rose and fell only shallowly. Exhausted, she sank down to the wooden ground, beside the mattress and his form. She frowned as she kept watching him, seeing how his torso was mapped with scars of all shapes and sizes, running along his skin and disappearing beneath the fabric of the bandages. Their existence shouldn't surprise her, not when he was always the first running headlong into a horde of darkspawn. Alistair was a warrior, his body steeled and prepared to fight through long years of hard training, the sword in his hands a deadly weapon.

Just like her, and yet, so very... _different_.

Lenya noticed his hand was resting close to her own and found her eyes captivated by the difference in size. Everything about him was so big, disparate. His broad shoulders and chest, the arms rippled with muscles that easily could tear an opponent in two, she was sure. None of the older elven men she bandaged in her time with the clan was _looked_ like that.

To her, Alistair was a human, a living oxymoron. Most the time, his movements were bumbling, unsure of himself, and then again graceful and confident during a battle. He could easily hurt her with his strength and prowess of a warrior, and yet he never did, seemed even afraid to do so. Most surprising of all was, however, how calm and comfortable she felt within his presence, a human. Lenya sighed, feeling how the need to sleep slowly overruled her stubborn intent to keep vigil at his side. Her hand found his much bigger one, almost of its own accord it, and enclosed his fingers. His skin was rough there, worn from years of swordsmanship, yet somehow gentle, not foreign. The heat emanating from his hand warmed her like the fireplace at her back, and soothed her mind.

"Stupid human," she said, more mumbling than actually speaking. Looking up at his face, Lenya remembered an old lullaby that Ashalle recited every night before sleep, when she was young. It was odd to do the same for a human, but at the same time it felt _right_.

"_Ma dareth. Dartisha, _Alistair_. Sahlin souveri, mahvir irthen. Ar him na'falon. Na ena nehn."_

This was no prayer to the gods to keep him, a human, safe. No blasphemy. Just a simple saying that always helped her to find sleep and awaken rested in the next morning.

Hopefully, it would do the same for him.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya awoke at a loud rummaging noise behind her.

The sound seemingly came from a person who didn't even attempt to be silent, let alone considerate. Slowly opening her eyes, she noticed that she lay flat on the ground, a sheet spread over her form, a pillow propped under her head. Her arm was still immobile and hurting, but the cuts and other little injuries had stopped burning, oddly enough. There was also a warm, furry form lying close to her, which smelled all too much like... Mabari. Confused by this thought, Lenya sat up and discovered Arai sleeping at her side, right before she saw the person causing the commotion.

"Morrigan?"

She didn't react, apparently too occupied with the task of opening an old and very sturdy wooden chest in front of her. Lenya got up, noticing that Alistair lay still in bed, unconscious, but her eyes fixed the frame of the witch.

"Morrigan?" she tried again and a bit louder.

With a groan, the witch whipped around, glaring at the elf. "Yes, 'tis me, obviously! Even though I shouldn't be here, but those morons carried me to my mother's hut while I was—nevermind." Morrigan stopped herself and crossed her arms, almost as if pouting. Her raven-colored hair was disheveled, and under one side of her cheek was a forming bruise. Her face was covered with fine scratches here and there, as if she had been attacked by a wild animal. Nevertheless, the witch stood loftily in front of Lenya, her golden eyes an impassive stare at the Dalish, before turning around again. "I'm sure the grimoire—the real one—is in the chest, but the key doesn't seem to fit. It is if Mother is mocking me, even after her death."

"So that is why you are here? In the hut?" Lenya didn't know whether to be disappointed or angry. "The only reason?"

"Yes. It seems you have forgotten that I need this book to protect myself. Flemeth isn't really dead, just hindered for a longer time. So I will carry the chest with me, if I must."

"No, I haven't forgotten that, believe me." Lenya felt her teeth clenching and the anger won over the initial feeling of frustration at her cold reaction. It was disillusioning to see her reacting like that, while Alistair fought for his life, and she still wore the marks of the battle with Flemeth. She wasn't sure what she had expected of the witch, but certainly a bit less fixation on her stupid book would have been nice. All this happened only because of her, after all.

Wordlessly, the Dalish rummaged in the pouch on her belt and used the found key on the chest. The lock sprang open with a creak and she used her one healthy hand to pick up the leather-bound book within. "You want this so badly?" Glaring up at the human, Lenya threw the grimoire into the other corner of the room. "Then get it and be gone." It was nearly amusing to see how fast Morrigan scrambled after the desired object, almost like a dog after a bone. Lenya understood her need for the book, but not her complete ignorant behavior of things beyond that. "You don't even care, do you?"

Morrigan's eyebrows shot up. "Care?"

"That you lied to me to reach your goal." Lenya let out a scoff. "Congratulations, your mother is dead. You got what you wanted."

"I'm not aware of having lied to you, Lenya. I told you before that Flemeth is dangerous, and thus, killing her not an easy task."

"Yeah, right." Lenya felt her temper rising, her breath coming out in short, angry huffs. She moved closer to the witch, the glare furious. "I knew she was able to shape-shift and an ancient abomination, but nothing like _that_. She was a fucking _dragon_, for Creators sake! But I'm sure that little detail just slipped your mind when talking to me about it, hmm?"

She watched impassively how Morrigan's posture shifted into something exasperated. The grimoire pressed on her chest, the witch tensed, her expression an angry frown. "What did you expect of my mother? That she would willingly part with the book? The real grimoire that contains all her secrets? Don't be foolish."

_Oh, the irony..._

Lenya smirked, if only for a moment before the feeling of hurt shone through again. "Expect? Oh, I don't know if there is _something_ to expect after I risked my life and the lives of my companions to fulfill this not-so-little favor for you."

"So this is about _him_?" Morrigan pointed on Alistair's unconscious form and snorted, her tone derisive. "You already have gotten far too emotionally involved with that fool of a Warden."

Lenya's hand moved fast and without thinking to Morrigan's face, the slap hitting her hard on the unbruised cheek. "That fool you speak of is my fellow Warden. He nearly _died_ last night. I know you don't care about that or appreciate what I did, because you have your precious book now. That is all that counts, right?" She took a deep, trembling breath, blinking back some angry tears. "I don't know if I should be more pissed at you or me, for making the mistake to help you and thus endangering our task to stop the Blight. Alistair and I are the only Grey Wardens here, in case you have forgotten. Or would you have stayed and continued to fight the Blight, even if both of us had died yesterday? A risk you willingly took to reach your goal, by the way?"

The witch didn't answer, and seemed momentarily too shocked by Lenya's fierce reaction.

Lenya scoffed, her eyes narrowed. "Thought so. But you know what? You are wrong. I had the chance to simply take the grimoire and leave the swamps unscathed. Your mother offered me that as a deal, in return for letting her live. Obviously, I didn't do this, didn't choose the much easier path and fought her instead. Why? Because I couldn't bear to go back on my word or to betray a _friend_. Stupid, am I not?" The Dalish fixed her with a stare and shook her head, swallowing hard.

Still angry and disappointed, she turned away from Morrigan, leaving the hut without a further word.

.

.

* * *

.

It was a weird, depressed mood that hung over their provisional camp.

And still, Zevran wasn't surprised to see them more brooding than usual, not with such a desolate, foggy environment around them. Not when the other Warden was still anything but stable, or conscious, even after days had passed. First, Alistair's health was starting to look up, at least until last night. As far Zevran understood it, he'd caught a fever, which quickly rose to a dangerous high. Even now, after the night, Wynne was still with him in the hut and had kicked everyone else out.

At least that would explain why Lenya sat in front of the swamp instead of being in the hut as usual. Her wounds were healed, the injured arm still in a sling, but only to not disturb the healing process of her fracture. Lenya stared blankly at the murky water and the dark horizon beyond, as still as a statue. She must be tired. Zevran knew that she had barely slept in the past few days because she had refused to leave Alistair's side since the incident.

He sighed, passing a sulking Morrigan with his stride to distract himself. The witch hadn't spoken a word since her argument with their leader and had kept her distance. She had preferred to read her creepy book, or spend her time as an animal. One thing was certain, whenever they got out of these damn Wilds, he would need a drink. More likely, _two_. And possibly taunting Leliana a bit, as well. This whole depressing mood was starting to affect him, too... and he _hated_ it.

"Ah, got kicked out, too, no?"

Lenya didn't react, which was all but surprising. For one pretending to not care, she was exceptionally good at brooding. Or maybe it was just because it was Alistair lying there in the hut. Zevran wasn't stupid and had noticed the shift in their relationship. They had grown closer and she acted far more relaxed in Alistair's presence than with any other of the companions. Though, the question was more: did she notice that shift herself?

"Hmm." Finally, somewhat of an answer. "That human can be scary when she wants to be."

Chuckling, he sat down next to her, careful to not disturb Arai. The ground beneath him was damp, but he didn't care. He rather enjoyed the sight of how the faint rays of light met her face. Without a doubt, she was a beautiful elven woman and one who probably wasn't even was aware of her effect on the opposite gender.

Who knew how things would have went if Howe had decided to send him after her _earlier_? Before that annoyingly strong bond had been forged between the Wardens, that is. But, then again, he didn't have exactly a reason to fret. Despite his prior efforts to change it, he was still very much alive and very much enjoying the company of the wonderful women within their group. And he couldn't see anything wrong in that.

"Do you stare at anyone like that?"

So she'd noticed. "No, not everyone." Zevran grinned, and his voice easily adapted a playful note. "But a beautiful woman like yourself? Why not? I am sure you draw many stares, from men and even other women. Does this bother you?" Her annoyed groan and the roll of her eyes that followed were answer enough before she even had answered verbally. His lips twisted into an amused smile. "Your dismay is noted, my dear Warden. Still, it is such a pity that you are not aware of your effect you possibly have on _some_ people."

Lenya practically glared at him and missed his not-so-subtle implication. Zevran didn't know whether to be amused or offended. "I'm not interested in such things. Where I come from, beauty doesn't help you survive. Solidarity does, _skill _does. _Not_ beauty." She snorted. "My clan surely didn't care about me looking pretty in the sunlight when I came back from the hunt, empty-handed. And I certainly didn't, either."

Zevran chuckled. Such wit and such innocence. Delightful. "Ah, I see. And yet it is a waste that you don't combine those deadly skills with that beauty of yours. You would be an unstoppable force, even more than now, _bellina._"

Another roll of her eyes. "Are you going somewhere with this? Or do you just like being pointless?"

The elf shrugged. "After seeing you sitting here, I simply wanted to cheer you up, my dear Warden. That is all."

"With empty flattery? Wow. It is not that I have more important things on my mind right now."

"It is not empty when it is true, no?" He tried a winning smile, and then faltered when Lenya didn't laugh. His eyes wandered down to her hands, noticing that she was fiddling with an odd, golden key. "Is that the key you found in the hut in Lothering?"

She flinched at the memory and he instantly regretted having his words so clumsily chosen. But then the hurt in her expression faded, replaced by the ever-present mask of the independent leader. "Indeed, it is. Morrigan tried to use it on Flemeth's chest and obviously failed. I've had it ever since."

"You want to go there next?" He stopped to search for the name of the place in his mind. "To... Ostagar? I certainly know little of what really happened there, but I can imagine that it isn't exactly a story for a fairytale. All of your fellow Wardens died there, after all. _Almost_ all, that is."

"Well, I didn't know them, never got the time." She gave a halfhearted shrug. "I was a Warden for about a day or two before Ostagar fell. Alistair's and my task was to light the beacon, as a signal for the others to charge. We managed that, but the cowardly _shem'alas _retreated instead of helping with his troops. _Typical_. So the tower was quickly overrun by darkspawn, like the rest of Ostagar." Lenya sighed deeply, her expression distant, as if lingering on a memory. "I shouldn't have survived their onslaught, should have died on the top of that tower. But I didn't and woke up in this very hut behind me, my wounds healed by Flemeth. Ironic, isn't it?"

He tilted his head to meet her eyes, frowning. "You regret that it came to this?"

"It is weird to be here again, true." Lenya laughed out loud, her tone bitter. "Brings back those damn old memories. Of how I struggled with how I had to go with Duncan to Ostagar in the first place. Of how I regretted not seizing the chance to run after my clan after waking up here."

"What stopped you?"

Lenya didn't reply to him, but her eyes wandered unconsciously toward the hut, and she smiled. This notion said more to him than any words. "But to answer your question," she continued, "I did think that for a long time and sometimes still do. After all, my friend wasn't as lucky as me... whatever _that_ means. Then again, I'm too stubborn to give up just like that. I think... I owe Tamlen at least that much. So, I go on, still alive, and continue to fight to see it through." She smiled, sadly. "Yes, I _want_ to fight the Blight. I don't want _them_ to win, lest Tamlen's death be in vain. Whatever end that will bring, however. Probably only my own."

Zevran swallowed. Of all the gloomy people around him, Lenya was certainly the most sad at the moment. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. There was nothing sensual about the embrace; he didn't do it to seduce her. He simply wanted to offer consolation to her, which was in parts even surprising to himself. Lenya let it happen, and didn't struggle against the touch. For a moment, she was completely still, her breath coming out in steady intervals, tickling on his skin. "You know, my dear, you never let me end my oath I wanted to swear to you after you spared me. Maybe I should rectify this missing—" He went no further, her trembling voice interrupting his intent. They spoke words he never would have expected to hear from her lips.

"I'm afraid."

Zevran instantly knew what—or, better, _who_—she meant with that. This wasn't about him, never was. But maybe it wasn't needed to complete the missing oath to her, not when she was already trusting him that much to tell him what she had. "It wasn't your fault, Lenya." He stopped there, didn't want to give her empty phrases that everything would be all right, or that Alistair would come out of this, alive and well. Such were things he didn't—_couldn't_—know, so he stayed silent. "Though, just one word from you, my dear Warden," Zevran said after a while "... and I go back to the Fade to find that idiot and kick his rather fine butt back to the reality."

Lenya pulled away from his embrace and looked up to him, smiling. "Thank you."

Zevran actually smiled back. Not one of the smirks or fake laughs he preferred to use normally, but an _honest_ smile. The elf looked at her a moment longer than needed and his mind was forming the words on their own.

_I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation... this I swear._

He quickly got up from the ground, if only to bow deeply down to her. "I'm always happy to serve, my dear."

.

.

* * *

.

A part of him _knew_ that he was... dreaming. Yet, the other part did not care.

Alistair was back in Denerim, back at the Warden's compound. The courtyard was a far and wide place, filled with Wardens of all races and busy with their daily training. The sun burned hotly down on him, no clouds were shrouding the clear, blue firmament above. He heard the sound of clashing steel, felt the strain of exertion in his muscles and _liked_ it. For a moment, he simply watched how his brethren moved over the courtyard, enjoyed their presence, and the comforting hum of his blood.

He didn't notice that someone was approaching to him until he received a clap on his shoulder. "You are still here?" Confused, Alistair turned around to see the familiar face belonging to the voice.

Duncan smiled at him, although he appeared as if he was waiting for an answer.

He knitted his brows, looking at his mentor. "Where else should I be?"

"Elsewhere, Alistair. You don't belong here. Not now."

Before he could object or say anything else, the picture before his eyes blurred. Alistair felt as if the ground was pulled out from under his feet, and he was momentarily suspended in the air.

The next thing he became aware of was the strong scent of herbs and the heat of a fire close by. Alistair inhaled deeply and filled his lungs with air so rapidly that he gasped. His head was swimming, and disjointed images swirled through his fuzzy mind, of Flemeth turning into a dragon, of how her fangs and claws crushed his body, and then... nothing.

After that, became the pain palpable, a searing heat that coursed through every fiber of his being, and the marks of Flemeth's teeth were subsequently hurting and itching. But, there was also a comfortable, soothing warmth and weight on his left arm. The reason for it left him puzzled until he noticed the thrum within his blood, the telltale sign of another tainted person nearby.

"Len...ya..." His voice was hoarse from days of disuse, and his throat too dry.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, the light blinding and mercilessly piercing his pupils with its brightness. Alistair pressed his eyes shut again and waited a moment before blinking twice to give them the needed time to adjust to the daylight. He felt how some of the bleariness also gradually cleared from his gaze. His neck felt stiff as he turned his head to look at the source of such warmth and was amazed at the picture before his eyes. Lenya was sleeping, her head leaned on his arm and mattress, while the rest of her body rested beside the bed. The position didn't look very comfortable for sleep. It looked more as if she'd dozed off at some point, without the actual intention of doing so.

_Had she been here all this time?_

A fuzzy warmth spread through him at the thought and banished the remaining pain from his body. He watched her a moment longer, and then, without thinking, took her hand with his own and led it to his lips to brush a gentle kiss across her knuckles.

"Thank... you," he said, voice still rough.

The motion made her stir and, surprised, he dropped her hand before she fully woke up. Lenya stretched and didn't seem to notice that he was conscious and awake. She gave a deep sigh that was interrupted by an extended yawn. "Creators, I fell asleep again." She drove one hand over her face, but abruptly stopped the motion in midair as she noticed his lingering gaze. Even then, he didn't look away and simply kept watching her.

Within mere seconds, her expression shifted from incredulity over relief to something... _sad?_ Alistair blinked, puzzled by the order of her emotional interplay. With horror, he saw how she turned away from him and put her face in her hands, momentarily unmoving.

"Lenya?" No answer, but a distinctive sniffling came from her direction.

His eyes widened. "Are you... _crying?"_

"No!" Contrary to her objections, the sniffling sound intensified. "No, I'm _not_ crying, you idiot."

"Well, but, to me, it sounds like you are, somehow." A long pause, caused by a state of utter disbelief. "_Why_ are you crying?"

Suddenly, Lenya whirled around to face him. Her face was a pained, angry mask, her eyes blurred with tears. "Why? You nearly died, you stupid human!" She took a deep breath that came out as a shaky, strangled sob. "See? _Now_ I'm crying. Are you satisfied now, idiot?" With that, she turned away from him again and tried to regain her composure.

Not knowing what else to do, Alistair reached out to her and let his hand rest on her back. She tolerated his touch, yet still didn't move one bit, nor did she turn around. "I'm sorry."

"_You_ are sorry?" Her voice cracked and she had to stop for a moment, only to let out a bitter laugh. "How funny. Last time I checked, it was _my_ idea to come here."

Alistair stared at her, couldn't believe she held herself responsible for what happened in the battle. Harrumphing, he ignored his hurting throat and forced himself to speak. "Stop blaming yourself for things that you can't change. I slipped on moss. That's hardly your fault. Some warrior I am, huh?" His attempt at humor fell flat, rather had the opposite of the desired effect.

"I can't do this on my own." Her voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling. "I was—don't leave me alone with this."

His hand wandered up to her shoulder and gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "You are not alone. Besides, if we ever need a tactic against the archdemon, maybe I should distract it by slipping, so you can hack its dragon form into pieces?" He chuckled. "It worked with Flemeth, after all."

For a long, agonizing moment there was no reaction, but the tensing of her muscles under his fingers still resting there. It was good to feel her and her presence, but then she slipped away from his touch with an angry huff. "This isn't funny, you idiot! I truly thought—" She stopped herself with a sigh. "You are the only other Warden here, remember?"

Her hurt tone shook him deep inside, and rendered him speechless. Lenya really had been worried. About _him_, which was subsequently such a strange and wonderful thought to him. "So you were here all this time?" No answer from her, which made him sigh. "Look, Lenya, I'm sorry. Could you turn around and face me again? Please?" Alistair swallowed hard, but the roughness of his throat didn't want to go away. "Or can you give me a bit of water to drink, at least?"

At that, Lenya rushed over to his enchanted flask, but instead of handing it to him, she spilled a good amount of the water over his face. He sputtered some of the liquid out and wiped his face, laughing. "Not how I meant to drink, but thanks for the effort, nonetheless."

She glowered down at him. "Don't do that ever again!"

"Well, somehow, I get the feeling you're angry at me." Her glare intensified, making him raise his hands in defense. "Okay, okay, I promise to not die, if you do the same for me. Which will be hard to achieve, considering the massive horde of darkspawn throwing themselves at our feet, but I'll do my best. Really."

"Good." Lenya lowered the flask and visibly relaxed. "I better get Wynne, so she can check up on you."

Before she could escape from his reach, Alistair grasped her hand, making her stop. "No, stay. Please. Wynne has already done so much for me and I'm well. Just a bit... shaken, still." He looked up at her with a smile. "Waking up in this hut again is odd, so I'm glad you're the first thing I saw. That you're alive and well, I mean."

Lenya relented to his wish to remain, but yanked her hand away from his, as if stung. Turning to him, she knitted her brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You know, after Flemeth saved us from the tower, I thought you wouldn't survive. The darkspawn had wounded you far more worse than me." He smiled, his expression wistful. "I remember, after waking up, how I stood at the side of your bed, praying to the Maker that you would recover. That you wouldn't leave me alone with the scary witch and her even more insane mother." He swallowed. "That I wouldn't be the only Grey Warden left after having lost _everything_. So I quite know how you feel, Lenya. But, as I said before, I won't leave you alone with it. Not how I did in Lothering. After all, we're in this together, right?"

"Hmm." Lenya nodded with a small smile and he felt thrilled to have it elicited out of her. "I remember waking up here, too. For a moment, I was actually disappointed to be alive, because dying would have been the far more easier route to take... and fitting, somehow."

"I'm so glad you didn't die, really. I felt so alone and miserable, but the moment when you walked out of the hut, I knew not all was lost." Alistair's lips curled to wry smile. "Although, you've missed no opportunity to make me think otherwise."

She sat down on the edge of the mattress and grimaced. "I wasn't really nice to you back then, I guess. I was... just so angry, _I don't know_, about being alive, about being thrown into this mess, well, about... _everything_. And holy halla shit, I hated your stupid human face."

"Hated?" Alistair arched an eyebrow at the use of the word. "So you don't—"

Lenya grinned. "You are still annoying, but..." The look she gave him then sent a shiver over his spine. "...tolerable."

Several remarks ran through his mind, most of them flirty. The words didn't find their way to his mouth, however, because he was too distracted by the depth of her green eyes. He couldn't look away and was amazed that she didn't avert her gaze, either. The light of the fireplace enveloped her lines in a soft glow, making her even more beautiful to him. His eyes wandered to her right cheek and he was puzzled at how he could have missed the long scratch there before.

"You're hurt. You should've let Wynne take a look at your scratch."

Lenya breathed out. "She already healed it. Though, I guess it was too late to avoid scarring." With a shrug, she added, "Well, it is not as if I hadn't a scar there before this one... it is only longer now."

Without thinking, he reached out for her face. Alistair touched her cheek and turned her head to him until he saw how the little white line shimmered within the firelight. "Now I see it. What happened?"

"A cat scratched me there, when I was young."

"Is that why you are so afraid of them?"

"Hmm. Longer story. Not in the mood to tell it now, though."

"I see." His fingers ghosted over her smooth, warm skin, caressing the white line with his thumb. He was completely captivated by the fact that she neither withdrew from his touch, nor turned angrily on him for daring so. She was just there and it felt good to be so close to her, so natural. "Doesn't matter. You are beautiful, no matter what," he said, whispering, before he could stop himself. Alistair's heart did several somersaults, partly because he feared her reaction, but even more because she seemed to lean in to his touch now.

The air in the tiny hut was cracking like the splintered wood within the flames, whispering of unspoken emotions. Alistair had dreamed of this moment so often before, and now it was _there_, within immediate reach. His hand claimed the whole of her cheek now, his fingers touching her pointed ear, feeling so very aware and overwhelmed by her presence. His stomach was all aflutter, and every single nerve tingled as he rose to meet her lips halfway, ignoring his body's protest of the motion.

Only inches before their lips met, Lenya suddenly jerked away, startled by the noise at the door.

"My, you are awake, Alistair. So, I was right when I thought I heard voices coming from the hut." With horror, he watched how Lenya used Wynne's unwanted entrance to leave the hut without a further word. Quarreling with the fact of being disturbed just seconds before kissing the woman he loved, Alistair let himself fall back into the mattress, groaning. No matter if she had saved his life, he was ready to _kill_ the elder mage for her utterly _bad_ timing.

Wynne advanced closer to his bed. "What is the matter, Alistair? Are you in pain?"

"No." _Except the agonizing, near physical pain of your untimely presence, that is. _"What do you want?" He tried his best not to glare at her, but knew well that he wasn't very successful.

"To check up on you, of course. You had a high fever and were on the brink of death not long ago. So, of course, you'd require some further monitoring until I can be sure that you are out of danger."

His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms in defiance. "I'm fine!"

"Well, you are still all red and flushed." She touched his forehead, smirking. "Are you sure the fever hasn't returned yet?"

Alistair tried to calm his still racing heart and fixed the mage with a stare. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? You evil, old lady."

Wynne chuckled. "I'm not sure what you are talking about, but I'm certain Lenya is very happy to see you up and well. She was most worried about you, you know."

With a suffering sigh, he let his head sink into his hands. "Yes, I know." Inside, he was still fretting about the missed chance to make Lenya aware of his feelings without having to use bumbling words. Such an opportunity of catching her alone and coming so close to her—both physically and emotionally—didn't occur often, he was sure. Alistair could still feel the soft warmth of her skin on his fingers and his senses were still aflame from her proximity. It made him aware of how _much_ he wanted to be with her, to love her. And maybe, just _maybe,_ this desire wasn't as forsaken and absurd as he thought before. Lenya _liked_ him. The knowledge made him incredibly happy, making him grin from ear to ear, and there was no way he could stop himself from doing that.

"Alistair? _Alistair_?" He blinked at the mage's voice, hadn't even noticed having zoomed out like that. Wynne had her hands on her hips, and her eyebrows were raised. "Well, since I have your attention now, we can start to change your bandages."

Alistair nodded and leaned forward to give her better access to the fabric wrapped around his torso. For a long moment, he simply listened to her humming and lingered in his thoughts before raising his voice again. "Wynne?"

"Yes?" She didn't stop her work to look at him.

"Thank you for saving me."

"This is what I do as a healer, Alistair."

Alistair shook his head, smiling. "No... I mean, it's good to be alive."

.

.

* * *

_**A/N²:**_ _Tehehehe. Review? *runs further away from all the stones and pitchforks thrown at her* _

* * *

**Elvish note:**

"_ Dartisha, _Alistair_. Ma dareth. Sahlin souveri, mahvir irthen, ar him na'falon. Na ena nehn."_ - Be at peace, Alistair. You are safe. Now you are weary, but tomorrow you'll wake. I'll be your friend, and you'll be happy/okay.


	66. Aftermath

**_A/N:_**_ Shorter chapter in between this time, as the initial one it belonged to had grown too much in seize and thus it is better to __adjust its focus. Many thanks to the invaluable Mackillian for her beta-read. And all of you for your support, of course. _

* * *

.

**Chapter 63: Aftermath**

.

After the long and endless days spent in the Korcari Wilds, Lenya was glad when they finally could turn their backs on the place and never return.

Hopefully.

With Alistair fully recovered, they had returned once more to their old campsite to gather the various supplies Zevran and the others had to leave behind in their hurry. The sky was dark and dotted with stars and a gleaming half moon hung low over the trees. It was a clear, cold but quiet night, a welcomed change to all the physical and emotional stress the prior days contained. The little pause in between would give them the needed time to rest and to decide what to do next.

Lenya breathed in the brisk air that carried the scent of upcoming snow and a tang of wooden smoke coming from their huge bonfire in the middle of camp. She enjoyed the silence, to just be for a moment of time, but couldn't stop her thoughts from wandering to their next task at hand. She knew they had to search for a clan of her people and was subsequently excited and afraid of what it meant. After such a long time she would return to the _Elvhenan,_ to people that understood her beliefs and ways better than any of her companions ever could. To elves, who were just like her, and werekin_._ But was that really true anymore? Would the Dalish still accept her as one of their own now, when her _elvhen_ blood was poisoned with the dark taint of the darkspawn?

Lenya let the air of her lungs out with a sigh and looked up to the starry firmament above. That was the question that had accompanied her through her entire journey and never left her alone, from the moment where she had set her lips on the joining chalice and drank their poison. It was also the reason why she had been so reluctant to pursue the Dalish treaty in the first place. Now, where they were only days away from the Brecilian Forest, there was no reason or chance to delay the task any further. It was her duty as a Grey Warden to gather an army against the Blight with these ancient documents, and her people were one of them.

_Duty... _Lenya laughed out, somewhat bitterly, at the word swirling in her mind. She hated its forceful meaning, its weight. Even though she had come to embrace her life as a Warden, she couldn't help but wonder somewhere deep inside what would be left for her in the end—nothing except the bitter taste of duty and death, maybe even her own one. Who was she, really, other than a darkspawn-killing machine with bad dreams at night? Sometimes, it was hard to see herself as the person she once was: a proud, carefree Dalish woman. With each passing day, more of her identity seemed to be lost and blurred into a vague picture, ousted by the taint thrumming within her blood.

It was a frightening thought that lingered within her, yet she had no choice but to go further down this road and lose even _more_ of what she once was. After all the months as a Grey Warden, her old life of living with her clan seemed distant and long in the past to her. Still, the fractured memories of what once was filled her with longing. _What_ it was she sought, she couldn't even say for sure. Possibly reassurance that there was still something left of her identity besides being a Warden. A place to belong, where it was so easy to get lost.

"Lenya?" The Dalish noticed a softly accented voice calling to her, but didn't raise her head to meet the face it belonged to. "Why are you sitting here all alone?"

"Thinking," she answered, a bit harsher than intended. Lenya looked up to her and shook her head in disbelief. Of all the people approaching her, it was _Leliana_, which was bewildering in of itself. The human was still shrouded within half-shadows of the night, but the firelight seemed to reflect its color within her red hair.

"You're doing this a lot, lately, no?" There was a small smile audible in her tone, yet nothing scornful or mocking.

Lenya shrugged, not really caring. "I heard it helps at times. Also, I'm not alone. There are many others within our camp, in case you failed to notice."

Leliana chuckled softly as she let herself sink down next to the elf. "Oh, I beg your pardon, my lady. I mean that you _looked_ lonely, even with us all." She hesitated for a moment. "Shouldn't you be happy that everything went well? And we are going to search for the Dalish, for _your_ people, next, no?"

Lenya grimaced briefly before regaining her composure. This human was probably the last person in all of Thedas she wanted to know about the fears she kept to herself. "Yes. ...No." A sigh. "I'm not sure."

"Not sure?" The bard tilted her head and arched an eyebrow at her. "So, you want to go back to Ostagar first? I heard about the key for the royal chest you found in Lothering. The contents of it seem to be important."

_Ostagar... _The thought of that place had completely escaped Lenya's mind since fighting Flemeth and waiting for Alistair to recover. "I don't know, to be honest. It is not that I'm in such nostalgic mood that I need to see what has become of that place, nor am I really emotionally attached to it." _At least not in a positive way_, her mind added.

Heaving her head into the direction of Alistair's tent, she saw her fellow Warden was there now. He apparently had finished his task of washing dishes and seemed to frown down on what were several armor parts laid out before his tent. "But that doesn't mean there aren't a lot of darkspawn who deserve to be run through with my blades."

"I understand." Leliana nodded, her expression somber, compassionate. "It must have been a terrible experience to be in such a battle and lose all your other fellow Grey Wardens."

Lenya's eyes were still fixed on Alistair in the distance. "Not so much for me, no. I barely knew them, even Duncan who... recruited me. So it is not for me to decide whether to return there or not."

The bard noticed where her gaze lingered. "Hmm. I remember how inconsolable he had been back in those days about the loss of his comrades. I can empathize with that. Even more so now, where I really know what happened to Lothering. Although, that was something I'd have preferred not to witness, honestly."

"I'm... sorry. We should have never taken that route. It was a mistake."

The smile Leliana showed her was unexpected. "Thanks, I appreciate the notion. But, at least the darkspawn got what they deserved for the barbaric havoc they wreaked." She sighed. "Still, there will be always more of them, more destruction and death. The opportunity to fight on your side makes me glad, as it gives us the chance to save... _something,_ at least. To do some good." Lenya couldn't help but to wonder what that something would be in the end. "And it is good to see you care, not only for your task but also for him."

"Of course I care. Human or not, he is my fellow Warden. And... my friend."

"Your... _friend?_"

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Yes, do I need to write it down for you?"

"N-no, I just thought... nevermind." It seemed as if Leliana was rushing through several emotions in a fraction of a second. First confusion, and then disbelief until her expression and bearings revealed that she was growing nervous, uncomfortable. The reason for it was not understandable to Lenya, but then again, did she not really care for it, either. She still didn't like that human very much, but accepted her and her offered help. Leliana had her own reasons to fight along them, even if she didn't comprehend them most the time. If that weren't the case, then Lenya would have kicked her out long ago.

"You know, I look forward to meeting your people. Your culture is fascinating, how your people live simpler lives, close to the earth." The human smiled at her. "I must say that traveling with you has opened my eyes to how wrong some are about the Dalish. You are not at all savage. And I've not seen you snatch away women and children without provocation."

Maybe tonight would be a good start for it, though.

Lenya looked over to the human and her gaze quickly turned into a dark glower. "Disappointed, are you? Maybe if you wait a bit longer... it still could happen. I've had _months_ to plan, after all."

Leliana's eyes widened at Lenya's straight face and cool voice. "You are joking, right? You know, this is the kind of attitude that causes such misperceptions between our people. I know humans and elves do not share a happy history, but peace must be possible."

"Yes, I feel bad already. Have you something else you want to teach me about my own heritage and culture?" Her eyes narrowed, and her tone was biting sarcasm. "Oh, I'm sure I can learn something from you, as you are _clearly_ the expert here."

Leliana backed away from the Dalish, a bit shocked at her sharp reaction. "I'm sorry. I did not mean it like that. I wasn't trying to belittle your culture. It is just that I... I have met very few elves, and those that I have met were... pledged to the service of Orlesian nobles."

Lenya gritted her teeth and counted to ten before even remotely looking at this idiot of a human again. "Oh, nice, _slaves_ are the only elves you have met before me? That explains many things."

"Slaves?" Leliana blinked. "They are _serfs_. There is no slavery in Orlais. Elven servants are well compensated for their services. Some of them live richer lives than humans. A well-trained elven servant is highly valued in Orlais. They are nimble and dexterous and many people find them pleasing to look at."

All attempts of staying calm became forsaken as Lenya felt her temper taking over. "You don't understand, do you? It _is_ the same, because they aren't free and are serving _shemlen_! I would rather _die_ than live like that!" She rushed up from her place, scoffing derisively. "Why are you even telling me this? Should I offer myself like cattle to an Orlesian noble, too? Is _that _what you think?"

"Oh, Maker, n-no!" Leliana's voice was trembling, and her hands were up in defense. "My words were clumsily chosen. I did not mean to offend. I–_ugh_... I am sorry."

The Dalish glared down at her, her whole body quavering with the effort to _not_ spring into this stupid human's face and claw her eyes out. Instead, she furiously whirled around and left with a few muttered Elvish curses into the direction of her tent.

Taking a deep breath, Lenya slipped inside, ignoring Arai's growl at her entrance.

"It's me, stupid." Instantly, the growl turned into a joyous whining and Arai's stubbed tail wagged hard as he welcomed her back. Sighing, Lenya leaned over to pat his head. "You know, sometimes I think you are the sanest one here and the only one who _really_ understands me on top of that." She laughed and shook her head. "But only because you can't talk back, I guess."

Arai made a soft, protesting woof and licked over the hand patting him, making her smile. "You say that _now_, but just wait until you have a voice. I wonder what you would tell me, though." The Mabari pawed at the Dalish until she gave in and kneeled down to his level. He slobbered with his tongue over her cheek, again and again. "Yeah, love you too." Lenya said and chuckled, ducking away before Arai could start another canine display of affection.

There was only little light from the campfire permeating through the cracks of the tent's canvas, but it sufficed for her elven eyes to see. She rummaged through her backpack until she found the desired object safely stashed within. The ornamented, golden key was wrapped in a grimy old cloth. It faintly glistened in the faint shine of the flames as she held it up to observe it. "It belongs to a chest of the shemlen king in Ostagar. Not that I want to return there, but at least it would me give some more time to get familiar with the thought of returning to the _Elvhen_. I probably should hand this key to Alistair, though."

At the sound of his name, Arai let out a long, angry growl.

"Come on, stop it. He is okay, you know. For a human. Not even half as stupid as the other one, at least." Lenya got up with a sigh. "And I think whether to return there or not is not up to me to decide this time."

~V~

Lenya found him in front of his tent, still glaring the armor parts on the ground. From where she was up close, she could see that it was the templar set of armor. The Knight Commander had gifted him that a while ago, after the tower had been saved. It was probably only an attempt of the human to shoo them out of there, after his templars needed to promise to fight against the Blight, as well. In Alistair's case, it had worked.

"Oh, a glaring contest? So who is winning here?" Her lips twisted into an amused smile, the prior bad mood forgotten. "The armor or you, puppy?"

Alistair didn't move or avert his gaze from it, seemingly frozen on the spot. "Ugh."

"Well, nice to see you, too."

"N-n-no!" He practically sprang around, flailing. "The armor is _ugh_. You are very much _yay._ Like cheese. Er, no, comparing you to cheese seems wrong, because cheese is tasty and not beautiful. At least not in the way you are. Oh, did I say that out loud?"

Lenya arched an eyebrow at him and watched, amused, at how his cheeks became various shades of pink.

"Well, no need to deny it, because of course you are, and you _know_ it. You're ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."

"Or... the other way around, if you go on."

For a moment his eyes widened, before blinking rapidly. "Right, _violent_, beautiful woman. _Exciting_." The blush deepened. "Er... where was I?"

Lenya couldn't help but grin. "Humiliating yourself. Great job, that, by the way."

"Oh, you are welcome, my lady. I'm here all week, probably staring at the humiliating armor in front of me." His chuckle faded into a sigh. "I don't want to wear templar armor. You know, I actually became a Grey Warden to get rid of this. I bet Greagoir only gave it to me to spite me. Why, by the Maker, did you have to feign a Warden recruiting spree?"

"As you hopefully can remember, I did that to raise our army against the Blight. I don't think the templar shemlen would have agreed to fight alongside the mages, otherwise." Lenya looked down at the breastplate, and one corner of her mouth quirked up. "Besides, I don't think I've seen you wear a skirt before. It could be interesting. That, and it will make my work of killing darkspawn easier, as they will be too busy rolling around on the ground, _laughing_."

Alistair crossed his arms, and his lips curled into a pout. "Not helping here, in case you don't notice."

She shrugged. "Whoever said I would? Fact is, this is the only armor that fits you at the moment, since the other one is destroyed. So, in the case you don't plan to play a human, unarmored beacon for the darkspawn, I would suggest you deal with this armor and _wear_ it."

"_Bossy_, violent, beautiful woman," he said in such a low, mumbling tone that she almost missed it.

Lenya decided to ignore his comment, nevertheless. "I have, however, something for you."

"F-for me?" She noticed how he tensed as she came closer and put the key into his hands. His palm was warm and seemed to radiate the same, unnerving heat she had felt only days ago. It made her quickly back away from him again, the space needed as she gauged for his reaction.

Frowning, Alistair looked down to the little object, and appeared confused by her intent. "Why are you giving me this?"

The humor disappeared from her voice. All that remained was a sad smile. "Because returning to Ostagar would have a much bigger meaning to you than to me. I barely knew them, but you lost so much there. So it is only fair if you are the one making the decision."

Alistair made a sound in the back of his throat, similar to a surprised gasp. "I don't know what to say." His expression, as ever, open as a book; she could see that he was deeply touched by her gesture. It was endearing, somehow. "But wouldn't it be stupid to go back there? Dangerous and reckless, even?"

"Well, it is not that such things stopped me before." Lenya heaved her shoulder to a shrug and laughed. "And I owe you that much at least, I think. You accompanied me to the Wilds, too. Even though you didn't want to, because I went there for Morrigan. So, take tonight to think about your decision and tell me in the morning. We'll see if I need to kick Sten's huge butt again then, though." With that, she was already turning, walking toward her tent that now stood erected in the near center of camp and not at its edge anymore.

His voice calling to her stopped her steps, almost by itself.

"Lenya?"

"Yes?" As she turned to face him, she saw that his mood had already changed once more. Instead of bewilderment, there flickered a nervous note within his expression and his hands fidgeted with the key.

"I... thank you. For everything." Alistair heaved a deep sigh and shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Can I talk to you?" He grimaced and shook himself. "No, I mean... I need to tell you something."

"Sure thing. What is it?"

His nervousness only seemed to have grown at her casual answer. "I... think I—" He faltered with a groan and licked his lips, the blush on his cheeks now a deep red. Lenya arched both eyebrows and waited for him to continue. Surely, talking couldn't be that hard for him, when he barely managed to keep his mouth shut otherwise. She was surprised when he approached closer to her and took her hand, the unnerving heat of him spreading within her palm. Alistair lowered his head in the search for her eyes, and the expression in his gaze was as warm as his hand, confusing her. "No, I _know _that I—"

"I need to talk with you, Lenya."

Startled, he jumped back at the suddenly appearing voice and form of Morrigan, the warm hazel of his eyes hardening in an instant. "Maker's balls, you sneaky... witch." His glare and tone made clear that he initially intended to use the word with 'b' instead. He tensed and all the softness had left his features, overruled by his anger at Morrigan's appearance.

Lenya didn't turn around to face her. She was still somewhat peeved about what had happened and Morrigan's behavior as a whole. "Wow, everyone wants to talk with me. Makes me feel so damn special." She shrugged in the witch's direction. "Alas, Alistair wanted to talk to me first. So you have to wait until he is finished with what he wanted to tell me."

Morrigan crossed her arms with a snort. "Oh? Go ahead. I'm sure this will be enlightening."

Alistair seemed frozen in place once more. Both horrified and pissed at the witch's presence, he needed a few moments to regain his power to speak. "I think—no, I know that it's better to wear the templar armor than no armor. At least until we have another one." He sighed long and deep, his head sunken down in defeat. He looked so dejected that for a moment Lenya had the inkling that _that_ wasn't what he actually intended to say.

Her stream of thought was interrupted by Morrigan's voice before it even had time to sink in.

"Oh, now this is an event worthy of informing us." The witch rolled her eyes before resting her gaze on Lenya again. "Come now. 'Tis important."

"Er... yes. Good night, Alistair. Inform me in the morning about your decision, okay?" Taken by surprise by her adamant demand, Lenya followed Morrigan to her secluded fireplace without further protest. She didn't notice how his eyes sadly trailed on her form until she was shrouded in the shadows in the night.

"Good night... my love," he whispered softly before ducking into his tent, the armor forgotten.

~V~

"What is it? Another relative that wants you dead, perhaps?" Lenya crossed her arms and glared down to where the witch sat. "I wouldn't be surprised."

With a snap of her finger, Morrigan made her bonfire flare up, its flames flickering high and bright again. "Please, sit down," she said and pointed at the place beside herself. A place Lenya had occupied so often before and hadn't since the incident with Flemeth. She couldn't deny that Morrigan's request to talk with her made her curious, because they hadn't spoken a word to each other since their fight in the hut. Although it was a somewhat a pity, the Dalish had no intent to start the habit again.

"I would prefer standing, if it is all the same for you."

"As you wish." Morrigan fell silent and shifted uncomfortably on the laid out furs beneath her. "You may not believe me and I can understand why. But I... I wanted you to know that I had no idea about my mother being able to transform to a dragon."

"You are right. I don't believe you."

"As if I would send you willingly to your death!" Morrigan said, her eyes glowered up at the elf in frustration. "'Twas in my own interest that you would succeed, and that without harm. So, if I'd known about Mother's ability, you would have been the first to know. She must have kept it hidden from me, like so much else."

"Because if I had known about her dragon-shifting, I surely would have fought her on a whim, then."

The witch let out a groan, her frustration ever-growing. "You are _maddening_. I am trying to apologize here and you aren't making it any easier."

Lenya blinked, surprised. "What?"

She lowered her gaze, teeth digging into the flesh of her lips. A motion so unlike what she knew of Morrigan. "I have thought about what you said... in the Wilds. I never really thanked you for fighting what must have been a terrible battle. You didn't abandon me despite my less than amicable behavior. I—_ugh_—I'm sorry." Morrigan looked up at her again and Lenya nodded in acknowledgment, but refrained from any further statement. It was all the encouragement the witch needed to go on. "I remember our first meeting in the Wilds, even before the Warden chest. You didn't notice me, as I had been in animal form for some time, watching your progress. I was intrigued to see such a formidable woman, obviously more potent than the men she traveled with." Morrigan sighed. "Yet, I resented it when Flemeth assigned me to travel with you. I assumed that, at best, you would drive me from your company as soon as we left the Wilds."

"I think Alistair was more tempted than I ever was, believe me." The hardness in her features subsided in favor of a smile, however small as it was. "And why should I have done that, anyway? Not only are you a powerful mage and undoubtedly useful, but you were also the only sane person back then. Aside from me, of course. No, scratch that, I wasn't really sane, either, with all my bitter hatred clouding my judgment. Well, I guess we all are a bit cracked up in the head, huh?"

"You spend too much time with that twit, as his pathetic humor has clearly worn off on you." Still, it looked as if the corner of her mouth was threatening to quirk upward. "I appreciate the thought within those words, however. I know you could as easily have ignored me entirely, yet you did not. And that is what I do not understand." The smile vanished from Morrigan's lips and she looked up t the still-standing Dalish. Her gaze on Lenya was without the usual sharpness, almost warm, but also bearing a hint of confusion. "I am aware that I have... little talent for forming friendships, to put it lightly. 'Tis something I know nothing of, nor ever thought I needed. Of all the things I could have imagined that would have resulted when Flemeth told me to go with you, the very last would have been that I would find in you a friend. Perhaps even a sister."

"Funny how such things go without even wanting or planning it, sometimes. I'd have never imagined to... have friends outside of my clan, either. Least of all, well, _humans_." Lenya shrugged, nearly apologetic. "It is not that I'm suddenly very fond of them, but a small group seems actually tolerable now. Which includes you, I guess. I always... liked talking to you, here at your fire, and I still do. Which made our fight and your reaction even more frustrating." Lenya shook her head and chuckled, its sound amused. "But at least we didn't revert to nails and hair-pulling like a certain other human around here. Even though I was tempted to try it in the past week, believe me."

"Oh?" Morrigan arched one eyebrow, equally amused. "Reverting to violence? 'Tis so unlike you, Lenya."

"Ah, such subtle humor on my behalf." The Dalish snorted. "Why don't you whack me over the head with your staff as well, while you are at it?"

"Be careful what you wish for; it might come true."

"Hmm, okay, if that is the case..." Lenya smirked. "How about turning Leliana into a toad?"

Morrigan didn't answer, and remained silent for a moment as she stared into the flames. She took a deep breath that came out as a long sigh. Lenya frowned at the sudden shift in mood, couldn't sort it out. Yet, she waited for her to speak, and saw that the witch was hesitating, for whatever reasons. Morrigan stood up and walked slowly up and down until she came to stop right in front of the elf, sighing again. "I want you to know that while I may not always prove... _worthy_... of your friendship, I will always value it." Her sad, conflicted expression vanished as quickly as it came, making Lenya only frown more, in confusion at her reaction and the spoken sentence.

The Dalish decided to shove these thoughts aside in favor of having reconciled with Morrigan. Up until this moment, she hadn't even realized how important that to her was. Even more that Morrigan wasn't indifferent toward it, either.

"I know," Lenya answered with a nod and smiled at the witch. "And I'm glad for it."

.

.


	67. No End, No Beginning

_**A/N: **A fair warning: Heavily emotional loaded chapter ahead. Title of the chapter again brazenly stolen from the band Poets of the fall. But then again, it is so very fitting for it. As is the whole mood and lyrics of the same-named song for it. They are an awesome band and their music is a great inspiration for my writings. However, enjoy the hell ride. -snickers-_

_Thanks once more to Mackillian for her beta read. You are awesome. And all the other people reading my story, too, of course. _

* * *

_**If there's no end, there can be no beginning  
It feels like forsaking the dawn,  
we awaken and still we don't see  
I am still secretly grateful you're living this moment with me  
**_

_– Poets of the Fall_

* * *

_.  
_

**Chapter 64: No End, No Beginning**

.

The morning came all too early after a short rest, bearing with it a harsh chill.

Lenya groaned and pulled the various blankets over her hand to ignore its arrival, but the freezing wind lashed at her tent and crept through every crack of the thin canvas. She turned away from the wind and desperately tried to hold onto the remaining spark of warmth in order to continue sleeping. It was a futile notion, since turning away had laid her back bare to the cold, giving her no other choice but to get up with another groan, still sleepy.

More stumbling than actually walking, she slipped out of her tent, the frozen grass under her feet crunching. Lenya yawned and rubbed her eyes, and for that moment, didn't pay heed where she was walking. Soon enough, she crashed into something sturdy and warm, causing her to stop.

"Good morning," said an all-too-familiar voice, amused.

"There is nothing good about this morning," she said, mumbling, and leaned her head into the warmth, not caring for what it was. "Stupid, cold, _early_ morning."

Alistair chuckled, and the motion sent a shock of vibration through his muscles. Wait—_why_ was she able to feel it, too? The thought sobered her in an instant, and with a step backward, she finally opened her eyes. Blinking, Lenya stared at what was his bare chest and felt so very awkward to have leaned on _that_.

"Err... hello?" Alistair shifted uncomfortably under her lingering gaze, causing the remaining drops of water to run downward his muscled torso.

The fluttering of her eyelids became even quicker, and her eyes finally flung over to a place that was not Alistair. "_Abelas. Emma ir abelas!" _Lenya muttered under her breath, feeling the pointed tips of her ears burning.

He laughed, a thoroughly amused sound from the back of his throat, his grin smug. "Well, at least you are awake now."

Lenya said nothing and simply shot him a glare, which only seemed to fuel his amusement even more.

_Stupid human._

She walked over to the firepit he obviously had set up before bathing, and warmed her hands over the flames. The day would be uncomfortable with the sudden return of freezing temperatures after the first forays of spring. Then again, this was Ferelden. Cold weather was almost mandatory for this country.

For a long while, none of them spoke a word, which was welcomed after the embarrassing beginning of the early morning. Alistair had placed himself on a log beside her, the knife in his hand utilized as razor, while his shield was the mirror. Her ears twitched at the steady scraping sound the blade made as it met his skin to shave the bothersome stubble away. Lenya was fascinated by his careful, yet able handling of the knife, at simply seeing him _shaving_. It was a curious, new sight to her, because she had never seen Tamlen doing this, nor had he ever needed to.

It seemed to be different for human men, however.

With how Alistair was using the knife, it appeared to be daily routine for him, the shave taking only a matter of minutes. Yet she never had seen him doing it, because he was always up before her and ready to travel just as she managed to get out of her tent.

"Why are you always up so early?" she asked, verbalizing her thoughts as she looked at him.

Alistair lowered the knife and brushed his hand over his chin, pleased with the outcome. "I'm used to it," he said with a shrug. "The Chantry had the bad habit of making us pray even before the sun was up, so having to rise _that_ early for years every day stuck with me, I guess. Fortunately now I have pretty much zero praying, but I like to use the quiet moments in the morning for my meditation. You know, templar abilities and bad darkspawn mages and all that. Possibly for Morrigan, too." Lenya gave him a look and he chuckled. "You're not quite so fond of early rising, right? It's one of the rare days where I see you up so early. Bad dreams?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you like to being Captain Obvious again?"

"Yes? No? Not sure?" His grin widened. "Well, _what_ do you want me to be?"

"Quiet. Less headache-inducing, to be exact."

"Oh-ho, you wound me deeply, my lady. More than Flemeth's claws, even."

Lenya frowned at his wording and her eyes wandered to his now-dressed chest. "Are you—"

"I'm okay, almost as good as new. Wynne did a fantastic job of patching me up. Besides, we heal faster than non-Wardens. One of the perks, I guess. Direly needed, too."

"Oh, wow," Lenya felt obliged to comment, rolling her eyes. "I'm thrilled beyond saying. Really." It earned her another smile from him, his eyes sparkling with easy humor. _He is doing this a lot lately,_ she noticed, _that smiling thing._ Not that she minded it, but it was... _different _from his way of smiling at the others. It seemed more genuine toward her, yet then again, more amused, almost mischievous, at the same time. Lenya scowled at the irrational trail of her thoughts._ Why,_ by all the Creators above, was she even thinking about such nonsense?

"The Blight is spreading, unsurprisingly," Alistair said after a bout of silence. There were more noises behind her back, the camp and its inhabitants slowly coming to life. The sun was fully up now, but it was missing its warmth, enveloped into clouds as it was. "I can feel and see it and I'm sure you can, too." There wasn't so much as a small smile left on his face, and even that was... sad. It always amazed Lenya how quickly he could shift from humor to complete seriousness, a side he didn't show everyone, either. To them, he was the always cheerful and joking goofball, a role he had perfected over the years, to hide what lay underneath. They were similar in that, only that Lenya preferred to act hostile to keep people at bay. It was easier this way, less painful. Especially after all that had happened in the past months.

"The Wilds are different from the first time through them, I mean. They are darker, and the corruption so thick and already reaching to Lothering." He sighed. "You know, sometimes I ask myself if we are even going to have enough time for everything. It isn't that the archdemon would have Blight tea parties with its ugly little friends and wait until the last Grey Wardens—_us_—have gathered an army strong enough to fight against them. I wish it would be that way, but I doubt will be, alas."

Alistair looked so lost in that moment that Lenya couldn't help but to humor him, even though deep inside she agreed. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be the optimistic one?"

"Yeah, stupid, isn't it?" He shook his head and laughed, but the smile only lasted for a second before fading again into his unusual thoughtfulness. "Even more stupid, that despite the limited time we likely have left before getting stomped on by the archdemon, I want to return to Ostagar. But finding the Dalish is much more important than _that_, as this is our next treaty. So... forget it. We should head for the—"

"No!" Lenya interrupted him, arms crossed and glaring, causing him to blink.

"What?"

"I said no!" she repeated, more resolutely. "If you want to go there, we go there first. Screw the archdemon." That stupid human was doing it again. Despite it being so important to him, he stepped back from his wish, putting other things before himself. Some might call it noble and dutiful, but Lenya only called it stupid.

Alistair arched his eyebrows at her. "Haven't you said that I'm the one who decides?"

"Exactly. Which is why I say we go back to Ostagar."

His eyebrows rose even higher, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "That doesn't make sense, you know."

The glare softened and her whole posture relaxed with a sigh. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it is wrong to even return there, because we both know that whatever awaits us there won't be a pretty sight. Going there won't stop the Blight, and will even delay us further in our task of reaching the Brecilian Forest." She shrugged and a wan smile tucked at the corner of her lips. "But I don't care, because I know what it'd mean to you, puppy." Lenya fell silent for a moment and simply stared into the flames, listening to the noises of the other companions behind her. "One of the elders of my clan once said if you don't bring a still-lingering thread to an end, there can't be a new beginning. I always thought it was the preaching hogwash of an old man back then, but now I begin to see that he might have been right. I never got to know what happened to Tamlen, and thus, it still... _haunts_ me. I-I... just wished—" She faltered with a pained frown, swallowing hard. "But this is not the time for it."

"Tamlen?"

"Right, you still don't know the whole story." Lenya took a deep breath and blinked fast to clear her eyes. "I will tell you... but not now."

Despite the approaching voices of Oghren and Wynne, he took her hand into his own. A motion so sudden, and yet soft, that it startled her. "Whenever you want. I'm here for you, you know?"

"Hmm," she said with a nod, the unnerving heat of his hand seeping into her system. What was it with humans and warmth? Were all human hands that warm all the time? Lenya's eyelids fluttered and she pulled her hand away from his touch, unwilling to delve deeper into such stupid thoughts. It was not that she cared for those things.

"Heh, Missy. Morning and all that." Oghren then greeted her with a deep burp, making Wynne, beside him, grimace in disgust. "Up early, aren't ya? Ya lovebirds wanna have some private time, eh?"

Lenya rolled her eyes. "What, by the Creators, are you talking about? Are you drunk? _Again_?"

"Well, yes. Of course. Can't have me sober, heh. Bah, the thought alone makes me want to have breakfast once more. Cheers." With that, he took a long pull from his flask. For Lenya, it was always baffling how very inebriated he already was on such an early morning. Even more baffling was that it didn't seem to affect his ability to talk or move in the slightest.

Wynne smiled at her, unimpressed by the commotion Oghren caused. "So have you decided yet where to go? Not that I don't enjoy the very green scenery here close to the Wilds, but I think we should get moving. I don't want these old bones to get rusty, after all."

Lenya threw Alistair a look before answering. "Well, too bad. Because it is not my decision today."

The mage knitted her brows, confused. "Oh? It is not? Whose is it, then?"

Alistair let out a deep sigh. "I... want to go to Ostagar. There are still loads of darkspawn there that need to die for what they've done. And it just struck me that I have nothing to remember Duncan by. Nothing at all. There's no body, not even a token of his that I could... take with me." He hesitated, clearing his throat. "That must sound really stupid to you."

"No, it doesn't." This wasn't the ultimate truth, Lenya knew. She never truly comprehended Alistair's fascination with that Warden _shemlen_. The one who ripped her away from her clan against her will. Despite the fact Duncan's action had saved her life, she couldn't fully banish from her mind what he had done to her. Yet, she distanced herself from judging Alistair's feelings, as those people she barely knew had been like a family to him. A clan of its own, bound by the taint in their blood.

"Ostagar?" Wynne's eyes grew wide in disbelief. "You want to return there? I... I want to come with you, Wardens. Like you, there is some unfinished business in the form of darkspawn I want to take care of."

"Yes, we will. You heard him, didn't you? But before we all get worked up and ready to storm to the battlefield there for the _shemlen_ king's chest, I really would love to get properly armed and dressed."

"Ah, I wouldn't mind if you'd refrain from the dressing part within your plan, my dear Warden," Zevran's voice came from the other side of camp.

While standing up to leave toward her tent, Lenya threw the other elf a glare. "Shut up, Zevran." Accompanied by the amused chuckle from him, she slipped into her tent to get ready.

For whatever was to come.

.

.

* * *

.

As expected, Ostagar was flooded with darkspawn.

For mindless monsters, they seemed to have diabolic fun in twisting and soiling the once great ruins and making it into a place of their own—a place of death, destruction, and taint. After half a year, the smell of death and decay had faded to a stale foulness, but the darkspawn stench was strong.

Lenya's blood was singing with the dark pull Ostagar oozed from every corner, making her shiver. She could feel _their_ multifaceted presence and desire to kill. She took all of it and made it to her own one. Her blades were running through rotten flesh, tearing limbs from bodies with a frantic pace and need that it would have startled her, if she were able to think.

She wasn't.

Too caught up in a murderous haze, she was only capable to follow the call her blood commanded. Blood she shared with those tainted bastards, and yet it was her blood that set her apart from them.

Grey Warden.

Every fiber of her being was only that right now, every other identity obliterated and drowned from her consciousness. It was an aspect that normally scared Lenya deeply, but on the battlefield back where all began, she embraced it fully and made it her weapon beside her two blades. Running toward the center of Ostagar, where once the camp had stood, her blades spun in a flash of blood and death, ready to kill the last remains of the horde. Together with Alistair, she plowed through their rows with a frightening, angry efficiency, faster than their other companions ever could.

_You didn't kill all the Wardens. And you never will._

Lenya rammed her sword with such a force into a twitching darkspawn body on the ground that its black ichor splattered high and into her face. The acrid blood burned in her mouth and she spat it out on the now-dead creature. "We are back, you bastards!" Pure disdain and hate clouded her voice and she kicked hard into the corpse's side, breathing frantically.

"You know... sometimes, you _really_ scare me." Alistair was tense, his expression grim as his eyes flickered over the former camp. A thick layer of snow blanketed the ground, a vestige from the storm from last night. The wind still howled fiercely through the destroyed ruins, frosted hills, and the half-skeletal corpses of humans and darkspawn alike. It was a pained, mourning sound, and eerily fitting for the picture before them. A good amount of the rotted bodies on the ground seemed to once have been soldiers clad within their rusting armor and the weapon close to where they were slaughtered. Lenya noticed _where_ his eyes lingered, and saw how his frown deepened at the sight of the _other_ bodies here, still dressed in their tattered rags. Nurses, priests, servants—people not able to defend themselves from the horde—were among the dead, too. Their amount was all but small.

Zevran stood silently behind Leliana and eyed the area warily before turning to Alistair. "Ah, let me guess, my dear Wardens: these were not the last darkspawn we will encounter, no?"

"Yes..." Alistair shook himself, and then finally averted his eyes. "But they're farther away. We're good for the moment." He wiped his mouth clean from the tainted blood, his sword still in his hand. Lenya knew it wasn't the darkspawn that perturbed her fellow Warden so. For a moment, she wondered if he was thinking of that traitorous _shemlen_, too. She was—of how things could have went differently when Loghain _shem'alas _would have charged after they lightened the signal. Of how the task of fighting the Blight would have been easier if not all Wardens except for the two rookies of the order had died. There wouldn't be all this death now that seemed to follow her everywhere she tread and drowned out every other aspect of her life.

The picture before her eyes shouldn't have affected her like it was; the battlefield that was filled with humans she hadn't even known or cared about at that time. Yet, returning here was like the Wilds a journey in a not so distant past, which still felt like ages ago.

"We are wasting time. We should move on." Sten's expression was as unreadable as always. His tone was demanding, yet he seemed to wait for Lenya's permission to move on.

She looked at the giant man and nodded. He was right; it made no sense to dwell here in memories amidst this massive grave while the darkspawn responsible for it were still roaming the area. They needed to die. All of them. The Dalish wasn't even sure what made her angry or if it were her feelings at all. With the taint so thick here, the lines of emotions were ever swiftly blurring and she felt herself affected by the silent wrath that her fellow Warden bore inside. The thought of revenge was normally an empty, bitter one to Lenya, yet she found no notion better suited than this. These monsters would pay and someday Loghain would, as well.

"I agree." Wynne leaned on her staff and tried to not look too closely at the frosted corpses laying half-buried within the snow. "We still need to find the king's chest. I believe Cailan's tent was over there before." The mage pointed at a secluded place across the clearing, which set Lenya into motion toward it. Alistair needed a moment to register that the group had started to move and followed at their rear, his brows knitting scarves across his furrowed forehead as he frowned.

Lenya let herself fall back in line with him, worried and sympathetic both of his grim and gloomy behavior. She glanced up to his face and searched for his eyes that were fixated on the bloodied sword in his hand. "Hey." There wasn't much she could say beyond that, so she left it at that, hoping for some kind of reaction of him.

He blinked and became aware of her presence and gaze, taking a deep breath of the air that still reeked after stale death. "I _believed_ him, you know. That it would be a glorious battle, that'd we'd win..."

"I know." Lenya nodded. "I hoped that, too. I hoped that it would be quickly over, so I could run after my clan. Little did I know that the battle was indeed quickly over, but not as I hoped it would end. I feel really stupid now."

There was a long sigh from in front of them, coming from the elder mage. "I guess…" Wynne halted her words as her eyes strayed to the place where the mage's encampment had been. "We have been all a bit naive and younger back then."

"Well, maybe not you, you've always been old." Alistair's joking reply came unexpectedly, but seeing his unchanged expression, Lenya knew that his heart wasn't into it. It was more a well-versed technique of distraction from himself and his true emotions.

Lenya couldn't discern if Wynne had noticed Alistair's real mood, but independent of it, the mage decided to play along. "With lip like that, son, you'll be lucky if you live to be half my age!"

"Ah, found it." Zevran was first to arrive at what appeared to be the shemlen king's chest, his cheerful voice betrayed by his wary stance. "I would love to demonstrate my unmatched pick-locking skills on it, but it is a bit redundant since you have the key for it, no?"

Lenya stepped forward to take a closer look at the sturdy, unbroken chest. It was made of solid oak that had once been overlaid with ebony and gold to make it look more exclusive and worthy of a king. The wood was scuffed and scratched by countless efforts at breaching the strongbox, but the lock had held, oddly enough.

She halted a moment to listen in for any close darkspawn, but couldn't sense them nearby. Satisfied with the result, the Dalish crouched before the chest and slid the key into the lock. It sprang open surprisingly easily, the contents within scattered about, but still dry. In between golden armor parts and documents lay an object wrapped in white linen that caught her eyes. The shape of it made it obvious that it was a sword. Even wrapped and sheathed as it was, she could feel and see the magical glow of runes engraved in its blade. While Alistair, Sten, and Wynne kept an eye on the area to watch for upcoming enemies, Lenya took the time to unsheathe the sword from its linen and scabbard. It was a most exquisite piece of work, a weapon clearly forged for a king. The runes within swirled in bright, glowing lines across the whole blade, the pommel and tip of it golden and perfectly balanced.

Zevran whistled low at the sight of the weapon. "That is one _sexy_ sword. I must have it."

"I think this is the blade Cailan wanted to slay the archdemon with," Wynne said, pointing to it. "That it now falls into the hands of a Warden—your hands—is a fitting sentiment."

Lenya arched an eyebrow at the other elf, yanking the sword away and out of his grasp. "No, you heard Wynne. This is a weapon of a _shemlen_ king, so I think... err... Alistair should have it."

"What?" Alistair visibly cringed at her words, and all color escaped his face. He shook himself, swallowing hard. "I mean... _why_?"

"You are a native Fereldan and this is the sword of your king." She shrugged. "I can also give it to Zevran, if you—"

"No!" His protest came quickly, as she had expected. "I mean... you just gave me a blade and... aren't you a native Fereldan as well?"

"Yes, but I don't care in the slightest for your human ruler and kings or politics. I may have been born in Ferelden, but it is different for me. I'm not part of it. Not in the way you are."

"Says the woman who is fighting the Blight _in_ _Ferelden_." Shaking his head, Alistair gave her a pointed look. "It's just a sword, Lenya." He paused to breath out, almost as if the break was needed to realize the words for himself. "_Just_ a sword."

"As you wish." Lenya sheathed the sword again and strapped its scabbard to her side, swapping the dagger out for it. It was a bold move, as she only had used two swords during her countless training sessions with Alistair, but not in a real combat situation so far.

She thought it was about time to rectify that fact. That sword of the human king was practically destined to tear through rotten darkspawn flesh. There was no way she would leave it behind, or give it to Zevran after her fellow Warden refused it. Smirking, Lenya looked over to the other elf. "You are right, Zev, this is one sexy sword, so _I'll_ keep it. I'm sure it will come in handy."

He rolled his eyes and sighed, though only half-seriously. "Ah, well, my dear Warden, I confess I'm deeply disappointed to not get hold of such a fine weapon. But this is not the time nor place to fret. Also, considering our rather bumpy start, I should be glad that you haven't stripped me of all my equipment and sent me packing long ago, no?"

That even elicited a slight grin out of her. "You can have my old dagger, though." Lenya handed him her swapped out blade, which he took with a grin that mirrored her own.

"You are too kind, my dear."

"Holy Maker!" Leliana said while sifting through the chest's contents. "You might want to take a look at this." Coming forth from the chest, she juggled a sizable sack of leather within her hands. The faint jingling sound coming from it left no doubt of what it contained. Coins. Lots and lots of them.

Zevran's grin widened. "Seems I will get a sexy sword after all."

Leliana frowned at him. "But is it really okay for us to take it?"

"I'm sure we'll need it more than the darkspawn," Lenya said with a shrug and looked to Leliana, eyes narrowing. "Give it to me, _shem_." The usage of the word had become unusual for Lenya, but in this case she made an exception. She still hadn't stomached Leliana's idiotic view on her race and culture and thus found it justified in letting her know it.

Sten let out a displeased grunt. "Leave it here until our task is done, _kadan_. Carrying all these useless coins will only slow us down."

"You may have a point here, Sten." Lenya stashed the pouch of money in the chest again and turned the key to close the lock. "Then we get the money and those documents later when we return."

Return?" Leliana blinked. "Return from _what_?"

Lenya's face darkened, her voice full of scorn. "From killing _all_ the darkspawn here."

.

.

* * *

.

The whole time of walking the path up to follow the trail of the darkspawn, Alistair had been silent, tensed. So Lenya nearly jumped when his voice resounded within the hollow edges of the ruins. "I remember this place. We... met here, Lenya. I think the first words you ever said to me were '_Are you an idiot?_' Charming, really."

She turned around with an apologetic smile. "Well, you kinda were one."

The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. "_Were_, huh? Good to know." It was odd and not very befitting to joke in a place where so many found had their deaths, but talking to him calmed her down. Within all the destruction and death of Ostagar, it was her fellow Warden who moored her against its effect and made it less worse.

"You still..." Her words stopped abruptly as her feet kicked an object within the snow, its sound faintly tinny. Turning her head toward it and on the ground, she finally saw _what_ it was. Lenya took a sharp intake of air and felt herself staggering.

Strong hands from behind held her upright, and his worried voice swiftly followed: "What's wrong?"

She couldn't answer, and was barely able to watch how Zevran picked up the great silver chalice. The elf brushed the ice and dirt from its surface before noticing Lenya's distant and appalled gaze.

'_Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we_ _shall join you.'_

Memories of her Joining flooded her mind. Of how the fire of corruption blazed through her body, melting with the already tainted blood within her body. Of her arrogance and indifference toward the other recruits and their deaths. Things she regretted now. She had been so young and naïve back then, a fool. Alistair was right, being here indeed felt like returning to another, foreign life, even though it all happened just a half a year ago.

"The Joining chalice? It's still here?" Alistair's bewildered voice put her back into the present, but she was still blinking rapidly.

Zevran arched a brow. "Joining? Sounds kinky."

Another deep breath, before she found her voice again, its tone trembling with emotion. "It isn't. The contents of it were what made me a Grey Warden."

"Oh?" He sniffed the inside of the chalice and grimaced. "Smells like darkspawn blood." Traces of crusted, black blood still clung to its side, she noticed. Zevran's eyes widened. "You... drank... that stuff?"

Swallowing, Lenya shrugged, but couldn't get rid of the remembrance of the acrid, rotten taste. "It was my 'cure.' Without it, I would have been dead long ago," she said, not without bitterness, and shifted awkwardly, suddenly wishing nothing more than to leave.

Zevran nodded in acknowledgment, his accented voice laced with awe. "I have done some really crazy things in my life, but _drinking_ darkspawn blood?" He shuddered. "You, my dear Warden, are far braver than I gave you credit for."

Alistair glowered at him. "And you shouldn't even kno—" His head snapped up, and his sword hand bolted to the hilt of his blade even before Lenya could verbalize the warning.

"Darkspawn!"

Lenya was the first to rush toward the horde, never more glad to encounter them than now.

.

~V~

.

The darkspawn they fought had been... _different_.

Lenya had encountered dozens of emissaries before, but none of them had the ability to raise skeletons from the ground. This was a disparate kind of magic this monster used and she didn't like it one bit.

Wynne shuddered, apparently having felt the prickling of its energy, too. "Dark magic is filling the air. We should best be on guard." The Dalish had heard stories of such an evil magic before, but rather thought it as a horror story of the adults used to intimidate rebellious children like her.

"Magic raising the dead?" Lenya kicked some rubble with her feet, snorting. "My people know a tale of a woman who lost her husband to an ambush of bandits. Unwilling to let him go, she sought help from an _asha annan, _a hermetic, old woman turned to the old, dark magic. It is said that she was able to raise the dead, so she begs this witch to bring her husband back. The witch eventually fulfills her the wish, but it comes not without a price. Her husband comes back to life, but instead of being the man she once loved, he is only an empty husk. Before she could realize her mistake, however, she is killed by her undead husband."

"Creepy." Alistair instantly flushed when he noticed he said it out loud. "I, uh, don't mean to belittle yo—"

"Relax, puppy." She shook her head, amused. "It, indeed, _is_ creepy, but everyone in my clan knows it is just a story for scaring each other. At least, I _hope_ it is."

"Now that's reassuring," he said with a tremble in his voice, and Lenya couldn't discern if it came from the story or the cold.

The wind howled loudly through the old ruins they'd discovered after climbing down the hole. The darkspawn seemingly had dug this way long ago to reach the Tower of Ishal. At least it explained to her _why_ it had been so overrun when Alistair and she had to reach its top for the signal fire.

Leliana's eyes roamed the area, the string of her bow taut and ready, but none of the tainted bastards showed up. Lenya could still feel them, yet it seemed as if they were hiding somewhere, waiting for the Wardens to come forward. It was a sensation not unlike the one she felt within the Deep Roads, constantly watched by darkspawn at every corner, encircled by taint. "Let's move on," she said, and knew why Alistair had reacted like that before. She had to suppress the urge to shudder as well. "I don't want to linger here. This place is... _ugh_."

Zevran chuckled. "I couldn't have said it any better, my dear Warden."

.

~V~

.

The feeling of being watched did not go away as she and her companions stepped out of the subterranean ruins the darkspawn created.

It rather increased in intensity.

Lenya's hands gripped tighter around the hilts of her swords, her elven eyes roaming the wide area for any movement. The daylight reflected in the clear white of the snow, piercing her sight with its brightness. Not only her Warden senses, but also every part of her hunter-self screamed in alarm. "I don't like it. It is too _quiet_."

And it was. No sound, except for the extended cawing of the raven picking at... _something_ in the distance, was audible. Even the howl of the wind seemed to have gone silent, enveloping this place into an eerie stillness. It reeked of decay and death, its stench still powerful.

"They..." Alistair swallowed, his eyes fixed on a rusted shield on the ground. "_They_ died here."

She didn't need to ask who he meant, for she knew it the instant she saw the griffon on the dented shield.

What once had been a battlefield was now a mass grave. The area was littered with bodies still clad in their armor bearing the griffon.

Grey Wardens. All of them.

Lenya quavered at this sudden, unwanted knowledge, and a rush of nausea flooded her senses. She was aware that she could have easily been one of these rotting bodies, if fate were not as twisted as it was.

Not for the first time, she was thankful to be alive, but never more than in this moment. Because she still had the chance to set things right—to end the Blight—while the other Wardens had been slaughtered in a battle that was more than futile.

Arai let out a mournful howl that echoed through the hollowness and silence. No words could have summarized her feelings better than the single, keening sound of the Mabari. The hound had lost his comrades here, too. There were many canine-like corpses among the dead, splayed out on the ground, right beside the piles of killed darkspawn.

_Darkspawn..._

Her eyes flung over to the shape in the distance, her blood thrumming. The strange darkspawn mage stood there, its amused sounding snarl echoing over the field as it began to work its magic. The creature was too far away from them to get hit with an arrow or a smite and it _knew_ it. Already, her companions were swarming out, led by pure instinct, the target clear. But before they could even remotely get closer to the necromancer, the first bodies rose from the ground, an ogre among them. Two blades were still plunged deeply within its heart, yet it roared and charged toward them.

"Fuck..." Lenya said at the chaos before her eyes, caused by a single, powerful darkspawn. It had led them here onto this very battlefield, and instead of being the hunters, they were now the hunted. It was almost as if it was intelligent enough to set this trap up, well knowing they would follow here.

Intelligent or not, the darkspawn mage needed to die. And quickly, at that. "The necromancer! Kill him!" Lenya screamed over the field and Sten nodded, dodging under the fist of the undead ogre before it could land its blow. The Qunari rushed toward the darkspawn, who had barricaded itself behind walls and walls of undead bodies, sending them toward them in waves. They obeyed the creature's will, like puppets on a string, orchestrated to a symphony of death.

For Lenya, it was a nightmare that had become real. No tales whispered at the fireside in fear could even remotely describe the horror she felt as she gazed into those twisted, rotten faces snarling at her in feral anger. Unlike most of the other risen corpses they had faced before—which had been reduced to little more than rotted flesh and denuded bone—these seemed to have been preserved by magic to some extent. Their skin was dry, almost mummified, in a way that she still could surmise how they once must have looked like. Before they were slaughtered and abused as an undead weapon, their eternal rest disturbed.

Lenya whirled around and tried not to look too closely at whose head she was severing from the neck. Tried to ignore all the griffons emblazoned and visible on breastplates, shields, and sword pommels of the countless corpses attacking her. Yet, it was excruciating for her to tear through their masses, through undead flesh of Wardens who had no other choice _but_ to obey the command of a _darkspawn_. Lenya had never gotten to know her other fellow Wardens. To her, other Wardens only meant Alistair. How much worse must it be for him then?

The sudden thought let made head snap up, the urge to find him dire. She had lost sight of him as soon as he had stormed toward the necromancer in a blind, unaltered rage. The masses of the undead and the roaring of the ogre was a telltale sign that he or Sten hadn't yet succeeded. The others were too wrapped up in battle to start an attempt to reach the darkspawn. So it was up to her to succeed, to end this tainted creature's life, and thus this utter madness.

Lenya dodged a sword swung at her head and started to run. She needed to find Alistair within the chaos. Him or the necromancer. Preferably both.

"No... no, no. _No_!" Lenya heard his voice before she even saw him. It sounded panicked and pain-stricken despite the exertion of fighting. "You are not _him._ You can't be!" Lenya beheaded an enemy without stopping her haste, without even _looking_. Her eyes widened in horror as she recognized _what_ mortified Alistair so. The creature that stumbled toward her petrified fellow Warden still wore the remains of a very distinctive armor, its breastplate dented and destroyed by the mortal blow of a huge weapon. It left a gaping hole in its midriff, and tendrils of rotten flesh and blood still clung to it. Yet, she would recognize the armor everywhere, even now.

"Duncan..." Her word wasn't more than a whisper, the realization of its meaning brutal.

"No. No. No! _Not_ him." It was Alistair's tortured plea that shook her back to action, made her run on, even if all within her screamed against it. The former Grey Warden Commander snarled at Alistair in fury, yellowed teeth bared. Duncan's lips were gnawed off, the eyes picked out by the crows, replaced by the flickering magical essence that brought him back to life. Alistair crouched on the ground, trembling and unable to move, while the former Warden got closer to him by the second. Lenya cursed and released a throwing knife from her belt, aimed for the creature's head, and hit home. The blade sank into the hollow of its eye, sending 'Duncan' staggering backward.

Knowing it was only a small delay until the creature attacked again, Lenya whirled around into the direction of the necromancer darkspawn. "Stay with Alistair!" she commanded her Mabari when he suddenly emerged from the masses, within his muzzle an arm he had ripped off before. Arai growled, displeased, spat the foul flesh out, but remained at the Warden's side and protected him like his mistress wanted.

Pure wrath fueled Lenya's movements on her way to the necromancer. This had gone too far. It would pay for what it had done. Direly so.

"I'll kill you, you bastard. I'll rip your ugly ass into pieces, burn—"

She didn't go any further with her words and steps, as it was Sten who finally managed to ram his massive blade into the darkspawn's skull, black ichor spurting everywhere. Instantly, the army of the dead sank to the ground, lifeless as they had been before, pulled back into an eternal sleep.

Lenya let out a shuddering breath, her fury slowly subsiding. "Thank you, Sten."

The Qunari was wounded and bleeding, breathing heavily. His stance was unstable as he freed his two-hander from the still-twitching darkspawn flesh. "I was late. I should have killed the _Dathrasi _sooner." His voice adapted a grumbling, almost angry tone, a surprising flicker of emotion. "What the _Saarebas dathrasi _had done was dishonorable. These Wardens died on the battlefield while fighting for their homeland, for their duty. They shouldn't have been disturbed in their peace." His dark eyes roamed over the destroyed field, its ground littered with bodies again. His gaze remained on an emblazoned symbol of a griffon for a moment, before looking at the Dalish again. "Are you all right, _kadan_?"

Lenya felt herself blinking in surprise, the question most unexpected. "I... _why_ are you asking?"

"These were your comrades. You shouldn't have to fight against them."

"I know." Her face contorted into a pained frown, yet was she ever so thankful for his words. For his understanding. She had never known them and still she felt terrible for them being used as tools, even after their deaths.

"_Karasten, asala ebost kost. Ataash varin kata."_

Lenya heard his solemn spoken verse, its tone foreign and yet calming. Maybe Sten was thinking of his comrades he had lost at Lake Calenhad. It was moments like these that made Lenya realize that they were all not without sorrow, even the stoic and seemingly emotionless Qunari. She vowed to find his sword, his _soul_. Perhaps they could visit Redcliffe after they had claimed the treaty with the Dalish.

A strangled gasp nearby reached her sensitive hearing and she whipped around to its source.

_Alistair..._

Her blades fell to the ground, the clattering swallowed by the snow, and her steps hollow as she ran to him.

He still was cowering in the same spot, staring blankly at the corpse that once had been Duncan. Lenya heard the others, felt the tingling of Wynne's healing magic nearby, and saw how Arai was licking his wounded paw. Yet she didn't care. Her attention was fixed solely on her fellow Warden, his agony so bare and raw it hurt her. She didn't know what to do, so she cowered beside him, one of her hands reaching out to let him know she was _there_. There was a long moment of heavy silence, only disrupted by the howling of the freezing wind, whirling flakes of snow from the ground. It was as if the wind was whispering a mournful lament and wanted to blanket the dead again to return them to the earth. Lenya shivered, but the cold was not to blame.

"I... knew him." Alistair's voice was quiet, nearly extinguished by the keening sound of the gale. "I... knew them _all_."

The Dalish nodded with a hum and swallowed, her hand growing cold on the steel of his soiled armor. "You humans burn your dead, don't you?"

"Yes," he whispered, head finally turning to her, the intent clear. "Yes, we do."

There was nothing she could say beyond that, and not because of the appearance of Wynne and the others.

There were simply no words.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya watched how wood was piled into a pyre despite the wet ground, the custom strange to her.

Silently, they threw every log, every stick they could find on what would be Duncan's grave. No one spoke, except for the wind still singing its lament. The horizon over them went dark, the swirling clouds thick and stealing daylight. A storm was coming soon, heralding itself with the accelerated wind and keen howling. It prompted them to put even more wood on the pile in a quicker pace, but all she could do was survey the process, unable to move like her fellow Warden.

Alistair stood not far from her, yet alone. Lost, like a little boy. It reminded her all too eerily of the day when Tamlen's father was buried, the boy as paralyzed as Alistair was now, the picture the same. He hadn't been older than ten when he lost the last of his family members, its meaning hard to grasp for her back then, young as she was. It was the first time Lenya saw someone dying. Despite the Keeper's magic, the various attempts to keep the sick man alive were futile. For the first time, she experienced the whole powerlessness death bore with it, a circle and force sometimes even magic couldn't break. All she could do was to watch how they buried his body, listening to the lament sung by her clan, still asking herself _why. _No one could explain it properly to the girl; there were no words the adults could find to make her understand _why_ Tamlen's father had to go and leave him all _alone_.

Today, as a Grey Warden, death had become Lenya's constant ally, morbidly following her wherever she set foot. Normally, she would be used to the perpetual death around her by now, the blood and fighting her everyday bread. Sometimes, she even yearned for apathy—for it would make everything _easier_—but had to learn every time anew that she wasn't like that. She _cared_ and couldn't stop doing so, not even for the man who ripped her away from her clan and the only life she had ever known before the taint. Before the darkness.

Lenya glanced over to Alistair, and the picture of him standing there so very _lost,_ felt like a punch in the guts. Fellow Warden, puppy, _idiot_. Infuriating and calming. A friend. He was all that and so much more than just a mere _shemlen_. Different. She cared for him, felt with him like she did for Tamlen on the day when he watched how his father's body was buried. It was frightening how much the situation resembled the one within her memory. She felt outright set back in time, once more challenged with the inconceivability of death and its consequences.

Then Wynne recited words, where Alistair wasn't able to, a prayer to the human god to send Duncan safely to the Beyond. There were no incense burned, no songs sung except the whisper of the wind, before the flames were lit with Wynne's hand, and then tore into the wood. Their whole funeral custom was alien to Lenya, cold like the snow on the ground. Maybe she should say something, but every verse or words she ever learned for a eulogy was escaping her, her head empty. Thus, she remained silent as she watched the fire slowly devour Duncan's body, the air filling with the stench of burned flesh.

Lenya couldn't avert her eyes from the burning pyre, suddenly felt like the seven-year-old girl from back then. The girl who stood, shocked, before the mystery of death. Unable to find comforting words for her friend when he needed them the most.

Maybe because there were none.

Stepping beside Alistair, Lenya reached for his hand and intertwined her fingers with his in a simple gesture of solace. As he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, she knew: There were none needed.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N²:** No Cailan, no. Because I always found the scene of finding him crucified a bit...too much. Also more personal this way with Duncan. Why should Lenya care for the human king? I mean at all?  
_

* * *

**Language note:**

"_Karasten, asala ebost kost. Ataash varin kata." -_ "Warriors/soldiers, (may your) souls return to peace. In the end lies glory."


	68. Damaged Goods

_**A/N:** This chapter was betad by the lovely **tklivory** this time. Thanks for helping me out here, my friend. That is, like, totally gnarly. *hugs*_

* * *

_**It's all a game, avoiding failure, when true colors will bleed  
All in the name of misbehavior and the things we don't need  
I lust for after no disaster can touch us anymore  
And more than ever, I hope to never fall,  
where enough is not the same it was before  
Come feed the rain, cause I'm thirsty for your love  
dancing underneath the skies of lust […]**_

_~ Poets of the Fall- Carnival of rust_

* * *

.**  
**

**Chapter 65: Damaged Goods**

.

Grief could come in many forms, Lenya knew.

Some might try to drown themselves and their sorrows in alcohol to forget, while others react to loss with aggression and denial. And then there were those who not only accepted what happened, but carried on with their lives without remorse.

Alistair was none of these.

It had been days since they had returned from the disastrous visit to Ostagar, their path already set toward the Brecilian Forest. Days in which the normally voluble human didn't speak more than three words together, and brooded during every other moment.

Which was a _lot_.

It was as if he were there, but not truly present, his thoughts and emotions in a different place than his body. Lenya understood that he needed time to process what had happened, for she herself was reminded of the days after leaving her clan, of the earth-shattering undertow of loss and guilt. She still bore such feelings deep within, buried below her consciousness and dealt with, yet never really forgotten. Even though they were no longer at the forefront of her thoughts, any event, any flicker of memory or thought of her clan and Tamlen was still hurtful and could cause the facade of toughness she had built up to crumble all too easily. Lenya could fool the others, perhaps, but she knew that she wasn't as brave as she pretended to be. She was afraid of returning to her people, of what it _meant,_ even after a six month absence from every part of her culture and especially after having been recently confronted with the not-so-distant past.

Lenya remembered the days after Ostagar fell, the memories hazed by the intense feeling of hatred and bitterness. She had loathed everything and everyone during that time, but most of all _herself_. For once more surviving what _should_ have been her death. She'd again found a way to escape it – the second time after the Joining – where Tamlen hadn't even had one, _single_ chance. She had hated Alistair, the human she was forced to be with, the only other Grey Warden to survive with her. A _human_, of all things. She was annoyed by his grief, his pain at his loss such a nuisance for her that she had kept her distance... not only from him, but from everyone. Lenya had constructed walls of animosity around her, wanting only to be left alone, numb and unable to forget the pain. Dealing with the loss on her own seemed the only, the _right_ way to her, so she had expected the same of this annoying, whining _shemlen_, and hadn't wanted to be bothered by him.

It was almost absurd how time had changed things, had changed _her_.

Lenya laughed out loud, a short bark of disbelief, her reflection shimmering on the silver surface of the sword she was polishing. Her ears twitched at the never-ending, pulsating sound of rain meeting the canvas of her tent; and she could see the thin threads of lightning through the cracks of the flap. It flickered between the stacked layers of cloud, the rumbles of thunder following several minutes later. It was long before dusk, but the dark clouds didn't allow a lot of light to permeate through its thick blanket. The wind wasn't as freezing and strong as it had been in Ostagar, yet the mixed effect of the howling and the humidity of the storm made her shiver. Lenya hadn't bothered to put on her armor again after cleaning it, something she now regretted deeply. She pressed her back on the warm fur of Arai behind her, who reeked all too much like wet dog. As did her tent. The Dalish sighed at this fact, knowing that her Mabari would always find a way to sneak into her tent again, no matter how often she sent him away. Today, however, was the kind of weather where she wouldn't even shoo a dog outside and was glad about the crammed but dry space of her tent.

The lack of space and light made it hard to finish her cleaning work on the sword in her hands, yet it kept her mind occupied. There was little else to do, otherwise. She couldn't draw when the air was so humid because the coal would smear too easily, and staring at the ceiling of her tent had never been very interesting in the first place. It only led to unwanted thoughts, of memories of her clan, of what being Dalish meant. Lenya touched the necklace she wore, an unconscious motion. It was the necklace of her mother, the woman who gave birth to her only to leave her directly after. Ashalle –the woman she _actually_ called _mamae,_ until she became a petulant teen and became too embarrassed to do so – gave her this 'family heirloom' right before Lenya had to leave the clan. She had been reluctant to take it, had never worn it until she rediscovered it a few days ago in her pack. Now this little, old piece of worn jewelry and the _Vallaslin _inked into her skin were the only reminder and remnants she had left of her life as a Dalish. It wasn't much, but at least it was..._something_.

Outside it was still, except for the sound of thunder and rain. Her companions had retreated to their tents long ago, waiting out a storm that didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. Looking up from the gleaming metal of the blade, her eyes roamed over the muddied campsite and caught a distinctive figure in the half dark. He was just sitting there, amidst all the rain and thunder, dressed only in the linen clothes he normally wore _under_ his armor and padding. Lenya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, yet could not stop a sigh of exasperation from escaping her lips. That human seemed to have an exceptionally powerful urge to let himself suffer. Suffer for things he couldn't even change. She laughed out loud as the bizarre realization came to her that she had found a similarity between them. Another one.

It was easier after escaping Ostagar the first time, because there she hadn't cared for his grief in the slightest. Now, a half year later, it was different. To see him in a state like this was...maddening, frustrating. Lenya had attempted to speak with him a few times, but he had blocked even her off. There was nothing she could do for him, nothing but to wait for him to get over it. Yet, patience had never been her strong suit, so she gave in to the urge to _act_. Satisfied with her work, she wrapped the sword carefully into a spare linen cloth. She hadn't found the matching scabbard in Ostagar, but at least the sword had been thoroughly cleaned and sharpened. It had to suffice.

_Family heirloom..._

Lenya shook her head at the thought, grabbed her cloak from the ground and took a deep breath before she stepped outside into the heavy rain.

.

.

~V~

He didn't know how long he had already been sitting there in the rain.

All he knew was that he didn't care.

Alistair couldn't forget the pictures of the risen corpses in Ostagar. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his former comrades attacking him, their faces twisted with decay, yet all too recognizable. Sion, the surface dwarf, who had left Orzammar long ago; Merrik, the burly human and womanizer; and so many more. These had all been people he knew and called friends not so long ago. _Brothers_, even.

_Duncan..._

No matter how often Alistair tried to tell himself that the creature that had stumbled in his direction hadn't been his former mentor, it didn't work. Because it was true, it _was_ Duncan, or at least what had been left of him. And if the view of his decaying body in motion hadn't been painful enough, the fact that he'd been utilized as a puppet by a _darkspawn _made it even worse. His eternal rest had been disturbed and soiled and even giving him the long deserved funeral afterward couldn't change that anymore. If only he had been –

Being so deep in his brooding, grim thoughts, he didn't notice the advancing steps, nor the cloak until it landed over his head. It suspiciously smelled like Lenya, all herbs and smoked firewood ...and wet dog? Alistair blinked, yet didn't dare to make a move. Despite his grief he couldn't hinder his heart speeding up at being surrounded with her scent.

"Stupid." There was a petulant, frustrated edge in the word and she let it hang for a moment before sighing. "It is stupid to sit here in the cold rain, idiot. You'll get sick, and then you'll whine because you are sick, and then we'll need even longer to reach the forest..."

Her words were sobering while his heart and mind were so vulnerable. Unable to discern if she had been serious, he took her cloak away from his head and glowered at her. "Oh, I'm so sorry that I'm such a bother for you."

"As I said, it is stupid for you to sit here." Lenya approached closer, let herself sink on the log beside him with another sigh. "And I shouldn't be here in the rain, either."

"Why are you then?"

Her glare matched his own before it gradually softened. Rivulets of rain ran down her face, framing it. "Because I _care_, puppy. And to tell you how stupid it is to be out during such weather."

"Right, we already covered that." He shivered, suddenly acutely aware of the cold due to the warmth of her body seeping over to him. "You...don't have to be here. The rain isn't bothering me. I'm better off alone right now, anyway."

"We already covered that," she echoed his words without any humor, but with the same amount of frustration in her voice. "And it didn't work, so I'm not going anywhere. Also, I wanted you to have this."

Distressed as Alistair was, he hadn't even noticed the object in her hands until it was presented to him. Now, however, he focused on it and unpacked the blade from the linen, his hands trembling. The sword was worn, but of fine quality, well-balanced and newly polished. A griffon was engraved in fine lines on the blade's surface, a small silverite rune etched within the pommel. He would recognize this sword anywhere, and his breath hitched as he realized what it was. "It is...Duncan's. How...?"

"I asked Sten to retrieve it from the ogre, since I didn't have the strength to free the blade from its chest." She got up from her seat with a shrug, but the tense posture belied her casual gesture. "I couldn't leave it there and...well, I wanted you to have it. It is only right."

"Why?"

"Because I think it is important for you to have something of Duncan to remember him by. You said so yourself." She turned away from him and started to wander around, seemingly heedless of the rain. Her hands touched the simple jewelry around her neck, causing his eyes to linger there. "This necklace once belonged to my mother. I never wanted it, because I hated her for most of my life. For leaving me. I never understood why she did that to me and I still don't. Yet, I'm glad now that Ashalle was so insistent that I take it."

"Ashalle?"

"The woman I _actually_ could call _mamae_, because she raised me after my 'real' mother left." Lenya scoffed, her voice full of scorn. "_Real_ mother. That woman who gave birth to me isn't much more to me than some whispered tales of my clan, an abstract story. I have no memories of her whatsoever. She wasn't there when I felt alone or cried as a little girl. Ashalle was...Tamlen was, _not_ her. And I hated her for it." She stopped to swallow, her lower lip trembling, though whether from cold or agitation, Alistair couldn't say. "Maybe I still do."

Lenya fell silent after this most unexpected confession. He had never heard her speak so clearly and honestly about her clan, her family, and he felt for her, _understood_ her. For he had gone through the same. His father, the king, abandoned him as soon he was born, never wanted or acknowledged him. It was not that Alistair was surprised he did it, because he was just a bastard child, a mistake conceived in a secret tumble with a starstruck, random maid. But not even this knowledge, the logical reason behind Maric's abandonment, made Alistair hate him any less for a long time. Even today he still regretted, somewhere deep inside, that he never had the barest chance to ask his father _why_.

"...I'm sorry you had to go through that." He tried to smile at her, feeling the need to ease her pained memories, even if he failed to do so for himself. "But I'm glad you had people who cared for you."

" I am, too. We Dalish stick together and don't abandon each other. Normally. But...I digress. This isn't about me, but you. I'm just saying that even if this necklace is from my mother who I never knew, it is something from my past." She sighed, walking up and down in the apparent urge to do something. "After all, it reminds me of who I once was, in times when it becomes more...difficult. It reminds me of... _home_. And I don't want to forget that, even if it hurts sometimes." Lenya stopped her movements, looking so lost and dejected for a moment that he felt his heart tightening in his chest. "Which is another reason you really should take Duncan's sword. I understand now that the Grey Wardens were a family to you, like my clan was for me."

Alistair glanced on the sword and swallowed, moved by her words and gesture. "I..._thank_ you."

She smiled at him. It was wan and short-lived, but it felt like a triumph to him to see it on her lips. "_Na'nehn, lethallin._ I'm sorry you had to see that in Ostagar. I barely knew the other Wardens, though even I felt horrible to fight against them. I..regret that we didn't have the time to do more for the others who died there. Like we did for Duncan."

It meant so much for him that she cared. Yet with Duncan's name there was also the momentarily suppressed sadness coming up again and the drowning – if illogical– feeling of guilt. "This shouldn't have happened. I should have been there at his side. Fighting with him and shielding against blows."

"Stupid." She crossed her arms with a huff and started to glare at him again. The blond strands of her hair were matted from the downpour above and the water ran down her face, framing her sulking expression. "You would be dead then, too. What good would that be?" She came closer, shaking her head and tapped his forehead with two fingers, making him flinch. "Stop thinking like that. I already said I can't do this all on my own, haven't I? I don't want to be the _only_ Warden left and Creators forbid, I have needed enough time to accept that I'm a Warden in the first place. You are frustrating and make no sense most the time, but I guess...I'm glad you are here. It makes it easier to..." Lenya faltered with a sigh. "So stop that, you stupid human!"

"Yeah...I guess it _is_ stupid, isn't it? " Alistair laughed, tone bitter. "To care so much for a man I only knew for a couple of months. I should handle this better, I know. It is just...no one ever cared for what I wanted, all my life others had decided it for me. Except for Duncan: he was the first and only person who actually asked what _I_ wanted. And he is...gone." He felt tears coming up, welling behind his eyes after days of numbness. The grief wracked him all of a sudden, and, at the same time, months too late as he buried his head into his hands, shaken by its force. Yet, something was different from the days after Ostagar fell. There was now a hand on his shoulder, its touch so warm and gentle that it even momentarily drowned the coldness of the rain out. There were whispered elvish words he didn't comprehend, but its soothing sound made him aware that he didn't need to.

"No, it isn't. My clan taught me that the amount of respect someone deserves has nothing to do with the length of acquaintance with said person." Her voice had the same calm tone like before, penetrating his haze of grief. He looked up and saw her smiling. "Not that I have listened most of the time, but I think I understand now. So tell me about Duncan. My memories of him are not the best, after all."

"I... – " He was at a loss at words, his throat too tight to actually speak. Swallowing, he forced the words out. "I will, but you never really told me what happened to you. How you got recruited, I mean."

Lenya sat down next to him again, giving him access to the sight of her drenched and all too diaphanous woolen tunic. "Because it is not exactly a happy story."

"Is it ever?" Alistair swiftly stood up and averted his eyes from her chest. It wasn't..._appropriate_ to stare at her like that, especially not now. Harrumphing, he turned and headed for his tent.

"What are you doing? Leaving me now in the rain, or what?"

He returned as quickly as he could and wrapped his far-too-huge cloak around her. "No, never. I just don't want you to be cold."

Lenya frowned at that, the expression somewhat...pained. Which was a reaction he couldn't sort out. "Just like _him_. He...would have done the same. Stupid human, you."

"Like.._who_, exactly?"

She glanced away, looking at the ground, watching how the strings of water were meeting the soil. It took a moment before she rose her voice, but he was determined to wait. "...Tamlen."

"Tamlen?" Saying this foreign name made it clear to him how _little _he knew about her and her former life. He had never thought that there might be someone else, a...man she'd loved and had to leave behind. He remembered how she had once mistaken him for this Tamlen while being delirious with fever and _how_ she had embraced him then, uttering Tamlen's name. In a way that was...intense, intimate. This knowledge settled with a burn into his stomach and he felt the first sign of jealousy creeping up. It was illogical and foolish and yet he couldn't stop this feeling, nor prevent himself from asking, "Your...friend?"

"Yes. He was special to me and ...I miss him dearly."

His face fell. "Oh. I...see." Alistair had never been good at disguising his emotions and he was sure that the despondence was written on his face for all to see.

Lenya grimaced, apparently grasping the source of his disappointment. "Not in _that_ way, idiot. Alone the thought is..._ew_. Tamlen is –_was_– my best friend, my brother and partner in crime. We grew up together. I loved him dearly, but never in that way." She fell silent and fiddled with the sleeves of the over-seized cloak, distressed. He should have felt relieved at her confession, that it wasn't as he had thought. But he wasn't.

_Right...her friend. The soul mate kind. Great._

As soon the thought roamed through his mind, he felt incredibly idiotic and selfish for thinking like that. Of course she had had a life before all _this_, of course she had had close friends within her clan, it was only normal. And yet he couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy at hearing her speak of him, of Tamlen. He had known Lenya all his life, had grown up together with her, something he would never experience. Maker, he still didn't know if there was even remotely the chance of something _more_, so this feeling of jealously was utterly uncalled for. She didn't belong to him, not in the way he wanted her to be.

Unfortunately.

"...and that is how we found the cave." Alistair blinked, feeling the urge to hit himself for missing a chunk of her words due to his trail of thoughts. His mind was centered around her again and it was almost frightening how easily she managed to achieve that, despite the grief, despite the sadness clouding his consciousness. He'd called her his light in the darkness once and – as cheesy as it sounded – maybe she was exactly that. The one that kept him from drowning in sorrow, the one who sat out with him in the rain, because she _cared_ for his bereavement. Blinking once more, he reminded himself that she was still waiting for some kind of reaction from him.

"Cave?"

"Yes." Lenya nodded, the motion let the hood fall farther down her face. "It was surprising to me too, because I know the woods by heart and had never seen such a cave such as the shemlen described. So Tamlen and I searched for it. In hindsight it would have been better if we'd gone back to our Keeper and reported our discovery, but we were...well let's just say we were in Marethari's bad books for some...other stuff from before."

That caused him to smile. "Stuff?"

"Sneaking into her aravel and 'borrowing' some of her scrolls," Lenya answered, overly innocent, and rolled her eyes. "And here I thought she would appreciate it if we were willing to learn about our history ourselves. I mean, no one can withstand _Hahren_ Paivel's squall of words without falling asleep in the next moment. It is not my fault he is so bor –" She stopped and fiddled with the sleeves again, a telltale sign to him that she was embarrassed. "_Ir abelas_, got carried away."

"Oh, never mind. I like listening to you."

Another roll of her eyes. "Right. Then listen now, would you?" She took a deep breath, struggling with her next words. "It was...an ancient elven ruin, right in the middle of the forest. This wasn't the strangest thing about it, however. It was crowded with spiders and...undead skeletons attacking us. The whole atmosphere there was so.. thick and dark. Tamlen knew better and wanted to return to our camp, but I pressed on. I was hoping to find there something of our past, an artifact or something similar. Something that would make the Keeper relent and free us from having to polish armor at Master Ilen's shop." She shook her head. "I...was so stupid back then, so naïve. I should have listened to Tamlen, should have taken the enemies as a sign that we shouldn't have been there. Instead we moved on and eventually discovered a room with a strange mirror. With each step within that room the atmosphere became more sinister and I finally noticed how _wrong_ it was to be there."

Lenya exhaled and he could see the faint plume of her breath, her expression grim. "Too late. Tamlen was already captivated by the magic within the mirror, something I sensed clearly. I...wasn't fast enough to shove him away, before...before –" Her voice cracked, drowned out by the rain he couldn't even feel anymore. Lenya looked up and his heart ached with hers as he noticed the despondent look in her eyes. After a brief pause she spoke words that he knew all too well himself. "I failed him, Alistair. I couldn't stop him from touching the mirror, and everything I knew went to the Dread Wolf."

Instinctively, Alistair inched closer to her. He wanted to take away her pain, the bad memories. His hand rested softly on hers, without movement or intent, the gesture simple. "So...it was the mirror that...tainted you? I have never heard of such a thing. I rather thought you had been attacked by a darkspawn in the woods, when...Duncan told me about you." His voice momentarily failed him. "In Ostagar."

Lenya seemed to have noticed his distress, as her other hand came up above his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Yes, it was the mirror. And it was Duncan who found me unconscious somewhere. I don't know _where_, because I only woke up days later in our camp. The magic of the keeper was what saved me from dying of the acute concentration of taint." She huffed. "Only temporarily, of course."

"Which is why you had to leave your clan."

"Yes...but in that moment, I didn't know that. I woke up and was shocked to hear that _days_ had passed, and was even more shocked to see that...Tamlen wasn't in the Keeper's aravel with me. I was furious, mad at the others for not waking me up earlier. But most of all I was angry at _myself_. I took it out on the Keeper, screamed at her and accused her of the wildest things." Lenya paused, the frown carving itself deeper into her face, causing his hand underneath hers to twitch the need to wipe the expression away. "I simply couldn't bear the thought of losing Tamlen due to my _own_ mistakes, so I guess...I needed someone else to blame for it. She.. let me vent without saying anything, and when I was done, she simply embraced me and told me how glad she was that I survived." Lenya gasped, drawing a breath in that was quavering. "That I was _this_ close to the entrance of the Beyond."

"Beyond?" Alistair felt the warmth of her body emanating to him, making him aware how _close_ he had come to her without even noticing. He shivered and for once the freezing rain was not to blame.

"This is our... – the _Dalish_ name for the Fade."

"Oh... of course. I remember you mentioning that before." Struggling with himself for a moment, he managed to put some space between her and himself again, despite his whole body protesting against this noble notion. His hand remained upon hers, maintaining contact, the effect soothing for his mind. He could only hope it was the same for her, too.

"I was still shaken and somewhat feverish, but I didn't tell the Keeper that when she asked me how I was feeling. After all, there was already so much time lost and I couldn't afford to wait any longer. I never understood _why_ the clan hadn't searched for Tamlen within the ruins earlier, but instead waited for me to wake up."

"Haven't you said you had just discovered this cave...with Tamlen?" Alistair knitted his brows. "So your clan couldn't possibly know the way, right?"

"Right..." She sighed." Still, I found their reaction toward Tamlen's disappearance... disappointing. Yes, everyone within our camp was shocked, but normally our people don't stand about when one of us is in danger. We fight and care for each other, such is the way of the Da... – " She stopped, biting her lower lip." Never mind. I...digress. We then started to head for the cave again – two clanmates and I – to finally search for Tamlen. The forest was so quiet, every natural sound drowned out by the sinister and evil atmosphere radiating from this cave. I know now that it was the taint which caused it. On our way to the cave, I also fought darkspawn for the first time. It was a horrible experience. The sight, the stench...but I was too occupied with the thought of saving Tamlen to really stop and care. I ran them through as fast as I could." Lenya shrugged. "Didn't stop me from heaving, though."

A lot clicked in place for Alistair now. Her attitude, her intense hatred toward darkspawn and her urge to kill them all in the beginning...it all made sense now. She probably blamed them in equal parts for her friend's disappearance and her own fate. "I can understand that, because the first time I saw a darkspawn I..._uh_...squealed like a little girl. It was on our journey to Denerim from the Chantry in Redcliffe and my first night of freedom." He harrumphed, feeling embarrassed having blurted that out. "Actually, I'm not sure if it was really a _squeal_, though, but it wasn't exactly an appropriate reaction, either. ...Duncan was eventually the one who killed the darkspawn before I even had the chance to recover. After that battle, I promised myself to react, well, more...manly next time. So I admire how much you kept your cool faced with them."

"As I said, my mind was too focused on the task to find Tamlen to really think about what was happening there, or, more accurately, what had happened in the cave." She sighed, shoulders slumping. "That came...later. My clanmates and I searched the cave for Tamlen, but all we found was more of those bastards, and eventually Duncan. He was in the room with the mirror, the place that had changed my life forever. He explained to us that the mirror was an old Tevinter artifact and was to blame for all the changes within the forest and Tamlen's disappearance. Then, he shattered it into many pieces and prompted us to return to our clan, saying that the search for Tamlen would be futile and without success. In this moment, I hated him more than anything; I didn't want to believe him in spite of having looked in every corner of that ruin for him. So I stayed there and searched on, together with Fenarel, a friend of Tamlen and me. But I– " Lenya faltered as her voice cracked and her fingers clawed into the damp cloth of his cloak around her slumped shoulders. Alistair felt himself tensing, reacting to the shift of her emotions. He found it harder with every second of seeing her like this to refrain from taking her into his arms.

"I...couldn't find him, Alistair," she finally said, voice very quiet and nearly swallowed by the pulsing of the rain. "I searched and searched and yet...I couldn't find Tamlen. He was–_is_–gone...and it is _my_ fault. I should have never...never –" Her words were cut off by a sob that rippled through her, yet it remained soundless in all its despair. It was a cry that could not be given voice and seemed to be caught in her throat. Without thinking his arms came around her, pressing her against his chest in the vain attempt to comfort her. Lenya let it happen, didn't fight the close embrace and even buried her face within the crook of his shoulder, shaken by the force of memories.

Alistair's hand came up to her soaked hair, drawing little comforting circles on the back of her head. He tried to ignore the scorching effect of her breath and skin against his own, cool one, felt his heart aching with her. He could bear his own grievance forever and hide his true feelings behind a mask of jocularity, but as soon as it was Lenya who was crying, something in him seemed to shatter. It was excruciating to see her like this, to feel so helpless to stop the tears that soaked his chest more than the rain ever could. His arms never leaving her, he dipped his head to be at a level with her and whispered in her ear:

"Stop thinking like that. Isn't that what you told me only moments ago? Because I want you to do the same. You are not guilty of what happened: you couldn't possibly have known." He noticed how her pointed ear twitched at his words and warm breath, her whole being momentarily stilled. His hand wandered from her head to her cheek, wiping the tears away residing there. "We are some prime examples of Wardens, aren't we?" _Like damaged goods. _"Still, I'm so glad you are here with me."

And he was, more than he could possibly say. Duncan had not only brought him freedom from an unwanted fate, but had also brought this wonderful woman into his life. The fall of Ostagar and losing everything had been brutal for him, yet he wasn't alone. There was Lenya, always had been, and for him there always would be. His sister in tainted blood and the first woman he had ever loved.

His lips were meeting her skin before he even became aware of what he was doing, kissing away the tears on her cheek that his fingers had missed, tasting their salty flavor. He felt her stiffen under this soft, affectionate gesture, but she did not back away. Lenya had stopped crying, which had been his intention in the first place, yet somehow it was not...enough. His fingers caressed and encircled the side of her face and ear and gently turned her to him.

The moment his lips met hers in the barest of touches, all thoughts in his head splintered into a cascade of chaos, only to coalesce once more into the single awareness of how much he loved her. The world around him fell away, lost all significance, as he pulled her closer and renewed the fading kiss, feeling her melt against his chest. The touch of her lips and skin against his own set his very core on fire, ablaze with the long suppressed emotions of his love and desire for her. This was right, this was feeling..._whole. _There was no grief, no death, no pain. Only _her_.

Her fingers were raking through the wet, matted strands of his hair, adding shivers that came not from cold. The fact that she was as lost to the kiss as he was lifted his excitement to a new exhilarating height. He wanted this, yearned to feel something beyond the pain, wanted _her_. He always had.

_Lenya..._

Gasping for air, he reluctantly let go of the softness of her lips, but not of her. His arms were still wrapped around her, his fingers continuing to trail little circles on the small of her back, unwilling to let this moment slip away. He was afraid of what would come next after crossing that line, the harsh pull of reality too much when his whole body was thrumming for _more_. Intoxicated and dazed by the momentarily thrill, Alistair rested his head within the crook of her neck, his breath hot on her skin. He felt her quivering within his arms, the shivering intensifying as he brushed his lips against her sensitive flesh here and there. Besotted by the scent and taste of her, he couldn't think, only _feel._ He was even unable to hear the sweet nothings he was murmuring into her neck. So he didn't know which of the words it was that broke the spell, causing her to bring a hand between their bodies and shove him away.

"Stop. Please," Lenya said, breathless but adamant, her features hardening in an instant. Alistair blinked, confused, and inwardly braced himself for a berating that never came. "I...better... –" She got up from the log, trembling and dazed, her form soaked with the rain that still drummed the earth. Drowned out by the feel of her before, the incessant sound of its torrential drops came back into his focus.

Like the cold.

Its harshness wrapped him into its claws again, as he watched her turn around without a word, her kiss still scorched onto his lips. Always, _always_ she was slipped out of his reach whenever he came closer to her, as if she constantly sought escape. He was tired of chasing after her, of hiding what he felt. He didn't want to do this any longer. Alistair's hand came up to her arm and enclosed it, halting her motion in an instant.

"Stay. Please. Just this once. I – "

Her eyes widened as they locked onto where his hand restrained her, halting his words. Lenya looked so frightened and shaken by his touch all the sudden, almost like a deer in front of a bow. "I...can't."

It pained him deeply to release her from his grasp, to let her go as he had so often before. Yet, he realized that he had no other choice but to do so, her scared expression already burned into his mind and heart as he sank to the ground, cursing himself.

Alistair heard her muddied steps recede into the distance, and knew that she was only retreating into her tent; yet suddenly, he felt worlds apart from her.

.

.

* * *

_**~*Don't walk away, don't walk away, oh, when the world is burning**_  
_** Don't walk away, don't walk away, oh, when the heart is yearning~***_

* * *

.


	69. Given and Denied

_**A/N: **Welcome back and hello in 2012 to the "birthday" chapter of OEaH. Today, two years ago, I started this monster of a story and I can't believe that I'm STILL writing it. O_O Ah well. And __I want to welcome **tklivory** as the new perma beta to my team of insanity. Thanks for all your hard work. _

_._

* * *

_**Take your straight line for a curve  
Make it stretch, the same old line  
Try to find if it was worth what you spent  
Why you're guilty for the way you're feeling now  
It's almost like being free  
And I know soon you will be  
You'll be strong, you'll be rich  
In love and you will carry on  
But no - oh no  
No you won't be mine **_

_Matchbox Twenty – You won't be mine_

* * *

.

**Chapter 65: Given and Denied**

.

The sun was warm, comforting.

Lenya lay in the softness of the grass, smile wide as she let the rays of light and faint breeze caress her skin. Her eyes were closed as she listened to the chirping song of the birds sitting in the trees. In that moment, life was good, even if her forehead still burned from the freshly embedded ink only two days before. She was now considered an adult by her clan, had managed to endure the sacred ritual of the _Vallaslin_ without making a single noise. The years of her hunter training - and the hours she had crouched silently within the high grass, waiting for her prey to appear - had finally paid off. Her ears twitched at the sound of approaching steps threading through the grass, its familiar sound causing her smile to widen. He couldn't surprise her, because, as much as he tried, he never managed to be completely silent. At least not to _her _hearing.

"Mythal, huh?" Even with her eyes closed, she could almost _see _how Tamlen's eyebrow rose in question, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You are full of surprises, Len. I always thought you would choose the goddess Andruil as your patron. It would have been the most obvious choice for you, as good as you are at hunting."

"Maybe that is why I _didn't_ chosen her." Lenya slowly sat up and opened her eyes, only to find her friend in front of her with the _exact_ expression in his face she had pictured in her imagination. She stuck her tongue out to him, mocking him. "Also, the _Vallaslin_ of the Huntress involves a bow, and I suck at archery. I don't need to be reminded of _that_ all my life."

Tamlen shook his head and sighed. "Creators, if only you would summon up the patience to stand still for a moment, then you really _would_ be better with a bow."

"It just...makes no sense to me. In the time it takes to _concentrate_, I could have long sliced its throat open with my blades."

He laughed. "Not if the animal runs away _fast_, Len."

"Well, I have you then, haven't I? Shooting with a bow?" She mirrored his grin. "You are much better with it than I am. Hence I don't see the sense in wasting time on practicing archery. I lack the patience, so it only frustrates me, and I would much rather improve my skill with my blades instead, thank you very much."

Chuckling, Tamlen sat down next to her in the tall grass, its long blades swaying in the soft wind. "But you have no problem with twirling your daggers and repeating the same, monotonous exercise patiently for hours? Right..."

"What can I say?" Lenya shrugged. "_Emma mi'asha_. I love daggers and swords, all the stuff Master Ilen forges. His bows are nice too, just not... my thing. And as long it keeps our clan fed and protected, who should care if I'm not hunting with a bow?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "Or is there somewhere a rule saying that all Dalish are forced to hunt and fight with a bow only? How _boring_."

"And even if there were, _lethallan_, you would break that rule in any case. Because that is another thing you are good at."

"Look who's talking here, 'Mr. I-stealthily-stole-all-the-berries-from-Ashalle'." Lenya threw a little pebble into his direction, but Tamlen ducked under the missile, laughing.

"Hey, it was _your_ idea, remember? You are such a bad influence on me, Len. And you profited from it as well, didn't you?"

The young Dalish rolled her eyes. "After an hour-long lecture from _mamae_ that I'm not five years old anymore, but a grownup Dalish, and should refrain from such nonsense? _Hardly_. She spoiled all the fun, when she had me plucking her new berries for hours. I remember that you weren't with me then, by the way. Too busy _eating_ _berries_, I reckon?"

The smile in his face was impish. "Yes...but I also saved you...err..._some_."

"Geez, how _generous_ of you, _alas'bora_."

"_Abelas_, I promise to save you more next time. Or at least try to. They _were _very tasty, you know."

Despite Tamlen being a few years older than Lenya and bearing his _Vallaslin _for some time now, he had still kept his mischievous and slightly childish humor, a fact which often made the Elder of their clan doubt her decision to lift him into the status of adulthood already. But he was also a very skilled hunter, deathly with the bow and very dedicated to the safety of their clan - if he wasn't too busy creating chaos in the camp with _her_, of course. And Lenya loved him for that. And she loved even more that some things had never changed, despite the mark of the pantheon on their faces and the resulting acceptance as adults within the clan. If she had her way, she would be playing pranks on her clanmates with his help until they were both grey and old.

"You promise to..._try_? Some friend _you_ are."

"The best you can imagine." He stuck his tongue out at her, but then suddenly grew serious. "Although I'm curious. Why Mythal, Lenya? You always spoke of Andruil to me. What caused the sudden change of mind?"

Lenya sighed, long and deep, the good mood escaping her in an instant at the serious topic. "Mythal protects us, whereever we thread with our aravels or wander. No matter how dark the path is, she is always there, guiding us. I thought long about this, to be honest. Of what has happened to me, during my life. I'm not exactly the most patient or most calm person, which often gets me into all kind of trouble. I remember the bear that attacked me, when a twig cracked under my feet due to my impatience. I barely survived that and still have scars of the attack as an eternal reminder. Or the tree I climbed to get you the apple for your birthday? When I fell and hit the ground, my head barely missed the edge of a sharp stone." She paused, plucking a long blade of grass out of the earth and twirling it in her hand. "And if I consider the circumstances of my birth, I'm lucky to even be here. If my mother had been with my father on the day when..._they_ attacked, she would have died with him. And I would have, too. Instead, I was fortunate she wasn't and I survived. So I guess it isn't that far of a stretch for me to honor Mythal for protecting me all these years."

Tamlen tilted his head and looked at her, his blue eyes thoughtful. "No, it isn't indeed. You really did give that a lot more thought than I did, wow. As said before, Len, you are full of surprises." He smiled. "But that's what I like about you." He advanced closer to her, carefully touching the Vallaslin on her forehead. "Does it still hurt?"

Before Lenya could even answer, he'd pressed his lips on hers, robbing her of the ability to breathe. She flailed and hammered with her fists against his chest in a desperate attempt to stop him. But she was unable to, his constant training with the bow granting him lean muscles that made him much stronger than she was. Finally - after what seemed a long, embarrassing, eternity - Tamlen relented to the assault of her fists and backed away. Wide-eyed and shocked, she stared at him, momentarily unable to speak.

"I...what the –?" she finally managed to say after putting a sufficient distance between her childhood friend and herself. "Are you..._insane_? I mean..._ew_. I love you Tamlen, but not like _that_. And..._ew_." She rubbed at her lips to get rid of the cold, dead fish feeling that lingered there. She didn't understand why everyone else her age was so fascinated with kissing. There was nothing great about it, and Tamlen had only proved it to her.

He rubbed the back of his head, flushed and embarrassed. "_Emma ir abelas, lethallan. _It was stupid of me. I just thought... now that we're both adults and know each other so well, we probably should even bond – "

"_Ew_, bonding," Lenya swiftly interrupted him, grimacing. "Nothing against you, _lethallin_, but I have no interest in such things. As you should know as my _best_ _friend_."

Tamlen cleared his throat. "Right. You're right, forget it. That was nothing but..._awkward_." His gaze stayed on her, his eyes suddenly narrowing and his expression warping with wrath. "Yet...you liked it a lot more when that _shemlen_ kissed you, didn't you?"

She blinked, at a loss. "_What_?"

The sky suddenly darkened and clouds enveloped the sun, stealing all daylight and warmth. Lenya shivered at the sharp breeze that gusted around her, the clearing now shrouded with deep shadows. She looked up to Tamlen and started at his shifted appearance. Instead of her beloved childhood friend she was gazing into the face of a twisted, tainted creature, similar to Ruck, only..._darker_.

"Traitor!" 'Tamlen' snarled in feral anger at her, his teeth bared.

"_Lenya...Lenya!" _Someone shook her and called her name, but she couldn't avert her eyes from the creature in front of her.

"You are not even Dalish anymore!" He laughed, its cackling sound cruel. "Yes, look at me, _lethallan_. Even like this, I'm _more Dalish _than _you_, _seth'lin_."

"_Lenya! _Brasca_, woman, wake _up_!"_ The voice finally permeated through her consciousness and she rose with a gasp. "Ah, I was about to kiss you awake, my dear princess. Such a shame you were awake _before _that." Zevran chuckled, but his amusement quickly faded as he saw her haunted expression. "Are you okay?"

Heart beating fast, Lenya needed a moment to discern dream from reality. "Y-yes. Just bad dreams. Just... a _dream_." She exhaled and tried to calm her racing heart and breath. "What, by the Dread Wolf, are you even doing in my tent?"

"Telling you it is time for your night shift, my dear Warden. Alas, it is only that." His lips twisted to an suggestive smile. "Unless you want me to stay for something else?" He grinned at the roll of her eyes that came automatically and without thinking, yet it momentarily took her focus away from the nightmare. Maybe _this_ was exactly what he had intended. "No? Ah, such a pity. I see you tomorrow then, my dear." With a polite bow to her, Zevran vanished as quickly and soundlessly out of her tent as he had appeared.

Still sitting on her bedroll, Lenya blinked repeatedly to clear her eyes from the sleep. Alone once more, the pictures of the memories from her dream flooded her mind, unbidden. She didn't want to think about its meaning and yet her fingers wandered up to touch her lips, her thoughts pensive.

Lenya could clearly remember the day when Tamlen had kissed her, years ago. How awkward and uncomfortable she had felt during these seconds when his lips pressed against hers. Even though she understood the reasoning behind the kiss in hindsight, Tamlen had never been more than a brother to her. He had never tried anything after that, feeling as embarrassed about the incident as she. Lenya had never had any interest in these things, and had always considered _love_ to be foolish, which kept the other males within her clan at a comfortable distance.

Hence Tamlen's incredibly awkward attempt had been the only kiss Lenya had ever received. And considering how _that_ went, she regretted the fact not one bit. She had always thought kissing to be no more than the pressing of one pair of lips against another, a foolish and redundant act in her eyes.

Until that stupid human had come along and utterly played havoc with this well-established concept so firmly embedded in her mind.

Lenya groaned and buried her head into her hands. It was not only that Alistair had _dared_ to kiss her in the first place - or that he was making things even _more_ complicated than they had been before - but also how _much_ that kiss had differed from Tamlen's. For the duration that the kiss lasted, she had been lost to it, had forgotten everything around her. She had _liked_ it, and this was something that confused and scared her deeply.

_Traitor..._

After all, the one that had pressed his lips to hers in such a different and _pleasant_ way than Tamlen was a _human_.

.

.

* * *

.

It didn't take long for her to get dressed and armed for the shift. The necessary steps and motions for it were, by this point, quite well-rehearsed and thus took only a matter of minutes.

As Lenya was about to step outside, Arai heaved his head and stood up to leave with his mistress. She shivered at the chill in the night air and felt drawn to the crackling warmth of the fire-pit in the middle of camp. Without further thought, she followed the trail of light and heat, the stillness of the night oddly comforting. Yet, the feeling of calmness quickly dissipated into nothingness as soon as Lenya noticed the _other _person sitting at the bonfire, bringing her to a halt.

Alistair stared into the flames, lost in thought. He hadn't noticed her arrival yet, but due to the taint it would only be a matter of moments, Lenya knew. She had successfully avoided him for days of travel after..._that_, and had absolutely no desire to face him - not now and preferably not _ever_. A huge part of her was even tempted to ditch her watch to soundlessly retreat into her tent again. Unfortunately there was that big and very noisy Mabari at her side who made a timely escape impossible. Lenya stiffened at the crunching noise Arai's paws made on the pebbled ground, which caused Alistair to look up in her direction.

For a long moment that his gaze remained on her, she dared not breathe, let alone _move_.

"Not running away? " The scoff that followed sounded hurt, almost cold. "_That_ is a surprise." He turned toward the fire again, as if ignoring her, but his now tense posture plainly betrayed his acute awareness of her presence.

As aware as she was of his.

Swallowing, she inwardly braced herself for this unwanted confrontation and had to will her feet forward instead of in the _other_ direction. Each one of her instincts were screaming in alert, wanting her to escape, even though it wasn't a situation of danger. Her heart was beating so fast that she could hear it thrumming in her ears, the breath shaking and frantic. Lenya was no coward - she had in fact faced all kinds of evil and danger as a Warden these past six months - and yet there was still _nothing_ she dreaded more than his face in this moment. She didn't want to think of the kiss, nor of what it meant, of the consequences it implied. He was a human, a _friend_. This was all she knew and it was enough. Everything else beyond that was far too confusing to think about. It was a complication, something Lenya didn't need in a time when she barely knew who she _herself_ was.

_You are not even Dalish anymore..._

She shook her head at the twisted voice of Tamlen in her mind, the memory of it sparking a quiver of discomfort . Arai whined low and tilted his head at her, reminding her that she still had to sit down, there at the fire with him, keeping watch. There were a million places where Lenya would rather be than _here_ right now, but she took the remainder of what little bravado she had left to sit down. Alistair was quiet, silent like the night around them, his mood dark as the black, starless sky above. She could sense his restlessness, the wordless frustration not unlike the one in Ostagar, but then again so very _different_.

He was hacking at the glowing ember within the flames, poking it in an angry rhythm with his sword. Not Duncan's, Lenya recognized, but the one she had gifted him before, after Orzammar. The sound the silverite steel made as it hit the coals seemed unbearably loud in the otherwise tranquil place, making her flinch with each poke. Neither of them spoke, the atmosphere fraught with tension, with silent whispers of disappointment and..._yearning_? Whatever it was, it made Lenya wish that she was _elsewhere_.

Suddenly, Alistair stopped his movements, the real stillness jarring in comparison to the staccato sound of his blade. He looked at her, and she could _feel_ his gaze burning at her, probably full of frustration and hurt. But she had not the courage to meet them and let her eyes linger on the ground instead.

"Maker...you act as if I have – " His words were swallowed by a long sigh. "Could you at least have the decency to look at me when I'm talking to you?" She hated herself for this, for her cowardice, for everything she normally was not. After a moment or two, Lenya finally met his gaze, startled to find the exact expression she had expected to see. Still, besides the confusion and hurt she saw there, there were also warmth and a flicker of yearning. More than anything else, it was that last fragment of the emotion he always wore so openly on his face that made her want to flee.

"We..._kissed_." He let the statement hang in the air for a moment, raw and bare, before speaking again. "And you have been avoiding me ever since." Sucking an exasperated breath in, he stared at her, waiting for – no, _demanding _– an answer. Lenya had rarely seen him like this, his bearing confident and expectant, even if it was merely just for a reply, an explanation of _why_.

She had none. The words eluded her, and had ever since she saw him sitting there at the fire. So she did what she had done so often in the past in situations where she was attacked, especially emotionally: retreating into well-known defiance. Lenya lifted her chin and her gaze shifted to a glare. "Avoiding?" She scoffed for added effect, yet felt her treacherous voice tremble a bit. "Idiot. You must be imaginin – "

"Don't. Just _don't_." Alistair's lifted hand and clear disappointment made her fall silent in an instant. "Don't tell me you weren't, _please_." She shuddered at the tone of the last word, the despairing edge of it cutting through her walls of animosity without any effort. Again his mood had changed, the prior internal anger changed into a frightening vulnerability. Everything in his expression was _pleading_. "Just help me understand _why_..." He was suddenly in front of her, so quick that she jumped with a start, eyes wide. "Why...are you so afraid of me all the sudden?"

Lenya struggled for words, her head empty. All she could do was to stare at him and feel his unwanted proximity. Alistair was a friend, her fellow Warden. So there was no logical reason to react like this. She wriggled in her place, heard how Arai reacted to her discomfort with a growl toward the human up in front.

_Human..._

"We shouldn't have..."

His shoulders slumped, but he was still not backing away. "Maybe not. I..don't know. But all I know is..." Alistair stopped and looked skyward, gasping for air. "Maker, have you _any_ idea what it _meant_ to me?" His gaze caught hers again, unwanted. His eyes were smoldering into hers, its intensity causing her to look away. "What _you_ mean to me?"

Lenya didn't want to hear it, but could surmise his next words even if she was completely inexperienced in... _that_. She couldn't even think the word _'love'._ Everything inside of her was bristling against its sound, its _meaning_. Instead she listened to the creaking of his armor as he brought himself to the same level as her, still avoiding his face. The sudden touch of his bare hand was startling, unnerving with its warmth as he turned her head to him. "Hey...look at me. Please. Maybe I'm just fooling myself, but I've come to care for you. A...great deal." He sighed. "I don't know how to say it, so I'll just – I...I – _love_ you, Lenya, more than anything else." Alistair blinked fast, his face scrunched to a frown. "Maker...I know it is the worst possible time, but despite all the death and tragedy I found myself...falling for you."

There it was, as she had feared. Lenya forgot for a moment how to breath, frozen in place. She gaped at him, unable to do anything else. Alistair was still in front of her, as motionless as she was, waiting for a reaction that didn't come.

"Well...at least you didn't laugh. That is...a start, right?" He attempted a smile, but she could recognize the uncertainty and hurt within the flicker of humor. He had laid his feelings, _everything_ of him, bare to her and she couldn't even answer him.

But what should she reply to something like _that_? Alistair was her fellow Warden, her friend ..._Human_. Lenya didn't want – _couldn't_ want – _that_. Not like this. "You...are a friend and I like you, but not like this. I can't."

"Why?"

Lenya felt her heart wrenching at the despondent sound of the little word, making her dread the end her sentence. But she did, her mouth worked almost automatically. The reason for the rejection was so trivial and then again everything she learned. Everything she was and more so, _yearned_ to be. It could never work, even if she _could_ lo– _No. Never._ "I am a Dalish."

It took a while until its meaning sank in for Alistair. She could see the process of recognition in his expression, the shift from confusion over disbelief to being crestfallen. "Oh...right." Alistair laughed, the sound hollow, his eyes blinking fast. "And I'm _not_. I'm just..._human_. And this is something I can't change. Ever."

"I'm sorry..."

"No, don't be," he said, his tone adapting a hysterical note. "_I_ should be...sorry. It was stupid." He shook his head, eyes still fixed on her. "So very stupid of me to think that you would like me for _who_ I am."

"Alistair...I – "

"No..it is all right. I'm _used_ to it." His voice cracked and he swallowed hard, the smile fake." So can we forget I said anything? I – ...just forget it. You're right, we should concentrate on the Blight. Maybe I–I... should go and check our – ...I'll just go." More stumbling than walking he turned and stormed away into the darkness.

Lenya watched him disappear and sighed deeply. She had brushed the interest of a few males of her clan off before, but instead of feeling relived afterward like in the past, she now felt... bad. _Guilty_ of breaking his heart like she had.

This was probably _why_ she had feared to face him and avoided him in the past days. Not only because she was afraid to do so, but also because she was afraid to hurt him.

Though now the damage seemed irreversible.

.

.

* * *

.

_"Ah, there you are, Alistair. Sit down."_

_The boy hesitated before taking up Eamon's offer, placing himself into the huge, luxurious chair within the Arl's study. He saw the Arl wrinkle his nose, probably at the stench of horse dung that emanated from his yet small form. A smell that wasn't even noticeable to Alistair anymore after working in the stables day after day and even sleeping among the horses. It had became a constant to him after all the years, but he could see how it was bothersome to the finer nose of an Arl._

_Alistair wasn't sure _why_ Eamon had requested his presence, especially after weeks of...ignoring him completely. The urgency of the summons had come as a complete surprise to the boy, giving him no time to change his working clothes or to clean up before the meeting. The expensive furniture and red velvet carpet were stained with mud from his boots and trousers, but the boy was too agitated to really pay heed to it. He only hoped that he didn't make a mistake, that the stableman hadn't complained about him._

_Cautiously, the boy lifted his head, looking at Eamon. "Is something wrong, ser?"_

_The Arl smiled at him and started to pace up and down. "No not at all. You have been a good boy and therefore I want you to introduce to someone." He nodded to the servant waiting at the door, who turned and opened it at Eamon's gesture. An older woman entered, her dark hair streaked with grey, the mild expression of her face lined with wrinkles. Her movements were dignified and she wore a fine, deep orange robe that Alistair recognized as something a person of the Chantry would wear. It only confused him more, because _why_ would someone from the chantry want to see him? He felt her gaze resting on him. The steel blue of her eyes conveyed a disdainful but also curious note while observing his form. Alistair shifted in the chair, feeling more and more uncomfortable with every moment._

_"This is Sister Rabella, from the Chantry near Denerim." Eamon introduced her and the woman nodded politely toward the Arl. "I wanted you to meet her."_

_Alistair's gaze moved first to her and then to his foster father, confused. "Why?"_

_"Because you deserve...education. To learn how to read nad write, maybe even become a Templar."_

_"He seems to be a fine lad – if a bit dirty and skinny – but I'm sure he can be learn much within our Order." Alistair felt pinned by her stare, almost as if she were estimating the value of a prized Mabari._

_He shuddered at the thought. "I'm quite satisfied with how things are now, ser. I love working in the stable."_

_Eamon's gaze hardened as he looked at the boy, something Alistair couldn't withstand for long. He lowered his eyes, looked at his muddied boots. The Arl's voice adopted the same adamant note. "I fear there isn't much choice in this matter for you, Alistair. You can't stay here any longer. My wife...she is expecting and – "_

_"So you're sending me away?" Anger flared in his system and he found himself standing all the sudden, The blood pumped hot through his veins and he spoke before he could stop himself. "Because of _that_ shrew?"_

_Alistair saw Eamon instantly stepping closer and instinctively flinched, awaiting a punishment that didn't come. The Arl was trembling with indignation and the restraint of not slapping Alistair in front of his honored guest. "Watch your tongue, boy! You are speaking about the Arlessa and I won't tolerate your tone!"_

_Alistair sneered as he raised his chin to meet the Arl's eyes in defiance, a slight feeling of triumph washing over him. "Why? She's stupid enough to believe that I'm your bastard, after all." Right after finishing his sentence, Eamon's hand came around hard and fast, hitting him square across the face. The impact of it made Alistair reel backward, sending the amulet around his neck flying on the floor._

_"You are going to leave this afternoon with Sister Rabella, with no talking back!" Eamon was screaming now, heedless of the other person in the room. He took a deep breath and calmed his tone and bearing, before continuing, "It is best for all of us. Now leave and pack your things!"_

You are not welcome here any longer,_ Alistair's mind added for the Arl as rage and despair settled in his stomach with a burn. Had he ever been welcome here in the first place? Was he ever wanted? Even if he was just a simple commoner and not worth much, this place – Redcliffe – was all he'd ever known. It was his home, and now Eamon wanted to send him away from it, from _everything_. Alistair didn't want to leave and would rather stay, but no one had asked him what he wanted, and never had. He always had to comply to wishes of others, because he was just a commoner, a nobody. Maybe it was even better to go, so that he wouldn't be a _bother to _Eamon any longer._

_Alistair felt tears welling in his eyes as he picked his mother's amulet up from the ground. A sudden anger flooded him and he clawed it with his hands until it started to hurt. Pain was good, a distraction hindering him from crying. He wouldn't do that, wouldn't show Eamon how he felt. It was not as if the Arl was interested in him anyway, or in how he felt. The boy glanced at the simple jewelry in his hand and observed the holy symbol of Andraste on its pendant._

_It reminded him of the Chantry._

_The place where he would have to live from now on. Captured, without choice. It was as if even his most precious belonging was mocking him and telling him what to do. His gaze turned into a hard glare and he hurled the amulet with a scream against the nearest wall. It burst into myriads of pieces, but Alistair didn't care. Trembling with seething ire, the boy started to laugh, its tone cold and detached._

_If they wanted him to go, he would, but that would be the _last_ thing he'd ever do for them. Alistair turned and stormed out of Eamon's study into the direction of the stable, the anger slowly subsiding for disappointed defiance._

Screw them. Screw them all.

_He didn't need _anyone.

.

.

* * *

.

Rejection.

Alistair knew its cold, dread feeling by heart, grew up with it. The pain of its grasp was a dull ache and constant ally. He should be used to it. It shouldn't hurt anymore by now.

But it did. _Tenfold_.

It seared through his innards like a blade through his flesh, the pain so keen it was hard to breathe. He stumbled forward in the dark, no direction in mind other than _away_. Away from a dream that had been foolish from the start. He should have known better than to fall for it...to fall for _her. _Because who would ever love someone like _him_, a bumbling, awkward virgin? There was nothing he could offer her. No riches, no home, not even the clever flirtatious words and gestures that Zevran was so adept in.

He was just Alistair.

A human, a bastard and a Warden. All of that was not enough to make someone accept him, it never was. Especially not her. But maybe it was _better_ this way, maybe she would find someone else, someone who was not human and..._useless_. The thought wrapped itself like steel around his heart and started to clench it until a whimper escaped his lips. It was echoed with another, more canine whine, a sound that instantly stopped his blind walk into the night. Alistair turned to its source and gazed into the deep brown eyes of Lenya's Mabari.

Of all things.

Alistair shook his head, the agony inside of him changing into a hysterical laughter. It was downright _ironic_ that Arai – who didn't like him at all – was the one who had followed him. He glared down at the dog. "What do you want, mutt? You've won. You can...keep your precious Lenya." One erratic hand drove through his hair, and with a sigh he let himself sink down to the ground. The earth was still damp from the heavy rain only a few days ago... from the time when he'd kissed her. In that moment, he had felt _whole_. But all that was left from it now was the all-too familiar pain of rejection and loss. The other hand followed his first and he buried his head into them, causing Arai to whine once more.

"I'm not good enough for her." Alistair swallowed the sniffle down, looked up to the starlit sky, blinking fast. "I'm not good enough for _anyone_. Not her, not Eamon, not my father." Arai approached closer to him, appeared strangely calm and...understanding as he cocked his head. Alistair looked at the hound and laughed, the tone desperate. "Maker, I haven't even told her about _that_...about my heritage. I guess I was too afraid to, tooafraid that she wouldn't accept me if she knew. But it turned out that she won't accept me in the first place, so it doesn't really matter anymore, does it? It is not important..._I'm_ not important. To anyone. So go on, gloat all you like, Arai, I don't care. You and your stupid jealousy have won. She...won't be mine. _Ever_." The last word he only whispered in despair, the realization hitting him _hard_. A wave of emotion washed over him as the remembrance of every time rejected, every time unwanted swept through him. Too strong to suppress it any longer, he buried his face in his hands again and sobbed. Arai whined as he lay his paw on Alistair's leg, a momentary truce in their dispute concerning Lenya.

It was not the end of Thedas. He would carry on, like he always did.

But right now, in this very moment it _felt_ like it.


	70. Interlude III: NoRedemption

_**A/N: **A shorter chapter this time, which was actually part of the last one. But due to length and other issues, it got cut from there. So here it is now as its own chapter, or better said interlude, dealing with Lenya's feelings seen from Zevran's POV. Yay for moar Zevran.  
_

_Thanks once more to the wonderful tklivory for the beta. Go and read her stories (after that one, of course :D)_

_._

* * *

_**No escaping though you're running, you cannot find home  
Drowning in your desperation  
Conviction seems to follow accusations alone  
No place here for an easy redemption**_

– _Poets of the Fall – 15 Min Flame__**  
**_

* * *

.

**Interlude III: (No) Redemption**

.

Zevran was enjoying himself.

During the past two weeks of travel towards the Brecillian Forest, he had had a wonderful time of jokes, mild flirtations and stories with their lovely leader. And he had _also _managed to steal one or more kisses from the still very reluctant bard. Life was good, when one had been spared from certain death. Life was even better since _he_ was the one who had been spared. For the first time since his ambush on the Wardens, Zevran was glad to have not died on that day. Although he suspected that _one_ Warden of their group, at least, still seemed to regret that occasion of mercy.

He sighed as he noticed Alistair's all-too-obvious _glaring_ directed at him, returning the animosity with a smirk and a wave back. The human stormed away, back to the others as they continued the hunt for their dinner.

"You shouldn't mock him so much." He turned his head to the voice, just in time to see Leliana lower herself to the ground. They had stopped for the night within a large clearing after finally reaching the forest. Everyone had their assigned tasks in order to prepare the camp, but Zevran allowed himself an idle minute.

The elf grinned. "Ah, you said 'so _much_.' So I'm allowed at least a bit of fun, no?"

Leliana rolled her eyes, but he recognized the devious little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was surprising how fond he had become of seeing it there, as it meant that she was willing to join his game. "Maybe. Just don't overdo it. Alistair seems to be very grumpy the past few days and nothing seems to able to lighten his mood."

"Hmm..." He nodded, almost thoughtful. "But I must say you are wrong, my dear. I know of _something_ that could lift our grumpy templar's mood. Sadly that _something_ is not present now, hence the sulking and glaring. Or is it _her_ presence which is causing the bad temper?" Zevran shook his head, _tsking_. "They are very moody, our Wardens, no? So confusing how quickly it seems to change between them, but a topic worthy of study, I am sure."

Leliana arched an eyebrow, her tone kept light. "Oh I'm sure you would love to study _her_ a lot closer than you are allowed to, hm?"

"Ah, do I hear a note of jealousy there? I'm shocked and very offended that you accuse me of such treachery towards _you_, my dear." Zevran took her hand and pressed a simple kiss on it, reveling in her squirming discomfort. "My intentions toward you have been nothing if not honest. Ah, and while we are discussing honesty... admit it, my lovely bard, would you not, given the _opportunity_?"

"What?"

He leisurely played with the fingers of her hand before Leliana yanked her arm away with a frown. "I meant our Wardens. They are both such very attractive personalities, bodies hardened from battle, possessed of a quick wit. ...Well, in our leader's case, at least. You must accede that they are a pleasure to the eye, and that it would be quite tempting to spoil their innocence, no? Tainted and yet pure. How delightful, don't you agree?"

"The _bard _would, but I'm not that person anymore, Zev, " Leliana said with a sigh." Within the Chantry I found my peace, a new occupation."

"Ah, yes. I remember you saying that." His eyes twinkled triumphantly as he reclaimed her hand and caressed every last inch of it with light brushes and featherlight fingertips. "So what is it, exactly, that the sisters of the Chantry do for amusement?"

For a moment, she seemed transfixed by his movements and unable to speak, as his hand wandered over her arm with the same playful caresses. He heard her swallowing, the fluttering of her eyelids causing him to smirk. "I was not there for idle pursuits and pleasure. I was there to contemplate my relationship to the Maker. We had many ways to pass the time. Work, for instance. And prayer."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, not stopping his movements. "And that's it? Sounds bloody boring. I thought there was...more to it. Because we had sisters in Antiva too, naturally. And seeing that the Chantry makes the most of the Antivan wine, I thought...they drank it? "

Her laugh was amused, crystal clear like the purling of the stream not far from here. "I very much doubt it, Zev."

"_Tsk_, and there goes one childhood dream. To think I once longed to be a Brother." His hand had wandered farther up and was now residing at her shoulder, drawing little massaging circles.

"And yet I'm still _bard _enough to recognize this so very _obvious _trick of yours." Much to his dismay she took his hand away from her shoulder and smiled deviously. "Lulling another into docility through subtle touches, no?" Leliana let his hand fall, but not without letting it brush ever so coincidentally against her bosom. "I should help Wynne with the laundry now." And as if she had never sat so near him in the first place, Leliana stood and strode gracefully away, hips swaying. Zevran looked after her, a grin plastered on his face as he acknowledged that he had found a worthy opponent.

.

.

* * *

.

"Still haven't prepared the fire pit, I see."

The elf jumped at the sudden voice and whirled around to see Lenya standing nearby. Despite the dry blanket of leaves, twigs and pine-needles within the forest, she still had made no sound as she advanced. Her arms were full of firewood, so he swiftly rose to his feet to help her. Instead of accepting his help, however, she let the wood fall to the ground with a loud clatter. Arai woofed in approval and playfully danced around his mistress. The Dalish glared at the elf. "So youprefer to sleep in the cold, dark forest with no hot meal? It may be _your _preference, Zev, but it isn't _mine_."

"Ah, I'm sorry, my lovely Warden. I assure you I was about to – "

"Make out with that human?" Lenya interrupted him with a roll of her eyes.

He grinned. "Unfortunately, no."

Zevran turned to pick up the shovel and started to dig a sufficient hole for the campfire. Together in amicable silence, they arranged the various wood within it in such a manner as to ensure that it would burn long enough for the watch. Then they placed the rest of the wood not far from first fire pit, to cook their meal later.

Leliana was right, he had spent a lot of time in Lenya's presence the past weeks, so much so that it became natural to him to be with her. There had been other times, though. Zevran could clearly remember how... _difficult_ their start had been. Lenya had been so wrapped in her ways and culture that she never saw beyond the 'flat ear' label she had given him. He grinned to himself. _Okay,_ if he was honest, the fact that he had tried to kill her probably hadn't exactly given their relationship the best of beginnings, either. But within time this had changed, _she_ had changed and Zevran didn't even know if Lenya was _aware_ of it. He only knew that even though he felt attracted to her, it was of a different _sort_ of attraction, strangely enough. While Lenya was without doubt a beautiful woman, there was nothing sexual about her appeal for him. He just wanted to protect her, to keep harm and sorrow away from her. It was something that quite confused him, because he had never before felt at such ease with a woman for whom he had no desire.

"Stop staring at me, idiot."

Zevran quickly ducked under the tiny log that flew into his direction and laughed. "Ah, but you must excuse, my eyes simply can't avert from such beauty such as yourself."

Lenya sighed heavy. "And here I thought we had this nonsense already behind us."

He couldn't help teasing her. "But I just speak the truth, my dear. Just look at y–"

"Save _that_ for your lovely human. I'm sure she _loves_ to hear such useless flattery."

Zevran detected the biting tone behind her words, something _different _from jealousy. This was no case of envy, but rather something else, and he was curious to find out _what_ it was. "So you still hold a grudge against the fair bard for insulting your culture? _Weeks_ ago? Or is it because my attention is fixated so assiduously upon her person? Ah, you must excuse me, my dear, but her fine bosom can be quite distracting."

Lenya snorted. "This isn't about you. Thedas doesn't turn itself around you, idiot. It is just..." She stopped and rubbed her temples, seemingly distressed. "I don't know. I just don't understand her appeal."

He grinned. "As I said, her bosom – "

"Yes, I get _that_. With you being male and all that stuff. But I don't understand why you want – ...never mind. Forget I said anything. It was stupid."

The one thing he enjoyed the most about spending time with Lenya was that he always needed additional time to understand what she was meant. Her intent or choice of words wasn't as obvious as it was when talking with the others. While it could be exhausting at times, it was also challenging, not boring. "Aah. Because she is a human, do you mean?" She gazed at him, baffled that he once more he had successfully deciphered the meaning behind her words. He smiled to himself.

_And so damn rewarding._

"I... yes." She lowered her head almost sheepishly, a gesture that was so unlike her.

Zevran didn't answer for a moment. Concentrated on keeping the glowing ember alive, he carefully blew on it to awaken the spark within. With Morrigan gone for the hunt and Wynne doing laundry, they had to resort to more _conventional_ methods to light a fire. Setting a few dry straws to the ember and watching with satisfaction as the tinder was consumed, he looked up to her again. "Ah, so this is a Dalish thing then, I suppose. Elven to you I maybe, yet I still don't feel the need to restrict the worth of a person based on their race. Leliana and I appear very different at the first glance, to be sure, but there is much we share after all."

"And that would be?"

"A past. Leisurely fun. Distraction. Take your pick, my dear Warden." Zevran shrugged and added a few thicker twigs to the flickering flame to nurture it. He could see the confusion on her face, his answer seemingly too much to grasp. True, she had changed much in the past few months, yet in _some_ things her world was just as narrow as it was in the beginning. Alas.

"I see. Well, but to _love_ a hum –"

"Love?" He nearly coughed at the word. "Who said anything of _loving_ her? My dear, I was born of a whore and raised an assassin. All I know is the giving of both pleasure and death. What room is there in these things for love?" It was just an assumption, but maybe this wasn't about him and Leliana at all, but _someone_ _else_. With Lenya it was always hard to say and he saw now _why_ the other Warden had struggled so long to understand her. Zevran decided to play along, his curiosity sparked like the flames before him. " But even if it were the case, why is that thought so unbearable for you? You are not jealous, or...?" He let it trail off, suggestively. "Ah, I am flattered."

"_Ew_. No. I have no interest in you whatsoever."

"And I repeat: I'm flattered."

Lenya smiled for the first time since she arrived here. The way her face lit up made it almost worth it to have his pride so humiliated by her. "_Abelas_. You have become a good friend, which is much more than I would have expected."

"Ah, so you are still so unforgiving toward me, just because I tried to kill you _once_? I'm shocked, Lenya."

"No." The smile widened. "If I _really_ would be unforgiving, you would be a mush of blood and innards by now."

"Point taken." He chuckled. "So I should be grateful that you spared – " The loud thump of a dead deer thrown at their feet stopped his words. Zevran looked up to see the other Warden standing there; sweating, bloodied and... _glaring_.

"Oh sorry, didn't want to disrupt your little fire pit party." Alistair's tone was icy and yet there was a layer of hurt palpable in every single one of his words."But you'd better start skinning the animal, lest we all starve tonight."

Lenya visibly stiffened, yet was she the one of the two who attempted to hide what she felt. She nodded, obviously struggling just to meet his gaze. If Zevran didn't know any better, he would have sworn that _guilt_ was oozing from every pore, no matter that she tried to conceal. "Y-you can stay and help u–"

"_No_. You are better off without me. As I can see." Already Alistair had turned and left without another word, stalking to the other side of the clearing. That wasn't the most remarkable fact for Zevran, however: most _remarkable_ was the manner and length of time Lenya looked after her fellow Warden. He had suspected as much, but he never had the certainty. Until today.

"You have rejected him."

"What?"

"_Tsk_, our dear Alistair isn't the most subtle fellow, as you may know." _Or not. "_His demeanor is one of a man in love. Unhappily so, as well."

Lenya didn't answer, but also didn't meet his eyes, a lack which spoke volumes to him. Complicated as she might be, she couldn't deny that he was right with his assumption. The sound of Lenya cracking twigs in two before throwing it into the fire seemed to be incredibly loud in the lingering stillness of the forest.

"You regret it, no?"

As she leveled his gaze with his again, it had grown hard, as if protecting what lay underneath. "Why is this so terribly interesting to you? This is _none_ of your business."

Zevran had learned that she always reacted like that when she felt cornered, defiant and biting like a wounded animal. "Ah, you must excuse my curiosity, but if things were as they _were_, you wouldn't be sitting here with me, but with _him_. It would be a _terrible _loss on my part, to be sure. Just don't think I didn't notice how your fellow Warden throws daggers with his eyes into my direction, when I talk to you - which has been frequently in the past weeks. Delightful in and of themselves as these conversations with you have been, you wouldn't avoid our dear Alistair as you do were everything _okay_. And you must excuse my keen eyes, but it is also evident that you didn't seem to be terribly happy to cross his path just now."

His words caused Lenya to jolt up from her place, her bearing angry. "As I said, it is none of your business!"

"Ah, understood. So I had better reduce myself to the things I'm good at, no?" With these words he got up, unsheathed the knife at his belt and started to skin the deer. Several silent moments passed in which he concentrated on his task, the still warm blood of the animal covering his arms while he eviscerated it.

Eventually he heard a sigh behind him and Lenya kneeled down next to him. "Let me help you." She whispered words in a language he didn't know, while her knife was working more deftly and quicker on the animal than his had been able to. And that was saying a lot.

It was often so easy to forget _where_ this sturdy elf came from, _who_ she had been before becoming a Warden. Her foreign words and able hands reminded him that she must have done this frequently before as a Dalish hunter. Despite her quick work with the knife, her movements also appeared to be dignified and respectful towards the prey she was skinning. Lenya didn't speak after her words, apparently absorbed in her task and fluent handholds, remembering what she once was. Or yearned to be again, perhaps.

Zevran noticed that he had stopped helping her and only watched the movements of her hands instead. How she carefully tore and cleaned every part of the prey, as if she never wanted to stop doing it. "Do you miss your old life?"

The question came too suddenly for Lenya, causing her to start and cut into her finger. She winced at the pain and turned to wrap her finger in a spare cloth that lay on the ground for her blade. She subsequently frowned at him and the blood pooling on her finger. The cut was only superficial, so after cleaning it with the cloth, she sucked at her finger to keep it from bleeding. The unconscious motion and coppery taste only seemed to deepen the frown already residing there. After a moment, she withdrew it from her mouth and observed the little wound. She appeared downright transfixed by the few deep-red drops running down her hand. "It is...tainted."

Zevran couldn't follow her. "What?"

"My blood. It had been this way since Tamlen and I found that mirror in the elven ruin." There it was again, the desperate expression that always found its way into her face when she was talking about her childhood friend. Zevran could sympathize, knowing all too well the bitter taste of loss and mistakes. "But it was the Joining which sealed the deal. Since that day I share the same blood with _them_. And I will until I die." A disdainful scoff rumbled up her throat. "Sooner or later, but death is certain."

"Ah, is it not always?" He tried to joke, but soon refrained from smiling as she didn't react. Instead he grew serious himself. "You mean, since you drank...darkspawn blood?"

"Yes." Lenya nodded and wrapped her finger into the cloth again. "There was not much choice, though. It was either that or...turning into something like... _Hespith._ A ghoul, gone mad by the taint._" _She draw a shuddering breath in. "I _would_ have, normally, but there was Duncan, and he took me to Ostagar to make me a Warden."

"Ah, but it is a good thing, no? It saved you." Considering her pained expression in her face, he wasn't so sure about it, however.

"Oh sure, it _saved_ me, " she replied, her tone acid. "Except for the fact that the Joining only added even _more_ taint to my blood, of course." Lenya started to pace up and down, the dry leaves crackling under her feet. She stopped and leaned onto the thick trunk of an oak, looking up into the darkening sky. "I...my father, he was the keeper of my clan once, before...before – "

He sat down before the fire again and prepared the meat to cook. "Before _what_, my dear?"

She gave him a pointed look. "Before humans _killed_ him. Bandits. Scum. _Len'alas lath'din._" The foreign words rolled like a poisonous curse from her tongue, causing him to shudder. Once more he was glad for not being on the other side of her blade; well, not any _more_. Yet, her words made him comprehend _why_ she was so bigoted toward humans, at least in part.

"I am sorry."

"He died before I was born, so I never knew him." Lenya seemed to shake the feeling of hatred off, her eyes straying to the sky again. "But that isn't what I wanted to say. All keepers are direct descendant of the old elves of Arlathan, pure-blooded. And I, as the daughter of a keeper, am too. _Normally_. But through the taint, I... – She faltered with a sigh, observing the now scabbed wound on her finger. "I'm not even sure if I'm Dalish anymore..."

"And I am the direct descendant of a _whore_." Zevran shrugged, yet remained serious. "Does it really matter? Does it really determine _who_ you are?"

Lenya looked at him, the desperate expression within her eyes and the whispered tone startling him. "But I don't know _who_ I am..." She blinked fast, averting her eyes from him again to close them with a sigh. "I don't know if there is something left for me aside from killing darkspawn. I live on borrowed time. I _should_ have perished back then, like Tamlen did, but I survived. For what? To fight the Blight, yes. I said I would and I _will_, because it is my duty as a Warden."

Zevran silently stood up, feeling the need to come closer to her, now that her pain seemed to be ever growing.

"_Duty_...how I _hate_ that word, how I hate that _this_ has become my only reason to fight now. Tamlen is gone, my clan is gone and even being in the forest where I grew up brings me no peace. I cannot go back to my old life, even should I wish it." Lenya stifled a whimper, swallowed hard before she looked at him with eyes full of tear. "But I _want_ to, Zev. I _yearn_ to be something – _someone – _beyond the taint and death. So pardon me if I keep holding on to the ways I once learned. In a life where I–" Her ears twitched, the distant noise making her stop her words. She wiped the single tear away from her cheek and wordlessly stormed away, deeper into the coppice.

Leliana appeared only a moment later, but all he could do was to stare after Lenya's disappearing frame. "I wanted to see how long it will be until dinner is ready." He heard her hesitate, a worried tone appearing in her voice as he still didn't turn around to her. "Is... something wrong, Zev?"

He shook himself and finally turned, smiling as best he could. "No, no, do not worry, my dear. I just thought that it might be a good idea if we find the Dalish quickly."

"Why?"

Zevran shrugged and tried to appear casual, in spite of the heavy feeling inside. "I have simply the feeling that it is _needed_."

.

.


	71. Worlds Apart

_**A/N: **Mild warning for *cough* sexual innuendos – and language. Though nothing M-worthy, I'm sure. However, up to the Dalish we go. Begin of a loooong story arc. Have fun. _

_Thanks once more to all who are reading, faving and commenting my never-ending story. You all rock. Especially tklivory who once more sacrified her time to beta this chapter. Thanks.  
_

* * *

_**If loving her is a heartache for me  
And if holding her means that I have to bleed  
Then I am the martyr and love is to blame  
She is the healing and I am the pain  
She lives in a daydream where I don't belong  
She is the sunlight and the sun is gone **_

– _Trading Yesterday – She is the sunlight_

* * *

_._

**Chapter 66: Worlds Apart**

.

It was frustrating to wander about in an endless forest for days without finding anything.

It seemed to Alistair that there was nothing here but trees and _more_ trees, or cold traces that only led deeper into a thick web of entwined moss, leaves and wood. Rays of sunlight dappled through the dense cluster of trees, painting the shadowed soil with bright patches of daylight. The air was almost humid in the coppice, spiced with the smell of damp earth and pine-needles. The cones and twigs cracked under his weight as he moved forward, assuming the rear position of the group. After a few weeks Alistair was used to walking at the rear instead in the front with Lenya.

Used to keeping his distance.

And yet it was frustrating how all that failed to make the feelings go _away_. He still caught himself watching her, from a distance. How she moved ever so light-footed and silently over the otherwise noisy blanket of leaves and twigs. How she stopped every now and then to bow down and observe a footprint and traces within the earth, her face scrunched in concentration.

Lenya was a creature of the forest, fitting in so perfectly here that she seemed to melt into its scenery. Graceful and dignified, she moved within its realms as if she had never been away from it. As if she had finally arrived back..._home_. Unlike him, Lenya wasn't bothered by its uneven ground. She did not stumble over roots or struggle to hold the balance with the added weight of armor and arms.

Alistair, however, _hated_ the forest.

Even though he preferred the depth of the coppice with its fresh air and smell to the stale and dark Deep Roads, he would rather be _somewhere_ else. Because sometimes the canopy was so dense that he could barely see the hand in front of his eyes, making him stumble about even _more_. The constant noises of the wood – the cracking of a twig, the rustling of squirrels and other animals through the chaparral – made him nervous, twitchy. His training as a warrior registered those sounds as the harbinger of battle, of looming enemies. Here within the forest, those seemingly dangerous noises were just a normal concomitant of the life residing here. Especially in the night, the ever shifting, never still area made it hard to sleep. And then when he finally found peace amidst all the chaos of nature, it was _she_ who came to him. To his thoughts and being, washing over him with an overpowering feeling of want and the sweet yet painful ache of _yearning_.

It was easier to drown it out during the day, the dull task of endless wandering enough to numb his thoughts and heart. Then her presence was just a shadow leading in the distance, her voice nothing but a whisper swallowed by the noises of the forest. But in the night it was ..._different_. In the small hours where everything was still but the woods around them, he saw her, felt her, _tasted_ her. Lenya was ever-present in his thoughts and fantasies, no matter how much he wished for it to _stop_. He was reliving the kiss in every moment within the dark, the only time he'd come close to her.

Alistair could still vividly feel the warm softness of her lips and the swell of her breasts pressed against him, scorching him with the heat of her body. Revel in how her fingers threaded through his hair while the heavy rain drummed down around them, forgotten. Hear the soft sighs and feel the quavering of her lips and body as he tasted her skin and drank in her scent.

In his dreams it didn't end at the kiss, however. The pictures there took him _further_.

Enveloped in the darkness in his tent he had loved her many times in his imagination and thoughts, the dreams vibrant and lucid. He both loved and hated these fantasies, they way his mind and heart seemed to clutch at the memory of the kiss. It was downright pathetic that he was unable to accept that she didn't love him. Even more pathetic was how he always awoke from these dreams with his heart and groins aching...and yet still wanting _more_. His treacherous hand would slip under the blanket to relieve at least the physical ache, but _this_ only gave room for his mind to delve deeper into these guilty, sinful pictures and hypocrisy.

Maybe he was just going mad, her rejection being simply one too many. It wouldn't surprise him, though. All his life he had been told that he was unwanted and worthless until he took it for an unshakable truth. And the only person that had ever accepted him unconditionally was _dead_, burned on a pyre in Ostagar. It was bound to have an effect someday, and he wondered that it had taken so _long_. Alistair sighed at the thought and watched how, up front, Lenya was walking in unison with Zevran. Both light-footed, both skilled rogues and dual-wielding fighters, both..._elven_.

_What a fucking perfect picture._

Alistair shook himself and sighed once more. He hated himself for this pointless jealousy, but most of all he hated that he simply couldn't _stop_ loving her. He wanted to - badly, even - but _couldn't_. Not when she still claimed every corner, every bit of his mind and thoughts ...and not only in the night.

The truth was that he was a fool. A pathetic, love-sick idiot wrapped up in the one moment where his world was _whole_.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Due to his distance from the others, Alistair didn't see the fall, only heard the _noise_. The rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs was so unbelievably _loud _as her body hit the ground.

Then it was Leliana who screamed in horror. "Wynne! Oh Maker, _no!_"

And he started to run. He liked Wynne, and couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her. She had talked a lot to him in the past weeks, had been a solace for his raw, hurt heart. Wynne reminded him of the mother or grandmother he had never had, but always _wanted_. Her words were warm like hot chocolate, comforting like blankets in cold nights.

Lenya had arrived at the side of the elder mage before he did...with Zevran at her side. _Of_ _course. _She knelt down next to the human before he could, frantically shaking Wynne's unconscious form, mien desperate. "Wake up! _Elgar'nan, _this is not the time or place to sleep." In spite of being afraid to touch her, Alistair was about to pull Lenya back, to give Wynne some room to breathe. He didn't understand the unnecessary urgency or roughness behind her actions.

"Lenya, stop – " But then it was Wynne herself who halted his words and motions.

"Ow. Watch it, child." The mage coughed, waking up again. "These old bones are not brittle, but you still shouldn't shake me like that. I'm awake now, as you can see."

"Thank the Maker..." Alistair breathed, almost in unison with Leliana while the others made a defensive circle around the elderly mage. Lenya's presence so close was irritating, _distracting_, but he forced himself to focus solely on Wynne. "What..happened? Are you all right?"

"I...fell." Alistair held out a gloved hand to Wynne to help her up, but the mage brushed it aside and leaned on her staff to get up on her own.

"Now that is an _astute_ observation" came from Morrigan in the distance, her arms crossed.

"But...yes, I'm okay. A bit shaken, perhaps, though that has nothing to do with our little lady here." The '_little lady_', however, was far too nervous for his liking, constantly scanning the area with her eyes, hands on her weapons. Alistair knew the change in her body language by heart and reached for his sword and shield without question. Arai's hackles were raised, and he growled fiercely toward the shadows of the forest, which urged the others to follow Alistair's example.

"We should move on." Lenya was practically shoving the still unstable mage forward, urging her to walk. "Quickly." She only made it a few more steps before she cursed quietly in her tongue, stopping abruptly. "We...are surrounded."

"The Dalish?" Leliana asked, all too hopeful.

"I think I would know if it were my peo – " Something huge, something _dangerous_ sprang at her from the shadows before she could even end her sentence. It bowled her over with a bestial growl, burying her under what looked like a tangled, furious mass of claws, teeth and fur.

"Lenya!" Alistair was barely aware of the panic in his voice or his agitated speed as he moved towards her and the animal-like monster. Everything faded to a blur _but_ the need to save her. He felt how Morrigan's magic went through him, causing his templar senses to tingle in alarm. Her spell targeted the huge wolf and threw it back, even before it could sink a claw into their Dalish leader. Fortunately.

Arai didn't give it a chance to rise again, tearing its throat out while it still lay on the ground. But the huge beast came not alone: a whole..._pack_ of the them was attacking now, to bring an end to what their packmate had started. Chaos erupted as arrows whizzed through the air that came not from Leliana's bow. There were pinpointed strikes in the neck and hearts of the beasts, which eased the difficulty of battle many times over. Due to the unexpected, invisible help, the fight was quickly over; the beasts were no match to the combined strength and skills of the companions. Soon, the sound of battle had subsided into the natural noise of the forest again.

Alistair was worried about Lenya and Wynne, as he had lost sight of them and the group since he followed one of the unnatural animals into the coppice and killed it. He was about to run back to them when a harsh female voice and the sound of bowstrings being stretched behind his back stopped him dead.

"Weapon down, _shemlen_. On the ground. _Now_!"

Well, it seemed he_ had_ found the Dalish, at least. And they were every bit as unfriendly as he had expected them to be. Due to his experience with Lenya in the beginning of their journey, he knew well enough that the Dalish were a people who lacked a certain... _patience_. Especially for a _human_ intruder to their borders like he was. So he did as he was told and disarmed himself, his movements slow and arms raised to show he was causing no harm.

"Thanks for the help, by the way. Umm – " Alistair looked pleadingly in the direction where he had seen the group the last time. This would be a _perfect_ moment for Lenya to enter the scene and calm the situation and the _slightly_ aggressive Dalish at his back. He could fight dragons, darkspawn and oversized beasts without even a blink, but Dalish women always had the tendency to reduce him to a frightened, stuttering pile of a man.

"We were not helping you, _shemlen_." The female Dalish was nearly spitting the word out, as if it would burn her mouth were it to linger longer. "Just defending our borders from these beasts."

"That..._umm_, is good, really. Because, funny thing, I... – err –_we– _were actually searching for one of your clans. And here you are, a member of the elusive Dalish. Aiming your bow at my back, but _here_ nonetheless."

"We? Who is '_we_'?" He could feel the shift in her mood, from bad to..._worse_. Great. "Talk, _shem'alas_!"

"That would be me, I guess." Lenya appeared from behind the trees, her whole form covered with blood, the blades still in her hands.

_Sweet holy Maker, thank you!_

Despite the past few weeks of avoidance, he had never been more grateful to see her than in _this_ moment.

She stepped forward and he watched in wonder how Lenya's bearing swiftly changed from wary to relaxed. Her movements had something... dignified in spite of the gore. "_Hamin! Aneth ara, emma elvhen falon. Shemlen tu din'harel ar dirth vhenan'sulevin. Bel'vunin uth shiral adahlen tu vhen'alas ar Elvhen."_

"_Ma dar Elvhen?" _The disbelief and bewilderment in the woman's voice was accompanied by the rustling of bows lowered, the strings no longer taut. Alistair knew he could finally turn around now without getting an arrow into his face, but he was transfixed, downright _fascinated_ by Lenya. _Damn_ his _treacherous_ eyes and heart that skipped a beat as he saw the cocky little crook of a grin on her lips.

He really was a hopeless fool.

Lenya wiped the blood from her forehead, revealing her...tattoo that had been hidden underneath the gore, and nodded. Alistair noticed shadows approaching through the coppice, yet this time it was not an ambush, nor anything hostile. Their companions had simply caught up with them.

"There you are, Lenya," Morrigan said, her tone relieved but bearing more than a hint of exhaustion. The witch leaned on her staff for support, though not without glower in the direction of the Dalish group. "And you found your people. 'Twas about time. I weary of wandering about in this forest."

"...Lenya? It is..._you_? _Asha'an_ _Vhen Sabrae_? ..._Mahariel?_" The Dalish behind him nearly stuttered, utterly surprised and..._excited_ all the sudden. Even if he couldn't understand the words, it was obvious that she seemed to know Lenya. _"Emma Mithra. Ar melava Arlathvhen. Mana'melava, suledin."_

Alistair turned just in time to see Lenya's face light up in mirth and recognition. "Mithra? _Dar'ir nehn_." She dropped her blades to the ground and ran toward the young blond elf to embrace her. That wasn't the most weird thing, however. Lenya actually danced and squealed in unison with the prior so regal Dalish, their excited chatter in elvish an unintelligibly string of syllables. Alistair blinked, his mouth open in complete astonishment. _Who_ was this woman and what had she done with his fellow Warden? Lenya glared, rolled her eyes and maybe even smiled, but she certainly did not _squeal_. Or dance in joy, for that matter.

Zevran stepped forward with a sigh and directed his words to Mithra. "Ah, not to interrupt your warm reunion, my lovely forest lady. Yet I would be very grateful if one of you could explain to me _why_ we were attacked by such gruesome beasts?"

The Dalish abruptly changed her expression from a smile to a glare as she looked at the elf. "I'm not talking to you,_ flat-ear._ You are not of my people."

"Ah, the _famous_ hospitality of the Dalish. Marvelous." Instead of being offended, Zevran appeared amused. He glanced in Lenya's direction and dramatically rolled his eyes. "Suddenly I'm no longer surprised about your behavior back then, my dear."

"I hate to break this short, but Zevran is right," Lenya said, her bearing sobering in an instant. "What, by Elvhenan, _were _those animals? I have seen many things in my time as a Grey Warden: Darkspawn, abominations, blighted animals, even a _dragon_, but never such as..." She kicked the bloodied, huge corpse on the ground "...this."

Mithra switched to the common tongue, as well. Compared to Lenya, her voice was laced with an heavy accent. "A Grey Warden, _you?_"

She sighed. "Yes, it is a long story and this is not the time or place to tell it."

"_Abelas, lethallan_." She nodded respectfully toward Lenya. "I was just surprised to see one of the _elvhen_ travel with _shemlen_. Freely. ...You, of all people."

Another sigh. "Yeah, I guess the joke's on me, huh? But as I've said, we've traveled for days through the depth of the forest to find _Vhen'an elvhen._ I'm not here as the daughter of the Sabrae clan, but as a Grey Warden. I need to speak with your Keeper."

_"Ma nuvenin."_ Mithra eyed her companions distrustfully." Are these _all_ Grey Wardens?"

"No." Lenya shook her head and for the first time in weeks looked directly at him. Alistair felt his heart flutter in his chest, the intensity of her gaze – as short as it was – caught him by surprise. "The human you threatened is, however."

_Human. _The cool way she said that word shattered all illusions the look of her eyes had briefly conjured. The pull of reality was hard and bitter. _Not good enough. Never would be. _He took a deep breath that came out as a quiet sigh. Maybe it was supposed to be this way, maybe it was _better_. Walking through the forest and seeing her with Mithra only showed him that she _belonged_ here, to the Dalish. It was her world, her _home_, in spite of being a Warden.

And he had no place in it.

"Oh?" Mithra seemed amused by the answer. "So I'd have nearly shot a Grey Warden? Curious. What about the others, _lethallan_? Why are they traveling with you?"

"Because we _want_ to." Zevran made an elegant bow toward the Dalish group of scouts. "The Wardens are on an important mission to stop the Blight and I have pledged myself to aid their noble cause. And not only I, I reckon."

"Not me." Shale piped up, dryly. "I'm just here to purge the world from the evil vermin of the sky and to crush heads. "The golem chuckled. "_Squiiiish_..."

"Oh and _you_ have certainly not tried to kill the Wardens first, elf." Morrigan snorted in her usual sarcastic fashion, glaring at Zevran. "How _noble_ to forget about that little detail."

"Heh, you got any Dalish wine in your fancy camp, _other_ Missy? I bet it's good. Gonna need that to forget about all the sodding trees around here." Oghren let out a long belch, which caused Lenya to grimace and groan in disgust. "Bah, sensitive today, aren't ya, Missy?"

"Would you all shut up?" After a second, Lenya reluctantly added, "_Please_? You are _not_ making this any easier." She turned to Mithra again. "As I said – or not – these are my...-_our_- companions aiding us on our mission; they are as important as we Wardens are. Without them we would have failed long ago, even if their competence doesn't exactly shine through at the moment. I vouch for their loyalty toward me and...Alistair."

"Very well, I will trust your words, _lethallan_. Those beasts you have fought, you will learn about their origin soon enough." Mithra's gaze swept over each of them, scrutinizing them anew. "Just one question and I expect _answers_. Were any among you hurt, bitten or scratched while fighting against them? I can't let you into our camp if this is the case." Alistair looked around and saw all them shaking their heads, though he noticed that Leliana was behaving..._differently_, as if she were nervous. During the whole conversation with Mithra she had stood in the background next to Wynne, as if protecting her. Her bow was slung over her shoulder, but her hands were covered by her cloak, the hood drawn deep over her face.

It was possibly nothing; after all, they were all exhausted after the days of long wandering. Alistair shrugged the feeling off and followed Lenya and the group of hunters into the Dalish camp.

Into _her_ world.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya felt her heart rate accelerate in her chest at the prospect of seeing _her_ people again.

This was what she had wanted, _longed_ for, ever since the moment she had been forced to leave her own clan for the new life of a Warden. She kept saying to herself that she couldn't return to her old life, but in reality there was nothing she yearned for more. A place to belong, an identity besides killing darkspawn, besides the taint in her blood. Something to fill the void inside of her.

_Elvhen. Daughter of the Sabrae clan. Mahariel._

These were names and title Lenya hadn't heard _anyone _say for a very long time. Mithra called her that and nearly completely omitted the fact of her being a Warden. Hearing the name of her father – the name of _herself_ – before everyone reduced her to '_Grey Warden_' was soothing to her soul, a balm for her doubts of no longer being Dalish. It was odd that they were finding the Alvaran Clan, a well-known sister clan of all things, but for Lenya it was a _fortune_.

Lenya took a deep breath and inhaled the long-missed spiced scent of pine-needles, smoked wood, tanned leather and fresh soil. She looked around and saw _aravels_ lined up everywhere around the campsite, heard the whispered words of elvish as they entered and the bleating of hallas in their pen. All these sensations were noises, smells and sights she had missed dearly and made her aware of how long she had been away from it.

_Too_ long.

Mithra was leading them straight through the camp to an aravel in the middle. An older bald man stood in front of it talking vividly to a younger woman, dressed in a robe like himself. His face was withered and lined with years, yet somehow recognizable to Lenya. She had seen him before, when she was younger. Possibly at the last _Arlathvhen_, the meeting of all clans eight or nine summer ago. As soon as he noticed the approaching of so many people he fell silent, eyes narrowing. Everything in his posture seconded the fact that he didn't approve of them being here within their camp, amidst his people. His reaction didn't surprise her, bloodied and filthy from the fight as they were.

"_Abelas_, I wish not to disturb," Mithra nodded sagely, pointing at the Dalish Warden. "But this is Lenya Mahariel, from one of our sister clans to the north, Keeper. She claims to have come on behalf of the Grey Wardens."

"I...see." He scrutinized the bloodied forms of the group before him and turned to Mithra again. "What happened?"

"Alas, there was an incident at the western borders, Keeper, but we ensured that it is safe again. "Those..._people_ helped." Lenya didn't miss the disdainful tone in her voice at the word and surmised that the Keeper didn't either. He kept his expression neutral as he nodded to the Dalish scout. "_Ma serannas,_ Mithra, you may return to your post."

"_Ma nuvenin_, keeper." With a bow and a glance toward Lenya, the Dalish turned and disappeared together with the others into the forest again. Lenya knew Mithra from the last _Arlathvhen_, a terribly long time ago. They were both just children back then - the last time they had seen each other - too young to understand the meaning of the meeting of the clans. They had taken the opportunity to roam the borders of the woods, otherwise forbidden for _da'len_ their age. For weeks Lenya, Tamlen, Mithra and Fenarel were inseparable in everything they did. She still had fond memories of the time, could remember exactly how her childish giggle had echoed through the edges of the wood, when they had all run with the wind.

_Happy..._

What an alien emotion this had become for her of late.

"Nethras' little daughter." The keeper's voice snapped her attention back into the harsh reality. "Who would have thought that _you_ would become a Grey Warden?"

It sounded far too amused for Lenya's liking. Crossing her arms, she looked up to him, the old defiance toward authorities renewed. "Well, life is full of surprises, it seems. So... you knew my father, Keeper-?"

"Zathrian is my name in case you don't remember, since you were still a _da'len_ at the last _Arlathvhen_." Like Marethari, he wasn't impressed by her blatant antics. "I'm simply surprised to see one of our own in the ranks of a Grey Warden. The Creators' will has taken some unexpected turns it seems. And yes, I knew and still know a lot of your clan members, especially your father. A fine man he was. It is a tragedy what happened to –"

"Yes, but..." Lenya stiffened, was suddenly so very _aware_ of all the people behind her. She didn't want them _all_ to know about her past. It was too _personal_. "I'm not here in the name of my clan. I'm here as a Grey Warden."

"I see." Zathrian looked past her, toward the crowd of her companions and eyed them critically. Are these _all_ Grey Wardens?"

"I'm a _golem_." Shale piped up from behind. "Obviously."

Sten let out a displeased grunt. "Do we need to discuss this now with _every_ elf we meet? Tiresome."

"I...am a Grey Warden," Alistair eventually said, inclining his head in a polite fashion. "We are glad to have finally found your camp, but you must forgive our companions. We all are exhausted after the countless days of marching through these realms."

"Manners? From a _shemlen_? ...Interesting." The Keeper sounded surprised and intrigued alike by Alistair's behavior. "What might be your mission here? Have you come to spread news of the Blight? If so, it is not needed. I had already sensed its corruption." Before Alistair had the chance to answer, Zathrian brushed him off. "Whatever it is you seek, you won't find it here. There is _nothing_ I can offer. We have our own issues to deal with, as you have seen. But these are not the concern of the Grey Wardens or any other outsider."

Lenya frowned, taken aback by the sudden hostility toward her group. "Any _other _outsider? _Emma din'elvhen, _keeper?" She took a step forward, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she glanced up at him. "And yes, _we_ are here because of the Blight, because _we _are the ones fighting against it. How could you turn us back at your entrance without even listening to us?" After a brief pause to take a deep breath, she added, "Without listening to _me_? One of your own kind?"

The Keeper's mood shifted, his tone increasing in irritation and volume. "I have let you into our camp, in spite of our problems. _All_ of you. But I don't have the capacity, nor the ability to help you on your mission. I'm aware of the treaties, such as they are."

"Ah, perhaps we should rest first, no?" Zevran intervened, glancing back at Wynne. "As it has been said, we are _terribly_ tired. Maybe we can arrange something later, no?"

Zathrian spared the elf one disdainful glance before his eyes rested on Lenya again, then nodded. "_Ma nuvenin, _but as I said there isn't much we can spare in these hard times. Nevertheless you are right: I can't send one of our own back, even if I don't appreciate your tone."

Lenya shrugged, hard pressed to suppress a smirk. "We have our own equipment, so all we need is a place to camp within these protected borders so that we can have a few hours of rest without worry of attack. Again."

"I see. There is a wide area close by protected by trees and with a lake where you and your...people can clean up. "Zathrian turned and waved the young woman to whom he had earlier been speaking closer.

She promptly appeared and bowed respectfully. "You called, Keeper?" His voice lowered to low-pitched elvish notes, muted so that even Lenya had trouble understanding what they were discussing. Once they were done, the Keeper vanished without further discussion into his aravel, leaving the Dalish woman alone with them. She had an open, friendly face, the long, chestnut-brown hair braided into an elegant bun. Lenya found herself smiling back at her, yet could still feel the power radiating from her being. She was a mage, one that had been taught in the old ways.

"_Andaran atish'an, lethallan. _I'm Lanaya, Zathrian's First." Her movements were fluent, dignified, the voice calm and polite. "I have been instructed to show you the place where you can set up camp."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "And the keeper couldn't do _that_ himself?"

Zevran grinned in her direction. "You seem to have a slight problem with authorities, my dear. Ah, how very _likeable_."

Lanaya ignored Zevran's comment. "_Abelas._ You visit our clan at an unfortunate time, _lethallan_. We have many sorrows to bear. Considering your appearance and that of your group, you have already made the acquaintance of the beasts, I take it?"

"Hairy beasts that are not the dog or the drunken dwarf?" Shale snorted. "Yes, we have crushed their heads. I don't understand why it is so hard for the painted elves to do the same." The golem looked up, past Lanaya and toward the main camp." After all, is there a whole colony of painted elves here. Like _ants_."

Lenya threw a glare at Shale over her shoulder for that most unfitting and _rude_ comparison, but the golem only shrugged, unimpressed. "And It must feel at home again. How _lovely_ for the Painted Grey Warden."

"A..._curious_ group of followers you have here, that is certain," Lanaya said and couldn't stop staring at the golem. "You must have experienced many adventures so far, _lethallan_. How exciting." She led them to a wide glade surrounded by high-towering trees, not far from the main camp. The light of the sun above broke through its treetops and dotted the mixed ground of dried leaves and grass with bright patches. From afar, Lenya could hear the distinctive sound of a stream flowing and halted a moment to take the peaceful scenery in. Then, a little voice in the back of her head reminded her that her fellow Dalish was still expecting an answer.

"I wouldn't call it..._adventures_, exactly. Nor is it _exciting _to kill darkspawn. Just a necessity that comes with the job, I guess."

"Why did you leave your clan, then?"

"I can assure you that I didn't have much _choice_ in _that_ matter." Lenya's voice adapted a scornful, bitter note that was not lost on Lanaya.

"I see._ Emma ir abelas tu'ven na Vhen, _Mahariel_. Emma din'sulevin ven na'vir." _Lenya felt her eyes resting on her, her gaze irritatingly compassionate. "But you will feel yourself welcomed here, _falon elvhen,_ even if there isn't much we can offer. You will find Master Varathon at the left side of camp, should you need weapons or other supplies. However, once you have rested up, you and your fellow Grey Warden should visit our Keeper, so that he may explain the situation to you in detail."

Lenya heard the well known, hectic bustling of preparing camp behind her, yet she fixed her attention solely on the Dalish mage. "_Ma nuvenin._ I... – _we_– will be ready."

"I will come and pick you up in the evening." Lanaya glanced over Lenya's shoulder toward Alistair. "_Both_ of you. Feel free to explore our camp, _lethallan_. I would love to hear some stories from the world outside my clan." She nodded politely and left in the direction of the main camp.

Lenya turned toward her companions with the intent to help them with their preparations, though something inside of her bristled against the notion now that she was in a _Dalish_ camp. It felt _wrong_ to erect her tent here as usual, but _why_ that bothered her, she couldn't even say. Maybe the reason was that this place felt entirely secluded from the camp of the Dalish. She was _here_ and yet so distant to her fellow _elvhen_, to all she _longed_ for.

_Emma atish'an..._

"Something wrong?" Lenya didn't register Zevran's questioning voice, or how her backpack hit the soft soil of grass with a thump. As if drawn by a whispered promise of belonging, she threaded over the invisible border that separated her _group_ from her _people_.

And didn't look back.

.

.

* * *

.

**Elvish notes ( a lot):**

"_Hamin! Aneth ara, emma elvhen falon. Shemlen tu din'harel ar dirth vhenan'sulevin. Bel'vunin uth shiral adahlen tu vhen'alas ar elvhen." - _Enough! I greet you, my fellow Dalish. The human is no threat and speaks the truth. We have traveled long and far through the woods to find a clan of the People.

_Asha'an_ _Vhen Sabrae_? ..._Mahariel?_" _"Emma Mithra. Ar melava Arlathvhen. Mana'melava, suledin." - _Daughter of the Sabrae clan? Mahariel? It is me, Mithra. From the last gathering. A long time ago, that is for sure_._

_"Mithra? Dar'ir nehn."- _Mithra? That is a pleasant surprise.

_Vhen'an elvhen -_ Dalish clan

_Emma ir abelas tu'ven na Vhen, _Mahariel_. Emma din'sulevin ven na'vir. -_ I'm very sorry you had to leave your clan, Mahariel. I'm not sure if I could take your path.

_Emma atish'an_ - My place of peace

.

**.**


	72. Misery Loves Company

_**A/N: ** Special thanks once more to tklivory for the beta. You rock *hug* _

* * *

_**I die each time you look away  
My heart, my life will never be the same  
This love will take my everything  
One breath, one touch will be the end of me **_

_~ Trading Yesterday – Love song requiem_

* * *

.

**Chapter 67: Misery loves Company**

.

The atmosphere within camp was different from what Lenya knew from her own clan.

Pensive, somehow.

Yet she enjoyed to walk among them, the _elvhen_, her people. Even the confused glances from them due to her still blood-soaked form didn't bother her much. Lenya came to halt in front of a stone figure that represented Andruil, the goddess of the hunt. It was withered, its stone cracked and overgrown with moss in some places, but to Lenya it was _beautiful_. Inhaling deeply, she lowered her head and closed her eyes, her hand cool as she touched the stone. The words that flooded her mind came almost automatically, long buried in her consciousness, yet never forgotten.

_Hear me, sons and daughters of the People-  
I am Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares,  
Lady of the Hunt: Andruil.  
Remember the Ways of the Hunter  
And I shall be with you._

"Y-you might want to clean up, _lethallan_." Lenya jumped at the sudden, shy voice behind her and turned to see a young girl next to her. She was not yet fifteen summers, her forehead still without _Vallaslin_. The teen shifted awkwardly in place, growing more nervous under Lenya's scrutiny with each moment. "_Emma ir abelas_. I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"Don't." Lenya said, noticing the large cloth in her hands. "_Ma din'ven._"

The red-headed girl instantly stopped her movements and turned around again. "_Ma nuvenin_. _Aneth ara, emma Gheyna_." She smiled shyly and switched to the common tongue again. "It is a grand thing that you have chosen to become a Grey Warden."

Lenya had to suppress an exasperated sigh. Even among her own kind she couldn't escape her tainted blood, was _still_ constantly reminded of it. It was almost seemed as if it were branded on her forehead along with her _Vallaslin_.

Gheyna's eyebrows furrowed in consternation when no response seemed forthcoming. "D-did I say something wrong?"

"_Nae. Din'abelas._ It is just...being a Grey Warden wasn't exactly by _choice_."

"I see." The girl's face brightened again as she held out the cloth to Lenya, who took it to wipe her face clean, at the very least. It had to suffice, since she lacked the patience and time for a thorough bath. "Still," Gheyna continued, "you have fought many of what must have been terrible battles. I wish I were as brave as you."

She frowned at the girl. "What makes you think you could not fight just as well?"

"Me? A warrior?" Gheyna blanched at the very idea of it. "Oh no, I am but a humble daughter with no more ambition than to be a humble wife."

_Oh, great..._

Lenya blinked fast to work past the urge to roll her eyes and cover up her shock at the implication of the girl's statement. "Wait, does that mean you _never_ learned to fight?"

"I-I never needed to." Gheyna fumbled with her hands, her mien insecure. "And I will, of course, always have a man to protect me, once I'm properly bonded. I might not be a warrior, but we Dalish women have the important duty to preserve the _elvhen_, as you should know."

_Ugh..._

She represented everything Lenya had never seen with the women in her clan...but instantly hated. It made her wonder if the Keeper of this clan didn't allow the women to be more than just mere birth machines for a new generation of _elvhen_. Then again, there were Mithra and Lanaya, so it seemed to be a personal trait and a symptom of this young lady's non-existent ambition. "Whatever. Can you tell me more about...Zathrian? I mean, even I have heard of stories of his legendary age, but how has this been accomplished?"

"I don't know. He has been our keeper since long before my parent's parents were born," the girl answered, slightly confused by the swift change of topic. "It is said that Zathrian may be one of the first to become as our ancestors were long ago: immortal."

"Why _him_?" Lenya frowned, not satisfied with this answer. "What makes him so _special_?"

"Maybe he has been blessed by the Creators; I'm not sure. Why are you so interested in our keeper, anyway?"

She shrugged. It was obvious that the girl didn't know more, so Lenya left it at that. "For no particular reason. It is just he...differs vastly from the keeper of my clan and I'm curious." It wasn't even a lie. While Marethari had been stern, she had always had a calm and warmhearted side. In comparison, Zathrian appeared to be very authoritative, regal and somehow _cold_. Lenya couldn't put the finger on it what it was that bothered her, but for a keeper he was very...distant.

"You could always ask Lanaya, though, who is his First," Gheyna offered, smiling. "No one knows more about him than perhaps Zathrian himself."

"_Ma nuvenin. Emma ir na'serannas._" Lenya handed her the now filthy cloth back, glad about the quick opportunity to clean up.

"Oh, it was nothing. I simply saw you standing here and thought that maybe you could use a refreshment after what must have been a long travel. I'm glad that the Creators have guided you to us, _lethallan_. Maybe you can help us in the time of need."

It seemed once again it was expected of her to fix everything, a notion of which Lenya had quickly grown weary. All the same, she forced herself to smile at the girl, not wanting to make her more nervous than she was already. "I will do my best for my people."

Again, this was no lie. While Lenya _was _tired of setting askew things right again, it was...different when it were her people requesting help. More...personal. _Important_.

Shaking her head to free her thoughts momentarily, Lenya turned and took the path down, away from the main camp. Already the strong stench of stale hay and animal dung burned in her nostrils, but for once she liked and even _sought_ it.

.

.

* * *

.

The water of the lake was cool, a balm for her heated, filthy skin.

Together with Wynne and Morrigan, Leliana took the rare opportunity of a thorough bath, while the men continued to prepare the camp. She dipped her head under the surface to wash her hair, yet it did little to make the warmth of her skin dissipate. Leliana did not give it much thought, blaming her exhaustion on the fight, choosing instead to surrender to the calming sound of the stream that ran into the lake.

Without thinking, she glanced at the swollen marks on the back of her hand and frowned. It was barely a scratch, after all.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Leliana snapped out of her reverie, quickly lowering her wounded hand to disappear under the water again. "I..._what_? I should rather ask _you_ that."

Wynne scrutinized her like only a mage schooled and experienced in the art of healing was capable of. "Oh, I'm good. This old weed grows tall and tough, don't worry." She chuckled, but it was short-lived, shifting back to the prior, sterner expression. "Show me that hand of yours."

"W-why?"

Her hesitation was accompanied by a groan and a splatter of water close by, as Morrigan moved out to dry herself with a cloth. Apparently fed up by the company she didn't appreciate or would not seek in other circumstances, the witch was swift in dressing herself in her ragged robe again. The question of how Morrigan managed to stay warm in such a dress flickered through Leliana's mind, but was quickly drowned out by Wynne's still demanding stare.

"Just do it, child."

She mentally counted to three, feeling caught, the guilt bubbling inside just like that one time with Marjolaine in Orlais. Leliana shook her head to free it from this unwanted thought as she raised her arm toward Wynne. The mage took her hand and scowled at the inflammation around the deep mark in the back of her hand. She could feel its heat: even the cold of the water didn't seem able to cool it down much.

"This needs treatment. Why haven't you said anything?" Wynne _tsked_, approaching closer to her in the water. "Did you want to wait until it had festered and your hand fell off?"

Leliana tried to protest, but it was meek at best. "I – you were more important, back then. I couldn't let the beast get close to you. ...And it is just a scratch, nothing more."

"I'm touched that you are concerned for these old bones of mine, my dear, but that was very reckless. You should have told me earlier. Even if it is a superficial wound, to not tend it is dangerous. It can cause an infection, especially a biting wound."

"They wouldn't have let us in..." Leliana watched the scintillating blue light that came out of Wynne's palm and dissipated into her own. Normally this kind of magic always brought instant alleviation of the pain, but this time it only made her feel..._hotter_, light-headed. It was suddenly hard to stay awake, the need to sleep overwhelming. Leliana fought against the dizziness that lay itself like a cobweb over her consciousness, not wishing to give in to the nonsensical, dangerous urge. They were still in the water, after all.

"Wynne...must... – " Blackness swarmed her vision as Leliana dimly realized that she had lost the fight.

.

~V~

.

As Morrigan's golden gaze burned into his back with all of its hateful ire, Zevran realized that she _knew._ Deep inside he wondered just how many seconds he would have before she would set him on fire for peeking. It wasn't fair. Why would there be a lake so close by to their camp if taking a look was _not_ allowed?

"Assassin!"

At the tone of her voice, he knew it was time to start _running_, without turning around. Maybe he could find shelter in one of those funny Dalish wago –

A familiar voice interrupted his trail of thought. "Help!"

It sounded like... _Wynne_? Zevran didn't take the time to weigh the options or answer his own question. That little word was enough to make him run in the _other _direction instead, the threat of Morrigan long forgotten.

Alistair arrived before him at the lake, and the situation was obviously dire. Leliana had fallen unconscious and it was all Wynne could do was to keep her head above the water so that she wouldn't drown.

"I'm not strong enough to get her out of here," the older mage said anxiously.

Alistair flailed in all the plate and metal he was clad in, tucking helplessly at its parts. Even before the templar had time to shed one piece of the armor, Zevran ran into the water and waded to her limp body as fast he could. Always careful to keep her head over the surface, he eventually managed to get Leliana back to the lake's bank. The templar was awaiting them already, his bearing anxious, nearly _panicking. _He threw Leliana's bathing cloth over her naked body, refusing to look until she was wrapped tightly in it.

"W-we should get her to the camp fire, so she can warm up."

Zevran didn't answer, checking her pulse and breathing first. Everything was normal _but_ the temperature of her skin. Even with all the time spent in the freezing water, she was still so unnaturally _hot_. Suppressing a shiver, Zevran looked up at the Warden. "That isn't needed."

"What? Are you _insane_, assassin?" Alistair tried to shove him out of the way, but he didn't back away. "She must be co– " The moment where Alistair's hand touched Leliana's forehead, he fell silent, except for one single name. "Wynne!"

The mage emerged only moments later from the water. Sten had the decency to hand Wynne her robe, even if he did it with an annoyed grunt. "I'm afraid my magic only made it..._worse_."

"What?" Alistair's head snapped to her, now that she was dressed. "How is that _possible_?"

I...don't understand it myself, but I know that she got..._bitten_ by these beasts." Wynne pointed at the wounded hand. "She told me that before she collapsed."

Zevran blinked, refusing to hear any more of it.

_No..._

This wasn't a playful game anymore. No light flirtations stretched over weeks or occasional touches. This was something that shouldn't happen, not _anymore_. Startled by the flash of memories, he heaved her head carefully up and lay it into his lap, momentarily uncaring for the meaning, the _weight_ of this action.

Zevran glared up to the templar who still stood beside him, in all his useless glory. "Get Lenya, get the keeper, get _someone_. Just _go_."

And watched how Alistair ran.

.

.

* * *

.

_Halla_. Guides of the Dalish, noble and intelligent creatures.

They were a gift from Ghilan'nain herself – the beloved of Andruil and Mother of the Halla. She was turned into a _halla_ herself. The _first_ one.

_They were not domesticated animals one could _possess_, whatever humans thought._

Standing amidst the herd, Lenya drove a hand through its silver fur and smiled. Despite her long absence, despite the taint cursing the blood in her veins, these sentient creatures still accepted her as one of the _elvhen_. It was a remarkable, meaningful fact to her and simultaneously so very appeasing. Her fingers threaded through the silken texture once more, stroking the halla who had listened to her calming words. Lenya had always liked the halla. Like drawing or reading, spending time with the animals gave her peace, a much-needed calmness when everything else was simply too much to handle for a while.

"_Ma serannas, lethallan._" Lenya looked up and saw how Elora smiled at her. "You have done my clan a great boon today. I will always be grateful for your help." Elora was an elder woman with a quiet, warm personality who cared deeply for the well-being of the halla. Lenya thought that the clan couldn't have been blessed with a better master herder than she.

_Except for Maren, of course_. A pang of wistfulness washed over her at the sudden thought, her heart constricting in her chest. Unwanted thoughts like this made her aware that even if she was amidst the Dalish again, it wasn't _her_ clan. She shook herself and the memories off and mirrored the smile. "_Na'nehn. _It was the least I could do."

Lenya felt the shift of taint even before the halla grew restless, her blood responding to him without her will. Yet it was the startled squeal of Elora that made her turn her head. She saw her crouching on the ground, hands covering her head, trembling in fear. "Nae! T-templar! How did the _shemlen_ find us? Help us, _lethallan_!"

"I'm not... " Alistair sighed, before discovering Lenya and forgetting about that trail of thought. "Lenya... "

The Dalish silenced him with a glare before turning to the frightened woman again. _"Elora, shemlen din'harel. Alas'bora dar emma falon dorfen."_

Elora slowly relaxed at her words and stood up again, still watching Alistair's every movement. "_Ma nuvenin_. I see."

"You've got nerve." Lenya's eyes narrowed, her tone sharp. "Wandering about in templar armor in the camp. You should be glad that it appears as if many have already seen you in my company or you would have been shot down long ago."

"W-what?" Everything in Alistair's face gave away that he was completely at a loss. "Why?"

"Nithius." While she lowered her voice, her scowl deepened. "_This_ is the clan he had been with for years. I remember now, because he mentioned Zathrian. The clan where the templars..." She couldn't finish her sentence, the imagery too cruel.

He blinked, but finally seemed to grasp its meaning."Oh. _Oh_. Well, that would explain why nobody would talk–"

"What is the commotion all about?" Zathrian suddenly appeared behind the two Wardens, amidst a group of hunters. "I was told a tem – " His eyes fell onto Alistair, scowling as he recognized the armor. "_Shemlen_, I do not have the time or patience for your cruel jokes. Next time you decide to wander about in _that_ kind of armor, you'll be shot down, Grey Warden or not." Zathrian glowered at the human scornfully before he and his group turned around. Lenya heard the hunters whisper hateful words of threats and insults into Alistair's direction that burned with its utter injustice.

_What do _they _know about him?_

"W-wait." Alistair called after them, surprisingly causing the keeper to halt his steps. "I've been trying to find you, or my fellow Warden. That's why... I've been asking around. Unfortunately I had no time to change into more _appropriate_ attire." She felt the shift in his posture beside her, frustration and anger oozing from his form. "Not while a friend of mine is in mortal danger."

"What?" Now it was Lenya who was at a loss. "What happened?"

"Leliana...she...I think she got bitten by one of those beasts. She's unconscious and her fever is constantly rising. Wynne...she is unable to heal her. She needs help. If nobody helps her... she will–"

One of the hunters rushed forward, a young, muscular man seething with rage. "First you dare to wear _that_ armor and then you even bring the sickness into our _camp_, _shem'alas? _How dare you request the help of our keeper for your _shemlen_ now!"

"_Hamin!" _Lenya stepped in between Dalish hunter and human and glared at the elf, her voice a warning tone. _"Ma tu din'alas'bora. Ashin dar emma falon dorfen, din'shem'alas!"_

"_Ma tu sa'shemlen ashin thar vhen?" _The blond hunter shook his head, his face twisted to a contemptuous mask as the words rolled like a poisoned curse from his tongue. _"Madar tu elvhen suledin revas'din numin._ _Ma'din elvhen'asha, seth'lin!"_

Lenya was shaking with the effort not to hit the boy across the face, his hateful words sharp and wounding like knifes plunged into her. What did he know about her life? How _dare_ he, one of her _own_ people, insult her like _this?_ But before she was able to react, it was the keeper who interjected, loud enough to bring the hunter to his senses. "Enough, Surin! I can talk for myself." Zathrian spared the young man a disapproving look as he stepped forward. "Return to your post. Tell me, Mahariel, did you truly bring a sick _shemlen_ into my camp?"

"I had no idea that she had been bitten." Lenya scoffed at the sheer ridiculousness of the accusation, her pent up frustration bursting out. "And in any event, I have no idea at all _why_ it is such a big deal to you. I mean, sure, being wounded by an animal is always bad, but you behave as if it is the end of Thedas!" She stopped for air, only to continue directly. "I'm – _we_ – are here to help you with whatever problem you have, after all. It is a matter of course that I would help the Alvaran Clan if I possess the capability, but we are getting nowhere if all you do is speak cryptically. Or insult my fellow Warden just because he is trying to get _help_." She quivered in indignation, her eyes still fixed on Zathrian. Keeper or not, she was _demanding_ an answer from him and would not leave until she had one.

There was a long pause and it seemed as if Zathrian were weighing his options. Eventually he sighed and rubbed his temples in exasperation. "Very well. I see the truth in your words, although it comes with unneeded frustration. You must understand that I need to protect my people, no matter from _whom_. It is my task and purpose as the keeper of this clan. But maybe I should have told you about the curse from the start if your friend is really sick."

"She isn't my friend." Lenya crossed her arms, still glowering. "She is annoying, with her views on elves, and her endless babbling about her god and shoes, as if _this_ is the most important thing in Thedas. I _don't_ like her, in fact, but she is one of my group and is helping to fight the Blight. So if your magic can help to sustain her until we have another solution, then I..._beg_ you to help her, keeper."

Already the mage was moving forward, hastening to the companions' camp. "_Ma nuvenin._ We should lose no time then."

All during the exchange, Alistair had been a silent observer, albeit one from which a quiet anger had radiated. Now, though, the irritation subsided into a grateful smile and gentle words as he looked at her. "Thank you."

It was the first nice gesture from him in weeks, the first since she had... rejected him. It surprised her how _much_ those two little words meant to her. Like a balm they laid themselves over her frustration, easing and dispensing with her doubts. She wasn't less elven because she defended a human in front of _and_ against her people, not if they were so cruel and unfair towards him. Lenya blinked, suddenly aware that she was gaping at him, and quickly lowered her gaze.

"It is nothing," she said with a shrug and accelerated her steps to follow the keeper.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya kept her distance as the keeper bent over Leliana to work his magic.

Even if she was unconscious at the time, the scene was all too close to comfort for her. She must have looked similar back then, the fevered face red and dripping with sweat, too delirious and sick to remain conscious.

Lenya didn't even like Leliana that much, yet she had to avert her eyes as the human writhed and screamed in agony. Powerful as the old magic was, the healing was often painful. As reckless as she had been as a child and ...beyond, she had experienced _that_ more times than she wanted.

Arai whined and crouched closer to hide his muzzle in her lap. She patted his head, her words calming. "Don't worry, boy. Everything will be okay." The Mabari looked up to her and huffed, a sound as if he wouldn't believe her words. But that was okay, _she _didn't believe them _either_.

Ever since they had set a foot in the Brecilian Forest, Lenya had been looking forward to seeing her people again. During the last few hours, she had mostly enjoyed being among the _elvhen _again, to see the halla and stand before the statues of the Pantheon. But now the excitement was draining away, the brittle fragment of peace once again shattered by more misery and pain.

"It is done." Lenya jerked her head up at the keeper's words. Had Marethari said the same, after healing – or, more accurately, _sustaining _– her from the taint? Had Duncan watched as she writhed in pain, hoping she would survive so he could rip her away from everything she knew?

She shook the dark thoughts off and approached, slipping into the unwanted role of a leader. "_Ma serannas._ Still, I think you owe us an explanation for what is happening here."

"This is not the best place for it, Mahariel." Zathrian pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Creators, you are as persistent and stubborn as your father."

She shrugged, unimpressed. "Good for me, I guess. Still not the answer I want."

"I have sustained your..._friend _and lowered her fever with my magic." The keeper leaned his weight on his staff, looking weary and so very old all of a sudden. "But I can't cure her. No one can."

"What? Are you saying she will..." Alistair stared at the keeper and swallowed, couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence. "No!"

"It is...possible, I fear. Or _worse_."

Lenya felt a chill creeping down her spine at the hauntingly familiar words. If fate had a sense of humor, it was of a cruel, twisted sort. Unwanted, it seemed, she was reliving the circumstances that had led to her reluctant recruiting into the Grey Wardens, though now the sickness was not the taint, but something different: some kind of unknown curse which was without a doubt no less cruel or forceful.

All this time, Zevran had been uncharacteristically quiet, occupying himself with arranging Leliana's tent and bedroll. Wynne stayed with the bard and knelt next to her to feel her pulse and temperature. The elder mage's eyes widened when her touch gave her proof of Zathrian's words. The keeper had managed to stabilize Leliana where she had failed to do so before. "I'm an experienced spirit healer and have healed many sick and wounded people in my time. But why–"

"Your _shemlen_ magic...is different, too _weak_." Zathrian cut her off, not without contempt. "Don't try to heal _shem'asha_ again, _shemlen_, or you'll make it...worse." He turned to the elven and human Warden. "Follow me. I need to show you something." There was a flicker of sadness visible in his face at these words, one that disappeared so quickly that Lenya almost doubted its existence. "There is much to discuss."

Suddenly Zevran stepped forward, his characteristic easy humor completely gone from his posture and tone. "I will go with you."

"No." Zathrian's eyes narrowed, his voice authoritative. "I said _only_ the Wardens, flat-ear."

Zevran cursed angrily in Antivan at that, his frustration palpable. Lenya frowned and reached out to the elf to lay her hand on his shoulder. "Zev, please...respect the wish of the keeper. Let me_ – us – _handle this. _Trust_ me." She could feel the tenseness of his muscles under her fingertips and the shift as he slowly relaxed again. The elf only nodded curtly, directing an icy glare towards Zathrian as he turned wordlessly away.

Taking a deep breath, Lenya followed the keeper to wherever he was leading them, heedless of the black raven that flew overhead, keeping pace with them.

.

.

* * *

.

The sky had darkened by the time they returned from the main Dalish camp and their talk with Zathrian. The stars were twinkling overhead and the air was clear and mild, heralding the promise of spring. Lenya had no appreciation for the evident beauty of the night, however; her mind too saturated with horror caused by the words and images she had heard and seen.

A part of the camp had been separated into a quarantine area, where a dozen elves lay sprawled around the area on bloodstained bedrolls. They had all writhed and screamed, clearly in agony. Some of them were even missing limbs, and the few lucid enough to do so were repeating prayers to Mythal over and over again.

"_The affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood, bringing great agony and then ultimately either death or a transformation into something monstrous. Even with all our magic and healing skill, we will eventually be forced to slay our brethren to prevent them from becoming beasts."_

Lenya couldn't forget the sound of their pitiable moaning: it reverberated in brutal clarity in her recollection, haunting her.

_No. This can't be happening..._

Petrified by the horrors she had witnessed, she was unable to move. At her side, Alistair was quiet like everything else around them, apparently feeling as helpless as she. There was no sound except the whisper of the night and forest. The atmosphere was oppressive and fearful, with nothing that reminded her of the carefree nights spent sitting around the central fire with her clan. Only a few elves had not retreated into their aravel and remained outside to talk with each other, but even they were starting at each crack, each noise coming from the woods. Lenya now understood their prior odd behavior and felt her heart constrict in her chest. It ached and mourned with her fellow brethren, making it hard to breathe.

_Heart..._

She needed Witherfang's heart to stop the curse. The wolf whose blood spread the curse, the one had started it _all_. Without the heart, all the wounded _elvhen_ would die, Leliana would die.

She felt tears welling behind her eyes, the pent up frustration and sorrow too much to bear. Her fist hit the hard wood of the tree before she was even aware of her action. The pain that bloomed in her hand was a forceful yet welcome distraction.

"Lenya!" His voice penetrated the haze of pain, his concern and sudden proximity too much. She turned away from him, her voice harsher than intended.

"It's nothing!"

Confused and startled by her tone, Alistair backed away. "I..am sorry. But you can't expect me to see you hit a Maker-damned tree and say _nothing_!" He drew a breath in and let it out as a long sigh. "I mean, I can understand your frustration...this is –"

Glaring, she interrupted him. "No, you can _not_."

He let out a scoff, a cold sound which nevertheless held an echo of hurt. "Right...because I'm only a _human_. Well, believe it or not, seeing all the wounded there made it clear even to _me _what misery the werewolves are inflicting on _your_ people. Not to mention that there is a very blatant reminder in the form of Leliana in _our_ camp. We need the heart or else... – " Alistair fell silent, yet the meaning of his words was clear.

Lenya averted her eyes from him and rubbed her face with her healthy hand. " I...know. It is just... I'm tired, so very tired that everything is...so damn complicated. So much pain and death... Even amidst my own people I find no –" She stopped, remembering belatedly that between them, _everything_ had become more complicated, too. Not knowing what to do or say, Lenya stared at her bruised hand and tested its flexibility. It was already swollen and hurt as she moved the fingers, but nothing seemed to be broken.

Silence lay over them like a thick cloud, a heavy stillness around them as he just stood there, neither speaking or moving. In spite of the quiet – or maybe because of it – she was very aware of his presence, of his stiffened posture. Her eyes still fixed on her hand, she felt her mouth form words without thinking. "I miss you." The sharp intake of air, the gasp that he made, let her notice the impact of her words. She blinked and hurriedly added, " I mean, I miss talking to you, as we used to do...before – " She bit her lip, looked up to him. " Can we be friends again? Someday, perhaps?"

"I don't know. I hope to, but..." a pained frown carved itself into his expression, the breath and voice shaking. "I love you, Lenya. I can't change that. I...wish I could. Because everything...would be _easier _then."

She was the one gasping now. A sound too small and sudden to suppress it along with the turmoil of emotions his unexpected words stirred inside. They hadn't spoken with each other for weeks, deliberately avoiding each other in the hope that it was better to _forget_.

Keeping distance.

It was what Lenya wanted and he had respected it, in spite of his feelings about her rejection, about _her_. She still felt guilty, for the night when she had pushed him away, for _kissing_ him. Hearing that he still... That his feelings hadn't changed even after breaking his heart was... unreal. Confusing. The pressure on her lip increased, teeth digging into the soft flesh. Lenya tried to sort out the feelings within and knew she'd failed when she tasted blood.

It was Alistair who averted his gaze from her, swallowing hard. "But we have this mission to end the Blight and we are the only ones _able_ to. Well, while you can't expect me to act as if nothing happened, I won't endanger the duty...we are bound to." He exhaled deeply, eyes fixed on his hands. "So I-I'll be here if you...need me."

Lenya blinked. "You would go with me to the Brecilian Forest to save my people?" The next words she only whispered in disbelief, yet loud enough for him to hear. "...And fight at my side?" _Even now?_

"Always."

Lenya wanted to curse him for saying this word as if it were a matter of fact. She wanted to scream at him for turning and leaving wordlessly afterward. But all she could do was to stare after him, the flutter of her heart fast in the darkness.

.

.

* * *

.

"_L-Lethallan?"_

Lenya jumped at the sudden intrusion of a hesitant voice behind her. She hadn't noticed that someone had approached, lost in thoughts as she was. After what felt like an eternity, she averted her eyes from the point in the darkness that that damn _human_ had vanished into and turned to the source of the word.

"Yes? What is it?" she asked, slightly annoyed as she studied the person in front of her. The blond Dalish man was not more than an elder boy, a teen. The mellow lines of his cheeks and jawline and the missing _Vallaslin_ made that unambiguously clear.

"I...I don't w-want to disturb you," he more stuttered than spoke, shuffling his feet, "but I saw you talking with Gheyna today."

Lenya arched an eyebrow, inwardly wondering if all adolescents of this clan were such shy, stuttering... _butterflies_. "And?"

" I... uh, I'm being rude. I-I should introduce myself first." He took a deep breath, clearly in an attempt to get his nerves under control. "I am Cammen, a hunter apprentice - though I wish I could become a real hunter."

Lenya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She surely had better things to do than advising awkward Dalish teenagers who were incapable of speaking a full sentence to her without cringing in fear. "So you haven't killed a beast yet and brought its pelt back, I reckon?"

"N-no, I haven't." He grimaced, fiddling with his hands. "We are forbidden to go into the forest due to the curse, so I can't h-hunt a wolf or boar that I would need. But I-I need one, because Gheyna... she is my _vhenan'era._ But she won't accept my wish to bond until I am a full hunter and able to p-protect her."

_Oh, for Creators' __**fucking**__ sake..._Lenya couldn't stop the exasperated groan escaping her mouth, nor did she _want_ to. This was getting increasingly ridiculous. Cammen seemed intimidated by her reaction, yet he continued his speech. "I-I heard that you are going into the Brecilian Forest soon, to help our people, so I thought, maybe you could– "

"No. Just _no_!" Lenya burst out and glared at the young elf who suddenly shrunk in size. "I won't bring you a pelt that you have to earn yourself. I won't help you to cheat, just because your darling is incapable of defending herself and needs a man to do so. I'm a Grey Warden fighting a Blight, not a doddering idiot responsible for your welfare or your ridiculous problems with girls. If you want to be a hunter, stop whining and _be_ one, for Creators' _fucking_ sake."

Cammen stared at her and looked as if he were on the brink of tears." But...but I thought you would understand. You- you are a Dalish, after all."

"Exactly. Which is why I respect the _Vir Tanadahl,_ and you ought to do the same." Arms crossed, she began to tap her with her foot, voice sharp. "Also, I have other problems much bigger than this crap, so my tolerance for this is practically nonexistent. So grow up and deal with it yourself."

The boy blinked fast and stared at her for a moment longer before turning and running away.

_Silly nonsense..._ Lenya let out an angry huff, not regretting her outburst in the slightest. Turning toward the trees, she asked, "Enjoying the show, Morrigan?"

The black crow flapped its wings and landed elegantly on the ground. Only a moment later, the raven was no longer there, shifting into the form of a human once more. Like an animal stalking on its prey, she slowly approached in dignified steps, an amused look on her face. "'Tis remarkable how you seem to attract fools to yourself, my friend."

Lenya raised an eyebrow, and then smirked. "I guess that explains why you're here, then?"

"Such wit." She _tsked_, shaking her head. "Alas, 'tis not that. I simply prefer the company of the animals to those of your kin since we arrived here. It spares me their... narrow vision." Lenya wanted to interject, but Morrigan halted her words with a raised hand. "Before you say anything: I actually respect your people for the way they choose to live. 'Tis better to fight and endure hardship and be free than submit like cattle to the will of others. But I'm no fool and have noticed the glances they give me for my mere...existence. I care not, but 'tis a pity, nevertheless, as I have more in common with _your_ people than my _own_."

Lenya frowned, words spilling out of her without thinking. "It is true they don't see beyond that, but you can't expect a warm welcome here after all that's happened. Considering the circumstances, even _I_ should be glad to be let in. They have a sound reason to be mistrustful toward outsiders. This is the clan where Nithius was sheltered for years - before the templars came and slaughtered them - men, women and children alike. So naturally you will find suspicion among them if they are forced to let foreigners, not to mention _shemlen,_ in. And it is because they are so weakened in number that they can't fight this curse on their own anymore."

Morrigan remained still for a while, as if letting the words sink in. "I see."

"No, you _don't!_" The Dalish snapped, but instantly sighed. She let herself down onto a stump of a tree and buried her head into her healthy hand. "_Abelas_. I've really had a _shitty_ day. It was so foolish of me to think that...if I return to my people I would have a moment of peace and able to breathe. But everywhere I turn there is only death and pain, even _here_. It is...tiresome and so very frustrating."

Slowly, Morrigan sat down beside her with a sigh. "Understandably so. But such is your life as a Grey Warden. 'Tis survival of the fittest, to be a hunter or the _hunted_. 'Tis redundant to complain about."

Lenya made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "I _know_ that, but... Maybe I _want_ to complain sometimes. I'm always the one fixing things, making it better for others, but what about _me_?"

Morrigan frowned, visibly growing uncomfortable with the topic. "I'm not hesitant in supporting you, Lenya, as you have done the same for me. _Often_. But I am the wrong person if you need a shoulder to lean on and cry." She shook her head and scoffed. "That templar twit however, seems very eager to fit _that_ role."

"Don't. Just _don't_." Raising her hand, she gave Morrigan a warning look. "I wish not to tread this path."

"And I would prefer if you _wouldn't_. You are a strong woman and coddling such desires as love means only weakness. 'Tis better to be free of cloying and cluttering delusions from such a redundant emotion. There is no gain or purpose in entangling oneself in such foolery."

Lenya didn't answer at first, wordlessly stared at her bruised hand. "I figure you heard my conversation with Alistair."

"_Tch_, as if I needed _him _to spell it out." The witch rolled her eyes, her voice laced with disgust. "The idiot's lovesick antics are hard to overlook, alas. Men are fools, easily gullible, and will believe whatever you want them to believe. Most of all that a woman is weak and that she finds him attractive. 'Tis convenient to use at times, but overall too much of a bother." Morrigan made a face, as if incredulous that she were actually discussing this topic with Lenya. "I am, however, sorry that your return to your people isn't as you expected it to be. It really seemed as if everyone thinks that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing one another." She scoffed. "Short-sighted fools, all of them. Unable to see the larger picture that is at stake, because they are too wrapped up pitying themselves."

Lenya was glad about the change of topic. Smiling, she looked up to her. "Indeed. You can say that loud and clear. Still...werewolves? My life has been full of tales told to each other at the fire pit, and I'm even schooled in the history of Elvhenan. Yet I have never heard of such creatures, nor encountered them until today."

"Flemeth told tales of such a time." Morrigan sighed. "There is not much I remember of it, other than that she spoke of packs of possessed wolves, akin to abominations, roaming the land. It was a terrible age now long past."

"I see." Lenya nodded, her voice adapting a hateful tone. "It doesn't matter much anyway. They are dangerous, but vulnerable to blade and bow, as we proved earlier. All I need to know is how and _where_ to find Witherfang's heart to save my people... and that idiot of a human. I know the parts of the forest well enough, which will be needed. We don't have much time and will need to leave for the task tomorrow. Immediately."

"Don't trust Zathrian."

Lenya blinked, at a loss to explain Morrigan's sudden and brisk words. "W-what?"

"I couldn't help but follow your conversation with the keeper in raven's form." Her eyes narrowed. "'Tis a bit curious how he is appealing to your emotions, don't you think?"

"As if you you could judge what it means to see my own brethren suffering like this." She scowled, grimacing in pain and anger. "It was..._horrible_. All those people, lying on blood-soaked bedrolls screaming in pain. I can't forget it. Even now the agonized moaning is resounding in my head."

Morrigan let out an exasperated groan. "Don't you notice it, Lenya? This is _exactly_ what he wanted you to _see_ to get you to agree to his cause. The keeper is a powerful mage, surely capable of doing more than sitting about and waiting for help to arrive. 'Tis a bit too... _convenient_. Especially since you are a Grey Warden of Dalish heritage."

"A keeper is there to protect the clan and its people," Lenya burst out, in a defiance that surprised herself. "He can't leave his clan behind like that. You...can't possibly understand it!"

"Believe what you will then." Morrigan shrugged and tried to appear indifferent, but her bearing gave away that she was irritated at Lenya's words. "I'm tired of discussing it or trying to convince you of things you fail to see yourself. " She bolted up from her place, ready to leave. "I have shared my opinion, do with it what you want. I care not."

"W-wait." Lenya called after her. Morrigan halted, but didn't turn around. "_Abelas_. This has been all a bit...much lately. I don't know." She sighed. "I am grateful for your company and enjoy it, never think otherwise. And I really hope you have found what you were searching for in _Asha'belannar's_ grimoire. So that killing her wasn't for naught."

The witch's back stiffened for a short moment, otherwise she was completely still. " I...yes," she answered, after another bout of silence, oddly hesitant. "It was indeed... helpful. I know now how to protect myself against mother. For she will be back. One day. I have no doubt of that."

"You know you can always rely on me, right?"

Again, she tensed visibly. "You... too much could happen in days to come to... make such promises. Yet I am... _grateful_. Good night, my friend." With that, she melted into the darkness of the night, the flapping of wings the only sound.

.

.

* * *

.

After a long stroll through the nearby coppice of the woods to clear her head, Lenya had returned to their secluded camp within the clearing. Wynne was the only one still awake, sitting at their fire pit and involved in her book. The others of her group apparently seized the opportunity of an early and thorough sleep without the need to keep watch. Except for Shale, of course, who was glaring at the sky, murmuring something about '_feathered, demonic fiends hovering over her and out of her reach._' Lenya passed the golem – though not without arching her eyebrow at her odd behavior – and sat down next to Wynne.

"Are you feeling better now?"

The elder mage looked up from her book and smiled."Yes, thank you, my dear. Why do you ask?"

"Because you _collapsed_ earlier?"

Wynne placed a piece of paper between the pages and closed the book. "Ah, yes, that. Sorry, the apprehension about Leliana made me forget about it."

Lenya looked into the direction of the human's tent and frowned. "How is she?"

"Stable, so far, thanks to the Dalish keeper. But we don't know how long it will last. Or when she will begin to... change." With a sigh, she leaned forward, her expression compassionate. "Alistair told us everything. I'm sorry, child. I have noticed how happy you were to be around your...kin again. It is most horrible to see your own people suffer, just as I experienced the same in the tower. We should waste no time and leave tomorrow."

"That is the plan, actually."

"Good. And a sound one, at that." Her gaze fell onto Lenya's bruised and swollen hand. "What happened to your hand?"

"The tree and my fist didn't mix well, apparently." She shrugged. "Nothing is broken, it just hurts a bit."

Wynne shook her head,_ tsk_ing. "You are far too reckless, Lenya. Let me fix it, at least. You will need your hand on the morrow." Lenya nodded and winced as the mage took her hand in hers, murmuring a spell under her breath. Faint blue light flared up and illuminated the night around them for a brief moment. It disappeared into Lenya's palm, and with it the pain.

"For a moment I thought it was over."

Lenya looked up from her hand and creased her eyebrows at the sudden and confusing words. "_What_ was...over?"

"_Everything_." There was a wistful smile on Wynne's lips, as she withdrew her healing hands from Lenya. "You must know..._something_ happened to me in the tower. Before you arrived."

The frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

"Remember my apprentice, Petra? She encountered a demon in the tower. It would have killed her had I not intervened. I saved her life that day, but I did not survive that encounter with the demon."

"Right... you look pretty _alive_ to me."

"Please, let me explain...I think you deserve to know the truth." Wynne brushed the wrinkles out of her robe and folded her hands. "I fought a very powerful demon to rescue Petra. It sapped me of all my energy and will, and left me drained. It took everything I had to defeat it, and when I was done, I no longer had the strength to keep my heart beating." Her eyes strayed into the darkness beyond the flicker of the flames, as if lingering in memories. "I remember my life ebbing away; everything receded from me... sound, light... I remember being enveloped in complete, impenetrable darkness. I was aware of myself _dying_."

"Well, obviously you are _not_ dead." Lenya raised an eyebrow. "So what is the problem?"

"Patience, child. The story is not over yet." Wynne chuckled before falling into the same wistful mood of remembrance again. "Suddenly I sensed a presence, enfolding me and cradling me, whispering quietly to me. Then I felt life and warmth flowing through my veins again. I began to be aware of small sounds, and the discomfort of my hip pressing into the cold stone of the tower floor."

"I...don't understand. This makes no sense." She scowled. "The dead don't come back to living, unless they are _undead_ and in the serious need of a sword treatment."

"Oh, there is much in this world and beyond that you are not aware of, my dear," Wynne answered, causing Lenya to fight the need to roll her eyes at her oh-so-wise tone. "The Fade contains spirits both benevolent and malicious. The benevolent spirits seldom make themselves known, because they want nothing from mortals, unlike the demons. It was one of these spirits that saved me. Without it, I would be dead. And it has not left me. It is with me, even now, _bonded_ to me."

"Bonded? So there is a spirit inside of you and sustaining you? _Ew_." Lenya made a face, disgusted by the very idea. "And what does that make _you_? Undead? A demon? An abomination?"

"Alive." Wynne chuckled. "The spirit is not evil, so there is no need to fear it. It knows I still have something to do before I can..._rest_." Her blue eyes strayed to the flickering of the flames and looked into its light, face pensive. "Perhaps the spirit did not expect this, but it is weakening, _gradually_. I am living on borrowed time."

Lenya gaped at her, unable to do anything else for a long moment. She didn't know what to think, whether to pity the mage for being barely alive or to scream at her for keeping this a secret. As her voice raised into an angry growl, she knew that irritation had won over the other emotion. "And you never felt the need to tell me about such an important and not-so-small detail? You lied to me!"

"Oh, I did no such thing, my dear." Wynne looked up to her, her eyes warm but with a hint of sadness. "I'm no spring chicken anymore, as you may have noticed. I lived a full life in the tower, and made many mistakes when I was young, as it so often goes. Some are regrettable, of course. Very much so." She shook her head and sighed, dismissing her wistful expression. "Yet I do not regret taking this journey with you. It feels right to be here, to be able to help. You are one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden... so much is expected from you. It hardly seems fair, either to you, or to Alistair. So if there is something I can do to prevent you both from failing your task and duty, I will do it without hesitation."

"Fail...you mean _dying_?" Her hard gaze and anger subsided as Lenya exhaled. "I have no illusions about what we do. It is dangerous, and death is constantly on my heels. Such is my life now, and I don't think you can protect me from it, nor do I want someone doting on me." She swallowed, mouth creased into a pained frown. "Death is certain, and I live on borrowed time myself. I should have died back there in the cave when...my friend did, but I survived."

"Such a grim, sad way to look at it, Lenya." Wynne said and _tsked_. "There is a reason you survived as you did: because it led you here. And this is a comforting thought, don't you think?"

"Right... _comforting_." The Dalish scoffed and rose from the ground. She said nothing further before disappearing into her tent.

.

.

* * *

**Elvish notes:**

_Ma din'ven. – __"Don't go.__"_

"_Ma nuvenin_. _Aneth ara, emma Gheyna_." - Understood. Hello, my name is Gheyna.

_Nae. Din'abelas_ – No, don't worry.

_Ma nuvenin. Emma ir na'serannas._ – Understood. I'm very grateful for it (informal)

_"Elora, shemlen din'harel. Alas'bora dar emma falon dorfen."_ – Elora, the human doesn't harm you. That idiot is my fellow Warden.

_"Hamin! Ma tu din'alas'bora. Ashin dar emma falon dorfen, din'shem'alas!"_ - Stop it! Don't be such an idiot. This human man is my fellow Warden and not a filthy human!"

"_Ma tu sa'shemlen ashin thar vhen? "Madar tu elvhen suledin revas'din numin. Ma'din elvhen'asha, seth'lin!" "_ - You prefer this human man to your own people? You are the reason our people endure slavery and hardship. You are not an elven woman anymore, thin-blood (heavy insult)


	73. Carnival Of Rust

_**A/N: **600 reviews? **Insane**, but I love you people for the never ceasing support for this monster, always great to see so many still reading it. Special shout out this time to the wonderful Meduse who took her time for stunning Lenya-FA *squee* (bit(.)ly/zyHm0D ) - C+P it into your browser thingie... without the brackets, of course. As well a huge thanks to tklivory for the beta and still squeeing about getting new chapters.  
_

* * *

_.  
_

_**So carry my ache and you will know the feeling  
Inside I am weak but for this love I'm bearing  
So breathe your life in my shades of grey  
Or kill the lights and we'll fade away **_

– _Poets of the Fall – No end, No Beginning_

_._

* * *

.**  
**

**Chapter 68: Carnival of Rust**

.

She bolted upright in her bedroll, cold sweat clinging to her form as her breath came hard and fast.

Another nightmare.

They were getting more intense with each passing night, the beckoning of the call terrifyingly loud while she dreamed of _them_.

Darkspawn. The Archdemon.

They were not only in her blood, but in every inch of her consciousness. Even among her own people with their problems distant from, yet no less trivial than, the Blight, Lenya couldn't escape them. The peace she had hoped to find in the woods where she grew up was nothing more than a wistful illusion. There was no redemption for her, no home. Her blood would _always_ be tainted, until her body could not take it any longer and would heed their call.

Lenya shuddered violently at the sinister trail her thoughts had taken. Rubbing her arms to warm herself, she took a deep breath of the crisp and spiced morning air. It had the tang of pine, bark, fresh grass and wet soil; it awoke a remembrance of _belonging_ in her, a nostalgic reminder of wistful images long past.

_At least it still smells the same..._

Slowly, Lenya got up and wrapped her blanket around her to leave her tent. It wasn't morning yet, the sky still hued in black with hints of the blue and red which heralded another sunrise.

Another day alive. To what end?

Deep in thought, she padded away from the still silent camp, frowning at Leliana's tent. She had heard her screaming in the night, restless in feverish agony. It reminded her all too much on her travel with Duncan toward Ostagar. Too proud to acknowledge that she was still sick, Lenya had suffered in silence, not wanting to give the _shemlen_ the satisfaction of being _right_. Yet now, with the added perspective of a Grey Warden, she had no doubt that he had known, had even _felt,_ the sickness and taint in her. The werewolf curse seemed very similar to the taint, a force that ravaged the body, unrelenting, until the sick person succumbed to its will, its call.

Again, a shiver run down her spine, though this time the lingering chill of the night was to blame. Her feet sank into the mud of the cold soil, soft and wet with morning dew. Threading through the grass bare-footed was a welcome sensation after such a long absence: it made her feel grounded, _present_. Lenya heard an extended yawn behind her and turned to see Arai stretching the sleep off. He loped his way to her side, his muzzle diving under the blanket to lick her hand. She smiled and gave him an affectionate pat on the head.

Except for a few scurrying elves, the camp was still quiet. But it wasn't the unnatural stillness that unsettled her, it was the silent forest. No bird was carrying its song from tree to tree, no animal was scrabbling through the underbrush; the signs of life to which she was accustomed were far more noticeable in their absence than their presence.

"The forest is said to be haunted. Spirits possess the trees, the wolves, even the bodies of the dead... they yearn for true life, you see." There was a voice and person beside her, but she couldn't take her eyes away from the disquieting area and kept staring.

"Funny; when I left my clan, it wasn't like that. At all. Then again, much has happened in the past half year. And now I fight in an inescapable, endless circle of pain and death." She didn't even know _why_ she was telling that the stranger beside her, but his voice was warm, _inviting_.

"So young and yet you speak like _sa'asha'annan_, bitter from life's experiences." He paused and Lenya felt his gaze upon her. "It is a pity that the scars of battle seem to have reached your soul, _da'len."_

Lenya frowned and rearranged the blanket to hide the scar at her shoulder. "That was no darkspawn but a bear, when I was young and reckless on the hunt." Finally she turned to the man, who was looking with a longing into the coppice of the forest.

"I see." The man shook his head, smiling and nodding respectfully. "_Abelas_, where are my manners? _Emma Athras. Dar ir sa nehn ena'an asha vhen Sabrae. _We often traded with your clan in the past. As hard it must have been to part from them, I am glad you joined such a respectful organization as the Grey Wardens. And that it is _you_ who comes to our aid, because an outsider couldn't possibly understand the burden upon us."

"Werewolves. A curse that threatens to kill most of the hunters who are essential to the function of a clan." Lenya shrugged, her gaze and expression growing cold. "It is not _that_ hard to figure out, really. Those beasts are dangerous, but so are darkspawn. As long it bleeds, I can kill it."

"Again such cool words, _da'len_." Athras regarded her a moment longer. "I think, I remember you from the last Arlathvhen. You were a lively girl with blond pigtails that bounced up and down while you ran in between all the elders discussing their own matters." He laughed. "Yes, you and the boy seemed to have quite a bit of fun stirring up all the serious and stern adults. And now you are one yourself."

Her eyes narrowed and she felt a pang of annoyance at the scrutiny of the older man. "_Abelas_, I haven't had much reason to laugh, lately."

"_Lath sulevin, lath araval ena arla ven tu vir mahvir. Melana 'nehn enasal ir sa lethalin," _he recited the words with a solemn voice, his smile wistful. "Even if these are verses of a song, my wife often told me that when I was doubting myself. And it always helped. Yet it has been a long time since I heard those words, or her voice." Athras stopped to swallow, clearly distressed. "I wish I could go with you into the forest and search for Danyla, but the keeper has forbidden us to go there."

Lenya knew she shouldn't ask, yet couldn't stop herself from doing so. "What happened to your wife?"

His hand drove through the grey-streaked hair, sighing. "I shouldn't trouble you with this. You have your own concerns, I am sure."

Another shrug, if only to cover up that she actually felt sorry for Athras' plight. "I'm going into the forest soon anyway, so it makes no difference to my burden if I know of that, too. People like to load me with their sorrows, for some reason."

"_Ma nuvenin._ I guess, there is no harm in telling you,_ sa falon elvhen_. " The frown softened then, his eyes straying to the borders of the forest, which lay deep beneath the colored morning sky. The light of the sun was bathing the canopy in bright patches of red and gold, finally dispelling the darkness of the night. It was an almost peaceful picture, if one didn't know about the curse or notice the eerie feeling the forest emanated.

"My wife, Danyla, and I both fought the werewolves in the ambush. She was injured so gravely that the curse spread rapidly in her. Zathrian fought hard to ease her pain, but there was little he could do. And though he says that Danyla is dead, he will not let me see her... her body." His voice cracked and he paused to inhale deeply, possibly to stabilize his unsteady emotions. "I am beginning to believe she became a werewolf, and that it is being kept from me so I do not go chasing after her. Going out there could cause another attack, and I wish no harm upon my clan, so I don't oppose Zathrian's wish. Yet if only I knew what happened to her...then I could be at peace."

"She is...most likely dead, you know?"

Athras examined something in his hand, the object hidden from Lenya's sight. His fingers brushed over its smooth surface, his expression pensive. "I'm aware of that..._possibility_. Though any news is better than _none_. I don't want to spend the rest of my days not knowing and futilely hoping for a miracle. As a repayment for your efforts, I could give you this well-crafted amulet. It is not worth much, I fear, but at least should fetch you some shemlen coin."

He was about to put the jewelry into Lenya's hand, but she refused to take it. His words reminded her of Tamlen, on the endless nights she spent wondering what had become of her best friend. It was easier to think of him dead; any other thought was too gruesome and painful. "Keep it. Bury it under the plant for your wife, if necessary. I will look for her and hopefully there will be no plant needed."

"_Ma serannas, lethallan._" The sad expression gone, he looked at her with a faint smile. "I pray for your safe return. May the creators speed your way and Mythal protect your path."

Lenya mirrored the expression and inclined her head toward the man. Distracted by the rustling of trees, she turned to see Arai carrying something in between his massive jaws. "A hare? Oh Arai, you can swallow that whole if you wanted." The hound let out a muffled woof and put the slobbered, half-eaten hare in front of her feet, his tail wagging frantically. With his big brown eyes he looked up to her in an ecstatic expectation of her reaction.

"Err...thanks, I guess." Lenya blinked, but couldn't help to grin at Arai's excited antics. "It is good to know you are willing to share, but I'm not...really hungry." The Mabari cocked his head and whined critically, obviously not believing her. "No, it is true, really. I–" She stopped to sigh. "You really are too clever for your own good. Go on, eat it. You can find me another one later on, okay?"

"A dog? You _own_ a dog?" There was a distinctive noise of someone approaching, the voice belonging without a doubt to Mithra. "Like the shemlen, who subjugate every creature except themselves?" She made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. "You really have been away too long from your ways and people, _lethallan_."

Lenya turned to her, barely able to suppress a groan. "I don't own Arai, he is following me of his own will. Like the Halla do."

"You don't really compare these stinking, flea-ridden shemlen animals with our sacred, creators-given creatures?" Mithra fixed her with a stare and scowled. "Not only did you bring _shemlen_ in our camp, you are even starting to behave like one. What in name of the Dread Wolf is wrong with you?"

"I could ask you the same." With a wave of her hand, she stopped Arai's growling at the hunter. Lenya stepped closer to her fellow elf and met her stare with a glare of her own. "Don't forget the flat-ear. Or the _durgen'len_. There is also a huge Qunari and a golem who came with me. Have you missed them, because you were too fixated on the few humans with me, I wonder?" Lenya felt anger seething up in her system. "Believe it or not, these humans are my _friends_ – well, most of them – and very much needed for my task to stop the Blight. One of them is even a Grey Warden like myself and yet the clan is treating him like a lesser being. Mind-boggling."

Mithra backed away, but not without a huff. "I see now why Surin was so upset. I actually came to apologize for him, but it seems it isn't needed."

"Surin? That idiot who not only insulted my fellow Warden, but also me?" Lenya crossed her arms, which caused the blanket to fall down, but she didn't care. "It is certainly not necessary to explain his idiocy. Even if it there were a reason, why isn't he here to tell me himself?"

"He lost his father in the ambush of the beasts, Mahariel! So you can't expect him to be welcoming to strangers, let alone _shemlen_!" Mithra burst out, frustrated.

"_Emma ir abelas._ And I mean it. Yet it doesn't give him the right to be a total jerk to the people helping me. I haven't exactly had the best time of my life either the past half year, you know?" She frowned. "I have killed hundreds and dozen of monster and men in order to survive. And I've done it without so much as a blink. Killing has become a natural thing to me, a necessity as a Grey Warden. Be glad you have had the chance to stay in the arms of your clan and retained at least a bit of your innocence, despite the threat of the werewolves. Mine is lost since I set a foot out of the borders of my clan. In the past half year, I have seen and done things you can't even imagine in your darkest nightmares. Now excuse me, I have a job to do. _More_ killing, I reckon."

Lenya picked up the blanket and left her former friend without a second glance.

.

.

* * *

.

The quiet was gone as she returned to their encampment, replaced by bustling as her companions got ready for the day and their task. Before Lenya could slip into her tent to get properly dressed and armed herself, however, Zevran stepped in her path.

"I want to come with you."

She was not only surprised by these words, but also by his determined, no-nonsense behavior, a rarity for him. "So you don't want to stay here with Leliana?"

"And hold her hand?" He scoffed, as if finding the very idea ridiculous. "No, my dear Warden, I'm a man who prefers to act instead of sitting about and waiting for someone else to make it better."

"Something else we have in common, I suppose. Wow," she said without enthusiasm. "You are aware that this mission is dangerous, I hope. Even more so than the ones before. One bite or scratch and you could get infected with the curse like your precious human there. We don't have an anti-curse potion like we have for the taint to prevent the sickness, so you need to be cautious."

"Are you concerned about me, my dear Warden?" Zevran's lips curled in his usual smile, all teeth and confidence. "Ah, I'm honored. But do not worry. The circumstances remind me on the Crow training, where we sparred with poisoned blades. It was a special mixture that one sting or scratch with it would be lethal. Ah, good times." The humor subsided from his bearings and face, his voice a dark promise. "Also, I do believe there is a wolf deserving of my blades in this forest, as well." The sinister mood fleeting as a cloud in the wind, he winked at her with a smile. "I will see you later then, my dear."

"Zev, wait. " Lenya called after him, making him stop. "You are an assassin, right? I mean you..._were_ for a long time."

"Until a lovely Dalish lady unaccountably spared my life, yes. Now I'm forever in your debt and service." He bowed to her, the gesture half-genuine, half in humor, as she knew it of him. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing. I..just was asking myself, if you ever, well..." Lenya hesitated with a sigh, feeling awkward to ask. "...got weary of all the killing."

"_Weary_ of the killing?" Zevran laughed out, shaking his head in disbelief. "My dear, it is the same as if you would ask me to be weary of the art of seduction and making love. I would be a bad assassin and a _dead_ one soon, if I grew weary of one of those essential things."

"Right, stupid question." Lenya bit her lip. "Forget I asked. Let's get ready then, shall we?" With that, she dove into her tent, her doubts pushed down into the edge of her consciousness in favor of what was to come.

.

.

* * *

.

For hours they had been threading and fighting through the passages of the dense forest. The atmosphere was oppressive in spite of the peaceful scenery of blanketing green grass and the rushing sound of clear rivers nearby. Even the rain of the night before had given way to a sky that was bright, the light of the sun showing in dappled patches through the coppice.

Lenya couldn't exactly pinpoint _what_ bothered her, but she felt that something was amiss and very _sinister_. It was as if the forest _itself_ was angry, disturbed in its peace and brought out of its natural balance.

"How is your hand?"

The Dalish startled up from the thoughts she had fallen into. "Good. Wynne healed it." Staring at the hand, she didn't look up to Alistair, and was surprised to hear him speaking at all. Least of all with _her_. After last night and his words to her – which irritatingly remained in her mind all the time – he had fallen back into his old habit of avoiding her. He was there, fighting at her side as he'd said, yet everything was still difficult and different. _Tense_. Lenya didn't want to feel as awkward as she did, his presence a blasted confusing distraction to the task and the reason why they were here. Her people required help. They needed to break the curse by killing Witherfang. It was all the more frustrating as she stumbled about in the forest as if she had never been here before, without a clue as to _where_ to search for the white wolf they needed to find. Given the exasperated body language of her companions she knew she was not the only one thinking so. Time was of the essence and a commodity they sorely lacked, considering the condition of the many sick Dalish hunters and... Leliana.

"The taint is spreading even..._here_." Once more the unexpected sound of his voice echoed through the silent edges of the woods, making her look up to him against her will. Lenya quickly fixed her eyes on the windy way again, but looked at him long enough to discover a frown on his face. His posture was as tense as his voice, as he pointed at the blackened spots that had eaten itself like cancer into the idyllic scenery.

He didn't need to.

Lenya had discovered the changes long before he did, the jarring sound of taint so loud, the appearance of darkspawn so misplaced here. Her heart ached for what the Blight had done to the place she had once called home. The forest was only a shadow of the place she had once loved and nothing like the memories she held so dear. Even _that_ the darkspawn and the Blight were spoiling for her.

Like so much else.

Lenya remembered she had yet to answer him, the talk about taint and Grey Warden business appearing to be an easier topic to venture into with him. But there was a movement within the shrubs before she could respond, a quick flash of fur. It was enough to make Arai raise his hackles and growl, and to cause the stance of Zevran to change in an instant. They were close once more. Werewolves. Lenya made herself ready to fight, the blades slipping easily into her hands.

They had killed a good dozen of the feral beasts already and Lenya didn't intend to stop there. It was like an inner need, something personal to make them pay for their crimes, to kill them all one by one. Even if it wasn't her own clan, they had attacked her fellow brethren in a cold and cowardly fashion, killed and wounded hunter and child alike. This wasn't something that could remain unpunished, and the need for revenge was strong. Instead of attacking, however, this group of wolves established a circle around the companions, in such a way that the party couldn't pass them and needed to stop. One of them stepped forward, its eyes fixing on Lenya with a hateful stare, and to the surprise of everyone..._spoke_.

_What?_

"_Hrrr_. The watch-wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters. Another of the Dalish, come to put us in our place, come to make us pay for our attack."

"Cute. It talks," Shale scoffed, unimpressed. "Can I crush its furry head?"

Lenya gaped, unable to do anything else, the thought of attacking momentarily forgotten. "You...speak?"

"We are no longer simple and mindless, but able to scheme and think." The huge beast showed a feral grin. "Does that thought chill your spine?"

"Well, actually..." Recovering from the shock, her eyes narrowed as her grip around her blades tightened. "It makes you even _more_ annoying."

"You are the one that invades our forest and insults us with your talk!" The wolf snarled, teeth bared in anger. "_Hrrrr_. Turn back now, go back to the Dalish and tell them that you have failed."

"Hmm, you want an insulting answer, I reckon?" Lenya feigned a thinking pose. "How about: _Fuck_ you! I'm not going anywhere!" Lenya was about to attack, but Morrigan's voice stopped her swing in mid-air.

"Wait! I'm weary of wandering about in this forest without any direction. While 'tis not my way to speak with beasts, they are able to tell us what we need to know."

The huge werewolf stepped away from the threat presented by the Dalish elf and regarded the witch with disdain. "You think we would help you find the great wolf? You think we would let you kill him? Then you are a _fool!_ You know _nothing_. Nothing of us and even less of those you serve, human." It turned to its pack, who were fiercely growling at the companions. "Come, brothers and sisters, we are done talking; let us retreat. The forest has eyes of its own, and will deal with intruders as it always has." With that, the werewolves vanished into the dense and protecting forest as quickly as they had appeared.

"Okay...that was _weird_." Alistair sheathed his sword and blinked in disbelief after them."What's next? Talking _darkspawn_?"

"It is moments like this where I regret not having invested more time in archery." Lenya's voice was cold and hateful, wrapped in steel. "I would have shot them down when they least expected it, like they have done with my people when they attacked them."

"Ah, then next time remind me to take a bow with me, my dear Warden." Zevran chuckled, but it was short-lived. His expression quickly assumed his usual nonchalant tone again as he turned to Morrigan, eyes squinting ever so slightly. "Well, my lovely witch, your interjection was astonishingly _unhelpful_. We know no more than before, and those responsible for the attack have escaped."

"If you think so, assassin, then you are a fool." Chin held high, she didn't spare the elf a second glance as she passed him by. "I did well not to trust Zathrian's words. He is hiding something, and using us as his pawns."

"Look who's talking..." One eyebrow raised, Alistair looked after the witch. Shaking his head, he took his usual position at the rear of the group, wary of what was to come.

.

.

* * *

.

Suddenly she started to run.

Alistair cursed under his breath as he saw the blood on the ground, and not much later the slaughtered bodies. Their tattered armor gave away that they belonged to the Dalish, and were obviously the reason for his fellow Warden's sudden agitation.

Lenya halted in front of one bloodied form and bowed down next to it, feeling the pulse at the man's throat. The angry frown in her expression lifted for a moment as she turned round to Morrigan. "This one here is still alive. Help me to patch him up!"

It was ironic that she asked _Morrigan_, of all people, to save the life of a random stranger. As Alistair expected the witch didn't move at first, her statement sounded cold and slightly annoyed. "I'm no healer, Lenya."

The frown returned and without thinking he started to rummage in his pack, wanted to help her with what little ability he had in healing. "I have seen you practicing with Wynne in camp," Lenya said, eyes narrowing," ...so cut that crap and come over!"

"Fine, I'm at your disposal, Warden," Morrigan snapped, yet did as she was bid. The light was more faint, the healing far less effective than Wynne's, but Alistair had to begrudgingly to admit that she was a quick learner. Whatever the elder mage had taught her out of pure necessity, she was seizing upon it well. He shook himself from staring at Morrigan – of all things– and bowed down with the poultice in his hand, but Lenya shoved him heedlessly aside.

It wasn't a conscious rejection – he was sure – being as caught up in bandaging the Dalish man as she was. But it still stung that she didn't appear to need or want his help. He felt useless and in the way as he watched how the combined effects of Morrigan's magic and Lenya's able handholds stopped the bleeding and closed the wounds. Only a moment later the hunter regained his consciousness. "What? Who... wh-who comes?"

"_Hamin. Ma dar reth, sahlin, emma elvhen." _The soothing tone in Lenya's voice created an inexplicable feeling of frustration in him. Alistair disliked his reaction, knowing it to be stupid, and yet couldn't help but be irrationally upset. He decided to keep his distance from the scene, to be only a passive observer, which was probably better for all given his current emotionally unstable condition.

"Dalish?" The young man on the ground blinked and heaved his head up to look at the people in front of him, especially Lenya. He winced at the motion, yet tried to sit up and eventually managed it with Lenya's helping hand. His armor was tattered in some places, crusted blood clinging to it and his form. "_Emma Deygan. Ma na reth, lethallan? Emma'nehn a ma serrannas. Viran ma falon vhen'bora?"_

"Could you talk so that _everyone_ can understand you?" Alistair snapped, which earned him a glower from Lenya.

Deygan coughed, still visibly weakened and repeated in the common tongue, "Where are the other hunters?"

"They are squished. Like ripe fruits. As fleshy things tend to be in these kinds of situations." Shale laughed, unperturbed by the situation and Lenya's glare. "Typical. They are all so very _delicate_."

His blood-smeared face twisted in sorrow, but he nodded. " It...was to be expected, alas. We hunters were in the forest searching for Witherfang. Suddenly a group of werewolves ambushed us - not like wild beasts would, but with cunning, as if it was planned."

"Ah, did they talk to you too, my friend?"

Deygan hold his wounded side as he got up and frowned at Zevran. "Not...really. It all happened so fast, though. I was lucky enough to be able to crawl away from battle and didn't get bitten. But my wounds... I never expected to survive this." The Dalish hunter gritted his teeth, obviously still in pain. Nevertheless he looked at Lenya with a warm smile. "It is only due to your help that I still live. Thank you."

"Well, we Grey Wardens are here to help, right?" Alistair said, but couldn't hide that the sarcastic, irritated note within. Another stare of Lenya was the proof to it, but before she could scold him for it, it was Deygan who raised his voice.

"Oh, you are a Grey Warden?" His face brightened, apparently impressed. "Wow, that's great. One of our kind. A Grey Warden."

Shale chuckled. "Oh, It is excited to hear that? I'm ecstatic myself that the one who freed me is a painted elf. _Not_. Well, at least It is no pesky mage and meets many things to kill."

Deygan gaped at the golem and was baffled for a moment. Then he shook himself and started to walk forward. He was unstable on his feet at best, his march more a stumble than actual walking. "There must be a Dalish camp somewhere. I must reach it."

"I know. It is where I came from and the reason why I'm here in the forest." Lenya crossed her arms, observing the hunter's movements with a critical frown. "I will make sure you reach the camp safely."

"What?" Alistair and Morrigan exclaimed in unison, which was weird enough to him to make him back away. The witch did the same, of course not without a disgusted side glance to him. Normally he wouldn't object to help someone in need or – Maker forbid – actually _agree_ with Morrigan, but now time was of the essence and the way back _long_. They didn't have time to walk back, couldn't afford it. There was still the pressing matter of the curse, the one which Leliana suffered, as well.

Lenya threw them a glare. "Oh, I'm sure we can leave him here, put a blade into his hand and wish him farewell."

"That would be a possibility," the golem answered without being asked. "And one which involves _less_ walking through those pesky trees. The forest has too many annoying trees. I wonder if they all are here for the wolves to... bah, better not to think of it."

"You can return to camp too and keep Deygan company, if you find it too awful here, Shale."

Shale shrugged, not impressed by Lenya's implication. "No, I'm not allowed to squish the painted ants-elves, so I would rather stay and crush the furry heads of these pesky dog-beasts."

"I do agree with both our friends here," Zevran piped up. "We do lack the time to travel back all the way, Lenya."

"It is all right," Deygan said, wobbling on his feet. "I don't need your help. It is not far, I know a short-cut to –" Before he could finish his sentence, he fell to the ground, unconscious again.

Lenya was the first to reach his form and kneel down next to the elf. She glowered up at her group, specifically Alistair. "Satisfied now? I _told_ you he is too weak to go alone." Putting her arm around Deygan, she started to heave him up in the attempt to get him away from this place - foom where his brethren and fellow hunters lay slaughtered in their own blood.

Of course she struggled with his heavier weight, clearly not strong enough to support him more than a few steps. Alistair couldn't even explain why he was still watching her efforts _instead_ of helping her. But as soon he became aware of his apathy, the damn assassin was quicker and rushed to her help before he could.

"You are a stubborn, _stubborn_ woman, my dear," he scolded in his typical mocking way, yet did his best to shift most of the hunter's weight to his side as they slowly walked forward. "We had best be quick about it, lest your friend here perishes in our arms. As well, then we can focus on the _important_ task again, no?"

"So let me see if I understand this," Morrigan folded her arms, still not following after. "You are willing to walk back for what would be hours of wasted time just to save the life of a stranger? Even willing to risk your _own_ life, since you are hardly in a condition to fight should it come to down to it?" She scoffed. "'Tis idiotic."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Morrigan is right. What if we get attacked by darkspawn or ambushed by another werewolf pack?"

Lenya stopped to glare at Alistair for the umpteenth time and groaned under the man's weight. He had the impression that the groan wasn't caused by the exertion alone. "Then _you_ are still there to fight or have you ceased to do this now too?"

"What?" Alistair stared at her in disbelief. "No, of course not. But I can hardly take on a whole darkspawn or werewolf group and protect you and –"

"It should know that I'm still here to crush heads. _Gladly_. It doesn't need the clown knight for that," the golem interrupted him in her usual dry fashion, which only fueled his irritation.

"Shale, keep out of it."

"Ah, so it is something personal, I reckon?" He heard Zevran's _tsking_ voice from the other side of Deygan's unconscious body while they still walked forward. Transfixed as he was on Lenya and his ever-growing frustration, he had completely forgotten about the elf. "Don't mind me, my friend, since I'm kind of stuck here with our two Dalish friends."

"The same is valid for you, assassin." Alistair spared him no more than an angry glance. "_Shut_ up."

Lenya stopped at a tree and shifted the hunter's weight carefully against it to turn to Alistair. Zevran stayed with Deygan and held him upright as Lenya jolted forward in a sudden burst of anger. "What in the name of the Dread Wolf is _wrong_ with you? Should we leave him here to die and rot? Would that be more convenient for you?"

"No, but the camp is hours away and I don't understand why you are suddenly so keen on rescuing him. It is not even sure he will survive _until_ we reach the Dalish camp. We don't have the time to– "

"Because he would die otherwise, idiot!" she snapped and came closer, giving him a steely glare. "Even _you_ should be able to grasp that!"

"Even I?" Words born out of the frustration he had endured the past few weeks spilled out of him without thought. In this moment, however, he did not care for its impact, the ire grown too intense within. "Oh, I see how it is. Because he is a _Dalish_, right? I don't think you would do the same for a _human_." Red webbed his vision and anger swelled around the pounding blood in his ears as he scoffed. "No, of course not. I remember the soldier in the Korcari Wilds that you slaughtered in cold blood, because you didn't have the time to return. And back there the camp was far more in reach than it is now."

Posture stiff, her hands curled into fists that clenched and unclenched at her side, as if unsure to hit him or not. Her mouth formed soundless curses that rolled over her tongue and yet failed to leave her lips. Lenya only stared at him with undisguised fury and a hint of disappointment in her eyes, face flushed. Alistair did not relent or back away from her, not wanting to give her the victory. Being so close, he could almost feel the tremble of her indignation and her frantic breath on his skin. Time momentarily seemed to stop as everything narrowed down to her presence once more. The seething feeling of frustration slowly started to subside into the background, overcome by... _desire_. Like a dark beast it roared in him, beckoning to be heard.

And Maker, he still _wanted_ her so much and he hated her for _not_ wanting him. He _hated_ her that he couldn't stop this feeling, for having such power over him. He felt the sudden need to shake her, but more than that he longed to pull her close and kiss her senseless. With effort, Alistair kept his hands at his sides and attempted to divert his eyes from her, yet failed utterly. He couldn't stop looking, just like he couldn't stop these feelings roaring inside.

_Fool..._

Shaking, his hands balled into tight fists as the urge to grab her shoulders became too strong.

"I will scout ahead, even if 'tis only to be freed of you two bickering." The unwelcome tone of Morrigan's voice brought him harshly back to the present. Finally, he managed to avert his eyes from Lenya, just in time to see the witch vanish into the dense brushwood. With a joyful woof, Arai bounced after her. As he glanced back to his fellow Warden, she no longer stood there.

"Let's get moving." Already was she tucking Deygan's arm around herself to support the Dalish man, a picture unwanted for him. Painful. Some day there would be a man wrapping his arms around her and it wouldn't be him. He bit on the insides of his mouth until it hurt. It would _never_ be him.

"Ah, such electrifying tension between you both." Zevran's amused chuckle was the last thing Alistair wanted to hear now. "Delicious."

While he was still unsure whether to pay heed to the comment or not, Shale walked up to Lenya who still struggled with Deygan's weight. "I will take the squishy elf, if that helps us stop standing around. I have done that in Honnleath far too long." The stone around the glowing lava eyes narrowed as she heaved the elf up without any effort. "But if it bleeds on my stone, I will crush It."

"Thanks, Shale." Lenya took a moment to rearrange her armor and weapons. When she was done, she hurried to the others without giving Alistair a second glance, leaving him standing there like the fool he was.

.

~V~

.

It wasn't too long of a walk until Morrigan returned to her companions, smiling in an irritatingly smug way. "I do not come alone."

Behind the witch trailed a group of Dalish hunters, led by the same woman who had already pointed an arrow at his neck. Maybe that was the reason why Alistair always felt very uncomfortable whenever she was near. He shifted from one foot to the other, wondering why the Dalish scouts were here.

"Mithra?" Lenya's eyes widened in surprise." What are you doing here?"

"_Aneth era,_ Mahariel. We saw your shemlen mage friend from afar while patrolling through the forest. She told us ..." She stopped talking as she saw Deygan's unconscious form, carried by Shale like bothersome luggage. "Deygan! What happened? Put him down, creature!"

The golem did as she was told, obviously not caring at all. "Good. A bit longer and I might have crushed It." Seeing Mithra's glare, she added with a shrug, "_Accidentally_, of course."

"We found him injured and unconscious farther down the southern wood," Lenya explained. "I bandaged and treated his wounds as best as I could, and intended to bring him back to camp for a proper medical treatment."

"_Ma nuvenin._ You have my thanks, Mahariel." Mithra let out a sigh of relief as she felt his pulse. "He is still alive, but he needs the keeper's help, and quickly." Waving to the others of her group who emerged from the background, she ordered, "Help me carry him back to camp, but be careful!" The men heaved Deygan up, taking care to support his body in a way that prevented further damage.

"Wait, Mithra," Lenya called after her retreating form. "My fellow Warden will accompany you back to camp."

"What?" He stared at her in disbelief, but she only ignored him.

"I can handle myself, Mahariel. I don't need anyone to look after me, least of all a _shemlen_."

"That is not the reason, I assure you." Alistair felt Lenya's gaze burning into him, its expression anything but friendly. "I just want him to leave, that is all."

Mithra groaned, visibly displeased by the request. "Then be quick about it. Don't waste my time, _shemlen_."

Alistair thought he must be hearing things, a sinking feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. "You can't be serious, Lenya!"

"Oh, but I _am_." Her voice dripped with such bitterness that he could almost taste it, her fury silent but dangerous. "You told me you would fight at my side, but if you are such an _ass_ while doing so, I will gladly pass on your offer. I will do this _without_ you." Her gaze shifted to a steely glare. "Now leave!"

"No!" It came out more defiant than he wanted, but he didn't care. Fighting at her side was all he had left and if she was taking that from him too now, what was left for him? "You simply can't command me to go."

The laugh that came out of her was cold and without mirth. "I can and I will. You made me leader long ago, remember?" Lenya paused, her face knitting into a pained frown that dissolved before she spoke her next words in an angry, menacing growl, words that cut like steel into him and splintered his heart into a thousands part. "So get lost. I don't want you here anymore."

For what felt an eternity he stared at her, the hurt burning low and eating itself into his being. Lips pressed together, a furious sneer settled onto his mouth without thinking. "Suddenly you are my commanding officer? Funny." But he wasn't laughing: his words were simply a last pathetic attempt to make her feel bad about her decision. "Right, I'll go. I know I'm not wanted. ..._Never_ was." With that, he whirled around to follow the already-moving group of Dalish at a furious pace.

He did not look back.

The presence of the Dalish would be welcome now, because their hostility he could at least _handle_.

.

.

_**Come feed the rain, cos without your love my life ain't nothing but this carnival of rust.**_

~_ Poets of the Fall_

* * *

**Elvish notes:**

_Emma Athras. Dar ir sa nehn ena'an asha vhen Sabrae._ - My name is Athras. It is a pleasure to see a daughter of the Sabrae clan here.

"_Lath sulevin, lath araval ena arla ven tu vir mahvir. Melana 'nehn enasal ir sa lethalin - Be certain in need, and the path will emerge to a home tomorrow and time will again be the joy it once was. (Part of an elvish song)_

_"__Hamin. Ma dar reth, sahlin, emma elvhen."_ - Be still. You are safe now, my fellow Dalish."

_"__Emma Deygan. Ma na reth, lethallan? Emma'nehn a ma serrannas. Viran ma falon vhen'bora?"_ - I'm Deygan. Did you save me, friend? I'm grateful and glad for it (or you have my thanks). (But) Where are my clanmates?


	74. Things Left Unsaid

_**A/N:** : Tklivory...you are awesome *hugs* One of my favorite chapters, so far, btw. Have fun :D_

* * *

"_**You're **_**not**_** friends. You'll **_**never**_** be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll **_**never**_** be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's **_**blood. **_**...Blood screaming inside you to work its will**_."

_Spike, Buffy the Vampire slayer_

* * *

.

**Chapter 69: Things Left Unsaid**

.

Hours had passed without the boy moving one inch, the sky already darkening.

While Oghren was aware that things weren't going well between the Wardens, he couldn't believe his eyes when the boy had returned, alone, to the camp. Without words, he'd shed his armor, heedless of where the parts fell, and went straight to a tree, leaning against it and staring out blankly into the darkness of the forest beyond.

It was not an unusual picture for Oghren to see Alistair sulking like that, since that boy tended to whine more than a tea kettle at times. Especially in the last weeks where Missy seemed to be more interested getting into the elf's pants than in the Warden's one. It was plain to see for everyone with eyes that Alistair was utterly smitten with her. Subtlety had never been the boy's strong suit – then again, it wasn't his own either.

Maybe he simply hadn't had enough booze yet to possess a comfortable level of indifference, but Oghren found himself walking over to the boy. While the Warden was quite naive in many things, he had his heart in the right spot and was a decent fighter. Oghren respected him for that, even though he would never _tell _him that.

The boy had refused to talk to anyone about what happened, even Wynne. But Oghren wasn't one for a heart-to-heart talk, so he didn't bother to pamper the Warden. "You know what, boy? You shouldn't get upset. You should get _drunk_. Heh." With a grunt, he shoved a bottle into Alistair's sight. After a moment of consideration, Alistair took the offered booze. The boy didn't need to know that it wasn't his spirit, but some fancy, strong wine he'd '_found_' in the Dalish camp. Quite _coincidentally_, of course. As busy as those prissy elves were with complaining and whining about their fate, they wouldn't miss it anyway.

Oghren was partly surprised and partly impressed to see the boy gulping the beverage down like water. The Warden would regret it soon, Oghren knew, because whatever the Dalish did to their wine it made it much stronger than the watered down piss served elsewhere. As expected, Alistair coughed furiously after drinking, yet it didn't stop him from emptying the _whole_ _thing_.

_Sod_ it.

"If it weren't my booze you drank, I'd be impressed, boy." Oghren sighed, hating the thought of standing up to get another bottle from the far away Dalish stash. "Hope you whine less now, after all the wine, at least. Heh."

Alistair stared out into the forest again, still not speaking. Only the boy's unsteady bearing betrayed that the booze had gone straight to his head. It was good stuff. _More's the pity I didn't have much myself, _Oghren mused.

"She said she doesn't want to see me anymore," the boy said after a bout of silence. Or _whined_, more like.

"Guess not," Oghren muttered to himself and freed a flask from his belt to take a long pull himself. Ancestor's knew he would need it. "So you and Missy had a fight, huh? Big, sodding deal."

"You don't understand," he continued, his tongue loosened by the alcohol, the exaggerated gestures more ponderous. "I...messed it up. _Completely_. Now she doesn't even want me to stay at her side and fight anymore." He scoffed. "Of course, _Zevran_ gets to stay. _Stupid_ elf. What makes him think he is more important to her? I was there long _before_ him. Just because he has pointy ears?"

"Aye, I hear you. Those elves are a fickle bunch, aren't they?"

"Totally. It is _shem_ here and _shemlen_ there, as if I didn't have a freaking name." Alistair paused to think and added with complete seriousness, "I should get pointy ears, too. Maybe she would like me then."

"Ha. What you need, boy, is a bit of the ol' mortar and pestle, if you're diggin' my trench. Missy isn't the only Missy around here, after all. There are a lot of the other...heh, _elven maidens_ around here, that you're so fond of."

His expression shifted to a frown and he shook his head. "But...I don't want anyone else. I _love_ her. _Only_ her."

"Ah, so she already has her stone clasp around your balls? Heh. You _are_ doomed, then." With a wave of his hand, he stopped whatever Alistair was to say. "Don't even think about getting all whiny and emotional on me, Warden. You need to drink more, so that you whine _less_."

Fortunately, the boy did as he was told. For the next hour or two, they sat drinking in silence. Oghren actually wondered why the Warden hadn't already passed out from the booze, since he had never much of a drinker before. Seemed as if the boy had hidden talents, after all.

"Soooo, I'm cuuuriousss..." Alistair piped up, seriously drunk now, his voice a single slur. "Are you suuuure you're f-fine with whaaat h-happened with Branka?"

This was a topic Oghren didn't wish to explore. He was still far too sober for that, due to the boy's unexpected thirst. Missy once cost him half of his rare brew too. Sod the Wardens and their good stomach for liquor, that would teach him not to drink with them anymore. He let out an irritated grunt, settling for bitter sarcasm to brush the question off. "Oh yeah, sure, I'm chipper. You should try it. Drive your wife crazy and turn your whole family into sodding darkspawn. Pretty soon, everyone'll be doing it, I'm sure."

"Soooorry," the Warden answered, but despite his words started to giggle, which only fueled his exasperation more.

"Go on like this and I write my name in bruises on your ass, Warden!"

"Again sorry, it is nooot fu-funny, I know." The boy finally stopped laughing , looked down to him – curse his long legs – and squinted his eyes. "Whadda you think about Lenya? Yooou never told meee."

"Missy?" Oghren blinked in surprise at the turn of question, of being asked his opinion. That hadn't happened much in his life so far. Then again, he should have expected this question to come, since _she_ was the only topic on the boy's mind since sodding _ages_. "She's fine and not only for an elf. Took me out of the dung hole named Orzammar and gave me a purpose. Even if that purpose is to stand knee-deep in fell enemies under an open sky that still makes me queasy. But that is all right. I _like_ to be here." He quickly wiped the smile off his face, trying to get rid of this odd, pansy mood. If he was lucky the Warden would forget everything he had said by tomorrow. If not, Oghren would _make_ him.

"Sounds liiike her." The boy let an irritatingly dreamy sigh out and Oghren braced himself for the worst. Gripping for another, the enchanted flask beside him, he took a deep pull. He really needed more booze to bear where this talk was heading all too fast. "She iiis _f-fantastic_. Witty, warmhearted, ssstrong a-and so veeeery...sssexy. Yooou knoow the besst thing of her leading isss..." He covered his mouth and giggled like an effeminate lady. "...the ssswaying of her hipsss while w-walking behind her."

"Heh, you're an ass man, then?" Oghren gave him a firm slap on the shoulders, snorting. "Good choice, boy. Though, the elven girls are too sodding skinny for me. It needs a real rump roast to get the Oghren Love Caravan on the move, y'know?"

The amusement faded from Alistair's features as quick as it came, replaced by a frown. "But she doesn't l-love meee. Because...I haaave noooo sodding pointy ears liiike the assasa - assina – _elf_." Oghren took another swig while the boy started to angrily wave his hands about in the air. "I _hate_ him and all other stooopid eeelven men. I haaate the thought that o-one day one of those stooopid elves will touch her the way _I_ want to. 'Ssss driviiing me iiinsane. Maaaybe thaaat is whyyy I snapped l-like thiiiz." He hiccuped and smiled warmly at the dwarf. "Yooou understand, riiight? I mean wizz Branka aaaand all..."

"Bah, women." Oghren snorted, derisively. "Give you nothing but a rash in the loin and a heartache. I mean, Branka left me and flitted about with that tart Hespith. What's she got that I haven't got, eh? Just the thought of the two of them together, kissing, licking, intertwined on the floor of the Deep Roads... –" He trailed off as he noticed an unwanted stinging feeling in the base of his guts. If it still hurt, he wasn't drunk enough, as simple as that. It was time to rectify the situation. Oghren set the neck of the flask at his throat and didn't stop to drink until his head started to swam. _At last._

"Suddenly I don't feel that..." Oghren grinned as he watched how the boy darted up into the direction of the tents. His grin shifted into bellowing laughter as the Warden heaved the contents of his stomach over Zevran's tent and passed out soon after. The elf had it coming and was in for a nice surprise upon his return. He made a mental note not to miss the elf's expression then, for _this_ view would surely wipe the smug grin off of his face for once.

Much to his surprise, the prior boring evening had turned out to be quite entertaining after all. Oghren raised his flask in the air for a toast. "To you, Missy. May you find that sodding wolf quickly and crack its sodding head open." With a frown he looked over to Leliana's tent. "Ancestor's know we need it."

.

.

* * *

.

Sunlight spilled forth from a clear sky and caressed her skin.

Lenya sat amidst the grass, legs stretched out and totally engrossed by the tale of Elvhenan. It was so much _better_ to read it for herself than being forced to listen to Hahren Paivel's blathering. Familiar noises of the camp surrounded her, a nice, comforting accompaniment that didn't divert her attention away from the story.

"Are you coming, Len?"

Eventually, she looked up from the book in her lap to see Fenarel standing in front of her, grinning. "Nah, I'm reading now. Obviously."

He stuck his tongue out to her, teasing. "Spoilsport. You'll never get better in archery this way, you know?"

Lenya shrugged. "I still beat you with blades at any time of the day, idiot." She grinned. "_Blindfolded_."

"Ouch." Fenarel made an exaggerated motion while holding his hands above his heart. "You are such a cruel woman to mock my hunter's pride, you know that?"

"You had it coming. Now get lost." She laughed, shaking her head in amusement. "Have fun, you two. I'll follow up later, okay?"

"As you wish." Lenya watched how her friend bounced off like a little boy, clearly too excited for someone his age. Since Tamlen was preparing for his test to become an acknowledged and full hunter of the clan, they often roamed the woods together to practice their skills. Alas, these excursions often ended in non-serious mocking with the intent to practice long forgotten. Today, Lenya felt in no mood to spend time with the boys, preferred a quieter activity for a change. She waited until both of them were out of sight and then continued to read.

.

~V~

.

She did not notice his approach until his arms were wrapped around her, holding her tightly from behind. Startled at the sudden warmth and pressure, the book fell into her lap, all instincts within screaming in alarm. Looking down at the hand that drew irritatingly soothing circles on her belly while the other hold her in place, she saw that these hands were not _elven_. She frowned. "You are not really here."

"Oh?" He chuckled, his hot breath tickling her pointed ear, causing a shiver to run down her spine. "What makes you think so?"

"You can't. You're human and –" the words lodged in her mouth, were unable to spill as he started to trail feather-light kisses down the line of her throat.

"I don't care."

Lenya bit on her lower lip to cage the whimper within, yet couldn't hinder the reactive tremble of her body. She wriggled in his arms and swallowed hard to regather herself, which only seemed to add to his amusement. "You're a human and in my clan's camp," she finally managed to say. "That's impossible. Not allowed."

"Hmm," Alistair's fingers drove softly over her cheek, then through the blond strands of her hair to brush it aside. "It seems as if they...don't _mind_." He dipped his head to nip on her now bared neck, trailing on to her shoulder and back. His lips _there_ were making it so damn hard for her to keep even a fraction of resolve. She wanted to push him away and scream at him to stop, but _couldn't_. All Lenya could do was the _attempt_ to keep her eyes open, to not drown even more into the sea of warmth and heat his kisses induced inside. Dazed, Lenya watched in confusion how her clanmates passed her one by one by without paying heed to the human hugging and kissing her. They simply smiled and waved to her as if she was still reading her book.

Everything was so unreal, like a dream.

_Yes, just like a drea..._ – Her thoughts splintered into nothingness and her back arched involuntarily as his warm mouth enveloped the overly sensitive tip of her ear. Alistair chuckled at her reaction and continued his affectionate caresses, even adding teeth and tongue to graze and nip the shell lightly. Lenya moaned, a sound so detached and foreign out of her throat, she thought it belonged to someone else. At least it cleared her head enough to back away from him, even if it was not more than an inch. "Stop. Now!" She noticed how her voice was quavering, her heart raced and her cheeks were flushed with heat.

To the Dread Wolf with that human!

In spite of it, Lenya turned around and did her best to glare at him – with success. Alistair released her in an instant ...only to appear immediately kneeling in front of her. He took her hands into his, his smile at her warm like the sun above. _Maddening_. She scowled. "I said _stop that_. You don't belong here!"

While his eyes never left hers, he led her hand to his lips to place a light kiss on its backside. "Maybe it is _you_ who doesn't belong here anymore, my dear."

"What are you talking about?" The scowl in her features deepened. "_This_ is my clan, my home. The place where I belong."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek in the barest of touch, causing her to tremble once more. She looked at him, confused to see an unfamiliar, smug smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

"Are you _sure_?"

.

~V~

.

Gasping, Lenya started up from what she _knew_ was a dream.

She remembered falling asleep at the fire pit in their camp amidst the forest, though that fact did little to explain why _that_ kind of a dream. Blinking, she rubbed her eyes to get rid of its remnants, her skin still flushed. She felt the trail of heat coming from the cracking flames, but this warmth was one that came from _inside_ of her. Leaning over to search for her water skin for a sip or two, she jumped as she recognized Zevran's familiar form, shrouded in the darkness.

"Need a refreshment?" Lenya disliked the amused grin in his face and inwardly wondered how long he had already sat there.

"Have you ...watched me sleep? That is seriously _creepy_, you know?"

"Ah, do not fret, my dear." He shrugged in his all casual way. "I have watched many things in my time of watch, because I'm _watchful_." Zevran handed her the water flask with a sly smile. "Naturally, you are, when you sleep, a piece of the environment and thus also requiring my watchful eyes. But I can report faithfully to my dear leader that the forest has been quiet and uneventful ...unlike your dream."

At that, Lenya spluttered the water out in a high fountain and coughed. "W-what?" She felt a heat suspiciously travel upward to settle on her cheeks. This was _beyond_ awkward and of course that damn elf didn't refrain from commenting on her reaction.

May the Dread Wolf get him.

"Ah, this must be the very first time I have sees you... flustered - _flushed_, even. Such a marvelous view. I will treasure it forever."

"Cut the crap, Zev." Her eyes narrowed, the tone adapting a warning growl. "I want to know if you watched me sleeping."

"As I said, I was here to keep watch, like our stone friend over there. Thus, I confess, it was a bit hard to overlook the thrashing about and delighted trembling of your...body across the fire pit."

Lenya lowered her gaze to stare into the flames, her voice defiant. "I had...a nightmare. D-darkspawn." Even to her own ears it sounded too weak an explanation.

"So...there is a darkspawn named Alistair?" Zevran raised one eyebrow inquiringly, the grin widened. "_Fantastic_. Maybe we should find it and introduce it to–"

"Oh, I give up." She rolled her eyes and groaned in ever-growing exasperation. "Knowing you, I never will hear the end of it otherwise." She swallowed, feeling the trail of heat within her cheeks flaring anew. "H-how did you know?"

He sighed dramatically, eyes fixed on hers. "Ah well, if you need to know: you _moaned_ his name. Quite ardently, I might add."

This time, Lenya managed to swallow the water first, at least. "I did _WHAT?_"

"Ah but this is nothing to be ashamed about, my dear." He tsked, wiggling his finger like Wynne in her best times. "These urges are very natural and sex or the dreaming thereof can be quite stress-relieving. And you have had loads of stress recently, if I'm allowed to say that."

"We are _not_ having this talk." Lenya glared at him and balled her hands into fists as the breathing accelerated with anger. She had to suppress the wish to ram Zevran's head into the amber of the flames, if only to wipe the smug grin off his face.

"Tsk, so _finicky_ again, alas." He shook his head. "But don't misunderstand me, my dear. I simply think Alistair can count himself a lucky man indeed."

Lenya crossed her arms to pout. "I have no interest in such things. We are friends, nothing more."

"Friends?" Zevran burst out laughing, slapping his hands on his knees before he suddenly grew all serious. "You are _not_ friends. In fact, I do not believe that you have _ever_ been friends. I'm quite aware that I may be the wrong person to lecture you about love, but I do recognize sexual attraction when I see it."

"I don't know _what_ you mean."

"Ah, there is no reason to sulk, my dear. Or to lie, for that matter." His tone scolded her mockingly. " And here I thought we were friends. Though, if you need an example I will gladly help you out: Hmm...what about the situation today after we found your Dalish friend?"

"I was angry at him, because he acted like a jerk. _Obviously_." Why was she even defending herself against Zevran? Why was he pressing this topic so much at all? It made no sense to her and only increased her irritation. Huffing, she started a staring contest with the flames, fed up with the topic.

"And you did what? Stare Alistair down until he dropped dead? Ah, it was not as effective as it seemed, my dear. Quite in contrast to the tension between you both."

"I sent him back to camp later on," she snapped. "I think you saw that part yourself."

"Yes, but–"

"Leave it be, Zevran!" Lenya jolted up from her place, trembling in anger. "I don't understand _why_ this is so terribly interesting to you. Can you explain that to me? Or am I simply an object to contemplate in your idle time?" She stared down at him, demanding an answer that did not come. For a long moment, he was infuriatingly silent, unable, even, to meet her eyes - very unlike the brazen assassin. "You know what? Keep your reasons. I don't care anymore."

She wanted to storm away, uncaring about the dark forest beyond the firelight, but his hand came around her wrist, stopping her. He was on his feet all at once, his eyes fixed on hers, the intensity within them startling her. "Because I want you to be _happy_."

Lenya blinked and didn't trust her voice, felt unable to reply. "..._What_?" she finally managed, albeit meekly.

"Don't think of all what you have done has been unnoticed, my dear." Zevran smiled at her. Not the usual, playful smile he liked to hide behind, but an honest one. "You spared my life, when you had no reason to do so. You saved us from the traps of a Fade demon in the mage tower, even ended a rampage of abominations which saved us the alliance of mages _and_ templar. You returned to the Deep Roads in spite of not wanting to, solely so that Shale could find her identity. You risked your life to fight Morrigan's mother for her – a High Dragon – just because she _asked_ you to. You returned to Ostagar, not for the king's treasure, but with the knowledge that it would help Alistair to move on from his grief. You stood up for Leliana, convincing your people to aid her even though you don't like her much. And now you are fighting hordes of werewolves because the keeper of some clan – who isn't even your own - asked you to. You, my dear, are _ridiculously awesome_ in what you are doing for the people around you." Zevran shook his head with a long sigh. "Your great plan of saving Thedas and everyone within it has just one big flaw, my dear Warden."

Lenya felt tears welling dangerously behind her eyes and swallowed the big lump in her throat down to be able to speak. "...Which one?"

"You keep forgetting about _yourself_."

That was _it_. Her vision blurred until she couldn't see his form any longer, a cascade of sobs rippling through her chest. It spilled forth from her throat, the mixed emotion of desperation and gratitude given voice.

"Oh no, and now I made you _cry_. _Tsk, _brilliant." She felt his fingers touch her cheeks and brush the tears away. "And here I just wanted to give you some well-meaning advice, my dear. Personally, I tend to make the best of whatever situation I find myself in, stealing what moments I can. It's served me well, most days. You might learn to do the same. Your life is already hard enough as it is. There is no reason to deny yourself what _you_ want."

Lenya didn't know how or _why_, but she took a step forward and kissed him, responding to an inexplicable impulse. Zevran acted surprised at first, though quickly surrendered to her unspoken demand. His lips were warm and his tongue – without a doubt– _skilled_. He definitely knew _what_ he was doing and _how_ to elicit a response out of her body. Yet in all the apparent perfection of that kiss, she didn't feel the same thrill and depth of emotion as with _him, _no matter how much she _wished _to. Because Zevran was _elven_ and it would have been so much _easier_ to love him and – _no_. Grimacing, her hands came up to push him away from herself.

"Ah, I see..." He chuckled, not offended at all by her reaction. "...We _are_ friends and nothing more. But then again, there are indeed worse fates than to be befriended by a woman who is capable of single-handedly taking on all of the Crows, I am sure. Besides, I can remember there is a fair but dangerously sick maiden back in camp, who requires my noble rescue in slaying the fearsome wolf. ...Among many others first, of course. Ah well." Zevran looked at her with a smile. Another of the genuine ones. "Are you feeling better now? No forgetting Thedas around yourself or singing bards while we kissed, I fear, yet I hope it helped to... set some things into the _right_ light."

Lenya took a deep breath, inhaling air that smelled so much like smoked firewood. A scent reminding her of _him_, of all the sleepless nights spent gathered around a fire in the darkness. "Maybe I have been too harsh to him, I don't know. Still, I don't think I can love a human. Who am I, when I deny even my heritage? It is all that is left for me."

Instead of getting a serious answer like before, Zevran had slipped back all too easily into his usual role of jest and playfulness. "Silly woman, you haven't listened at all, haven't you? _Tsk_, no wonder even our patient Alistair snaps sometimes like he does. You can be quite..._complicated_, my dear. A trait which certainly makes you more interesting, but at times it only induces... _headaches_."

"Zev?"

He sat down on the ground again and lazily stretched his limbs. "Yes, my fearless leader?"

"Shut up." Lenya wanted to give him a glare, yet couldn't help smiling at him. "Also, _thank_ you. For being... _you_."

"Tsk, no need to thank for that, it is what I'm good in, after all. Now get some sleep with _naughty_ dreams. You might want to begin the day _free_ of stress, no?"

"Idiot." Lenya flung the water skin into his direction, which unfortunately missed his head by an inch.

.

.

* * *

.

Life wasn't fair.

First, Alistair awakened in the morning feeling as if he had been hit by several ogres. Then Wynne made him _wash_ the fabric of Zevran's tent, of all things. Granted, him puking over it hadn't been exactly a _nice _thing to do, but it _was_ a somewhat funny coincidence he would remember fondly for a while.

_If_ he could still remember.

Now he sat on the ground, his head was resting in his hand, not moving more than absolutely necessary. "Can I please get something against the...hangover?" He didn't even _try_ to heave his head up to look at the mage. The daylight was way too piercing and painful for that. "It is quite...nasty, you know? And did I mention: _ouch_?"

"Thar is your own fault, Alistair. Actually, I should not be helping you at all."

"Aren't you a healer?" He let out a pained groan. "I'm sick, so _heal_ me."

"No, you are _not_ sick." Alistair could imagine how Wynne stood before him; hands set on her hips, the expression stern and disapproving. Still, he was _not_ looking up to find out if he was right with his assumption. "You were simply behaving irresponsibly when you decided to drink with _Oghren_, of _all _people. How could you do that? You should have known better."

Another muffled groan escaped the back of his throat and he decided that this was a good way to react to _anything_ and _anyone_. Especially tedious, lecturing mages. Maybe he should simply stand up and put his head into the cold water of the lake until he drowned. _That_ would stop the headache for sure and not _adding_ to it like Wynne's long-winded lecture. The only problem with that plan was that he would be _dead_. Also, standing up required _moving, _so it was pretty much ruled out.

For now he settled with his old and oft used friend: sarcasm. "I'm sorry that I wasn't reacting _appropriate_ and up to your standards of being a Warden, Wynne." Alistair sighed and attempted to take the biting sharpness out of his voice. "You know, I have better things to do than to drink alcohol...at least that _much_. But I wasn't exactly _happy_ about Lenya sending me away... and..." The words failed him as the memories of the events and the hurt and pain in its wake crashed over him like a tidal wave.

He buried his face deeper into his hands and this time, the hangover was not to blame for it. "Here." Wynne shoved a vial into his sight, the contents of which smelled beyond awful, somehow like Arai's... _breath_. "This should help to clear the headache."

Considering the smell, he was sure it would clear _more_ than that. Before he could really think about _what_ exactly it contained, Alistair downed the liquid in one gulp and coughed furiously afterward. "That...is..."

"Bitter? Yes, like love is at times." He heard Wynne chuckle, but didn't trust himself and his stomach well enough to look up. He didn't want to clean yet _another_ tent, after all. Remaining completely still for a moment, Alistair felt the torture Wynne called medicine start to work. As if a cobweb was brushed away from head and mind, everything was getting clearer as the headache was subdued into a minor buzzing. Taking a deep breath, he finally dared to look up, surprised to notice the light above was causing no harm anymore. "Thank you, even though I need to wash my mouth now. Preferably for _hours_. "

"Oh sorry, I had totally _forgotten_ how atrocious the taste and smell of this potion is." Considering her amused tone and the smirk in her features, Alistair was certain of the _opposite_. With a snort of disbelief he got up from the ground to fetch his water skin from his tent. _Quickly_.

Wynne still sat on the same spot as he returned, the book in her lap. "Are you better now? I hope you learned a thing or two."

"Yes. Alcohol _baaaad_. Potion to cure hangover caused by alcohol even _woooorse_." He took a huge gulp from the water, but instead of swallowing it, he spat it out into the grass.

Wynne observed his antics, no less amused than before. "So, do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?"

"Yesterday?" He gave an uncaring shrug. "I thought we already covered that. Alcohol. Drunk. Dirty tents. _Bad_ Alistair."

The humor faded from Wynne's features. "No, I meant with Lenya."

"Oh." His face fell, in sync with the feeling of dread that settled inside. "No. I-I would rather _not_."

She hummed with a hint of compassion. "I see. As you wish."

Silence settled over the camp, as Wynne continued to read and Alistair had nothing to say. His head was cleared from the inebriated fog, and unfortunately _that_ allowed his mind to wander and relive these words of hers that had hurt him so much.

_Get lost. I don't want you here anymore._

Alistair shrank, his head sinking back into his hands as he felt every bit as useless as she had said he was. Remembering that he wasn't alone, he inhaled deeply and corrected his posture, but it did little to stop the dejected feeling inside. Alistair glanced over at the mage and sighed. "Have you ever been in love, Wynne?"

She blinked up from her tome, for a moment taken aback by the unusual, personal question. "Relationships between mages in the tower were and still are frowned upon by the Chantry." She smiled, her eyes distant in memories. "Although that does not stop us from seeking out each other's..._company_ from time to time." Wynne looked at him again, her smile adapting a warm, understanding note. "I assume there is a reason why you ask..."

He hesitated for a moment before replying. "I... W-will it ever get _better_?"

"In time. ...But there are no potions to cure love-sickness, I fear."

"Too bad." Alistair's hand clawed into a clump of grass next to him, the pent up frustration and hurt within too much. "Because I really could use one."

"I know, Alistair." The mage let out a long sigh. "I _know_."


	75. Change

_**A/N: **Once more thanks to all reading and especially to my faithful peeps taking the time for feedback every single chapter. Though you are all awesome for reading this long drivel. And tklivory for the great beta. *hugs* Enjoy. _

* * *

_**Once again taboo becomes your law  
What you want seems taken by another tide turning  
Away from our flower field where we used to lay beneath the sky,  
riding dreams to some other side  
Do they burn, the wishes whispered, like secrets, they yearn, just to be heard  
I'm done with questions, I have no answers, the choice is yours... **_

_~Poets of the Fall – Heal my wounds_

* * *

_.  
_

**Chapter 70: Change**

.

"Hrrrrm... what manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?"

Not only did the tree in front of them speak, it _rhymed_.

_Ghilan'nain's blasted tits..._

Lenya smothered the wish to rub her eyes in disbelief and noticed that her mouth stood agape. Snapping it close with an audible plop, she expected the tree to attack, like the dozen sylvan before it. Creators bless Morrigan and her wonderful gift to conjure burning flames out of her fingertips. But the giant oak only remained still, as if waiting for ...an answer? The forest was getting more strange with every passing minute, much to her dismay. By now, Lenya actually _expected_ a darkspawn horde to pop out between the trees and dance the serenade of the Blight, dressed in pink, fluffy _tutus_.

"You...err...speak? ...Why? H-how?" Her brain utterly failed her for a moment in light of what it was now forced to process.

"Why and how do I speak? The same as you. I form the words and sound them true. Now I have answered a query of thine, but thou hast yet to answer mine."

"Err...I'm a Dalish...obviously."

"Ahhh, yes, I remember thee. Long ago, the elves roamed free, their numbers few and passing fast until one eve we saw their last." Its wood creaked as it made a motion similar to a bow toward the group. "Allow me a moment to welcome thee. I am called the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree."

"It... rhymes?" Even Morrigan seemed to be at a loss for words this once, blinking as if not trusting her eyes - or, for that matter, her ears. "...'Tis really a _rhyming_ tree. One can only imagine what manner of spirit is involved here."

"Yes, very _interesting_." Shale snorted and looked over to Lenya for approval. "Can I crush it?"

Only able to shake her head to deny the golem the wish for more destruction, Lenya kept staring at the wondrous creature. "Why do you rhyme, for Creators' _freaking_ sake?"

"Again, a question, I see. Why is it rhyming, this old tree? I do not know. Why dost thou not? Thy words seem plain, a mundane lot. Perhaps a poet's soul's in me..." It paused and let out a sound that suspiciously sounded like a chuckle. "Does that make me a poet tree?"

"Poet... tree?" Zevran grinned, amused. "Ah, how very clever, this usage of words. Now I wonder if it knows some dirty limericks."

"Very funny." Lenya rolled her eyes. "But _what_ exactly are you?"

Its wood shifted once more as it turned to the Dalish. "I am an elder oak and nothing more, though once I dreamt of a time before, when I roamed the world and howled with pain, not of this world but twixt and twain. Perhaps I was a spirit then? A wandering thing drawn to this glen? But then that spirit joined with a tree; since then, a tree is all I be."

"Hmph, _boring_. My stone is itching for some violence and Its rhyming is getting annoying. ...Are you certain you don't want us to attack us like the other trees?" Shale was not impressed, appearing downright disappointed by the friendly attitude of the Grand Oak. Spirit. Thing. Whatever it was. Lenya was still not wiser than before.

"That is a good question actually: Why are you different and not...well..._hostile_ like the other trees?"

"They are a spirit trapped within a tree, no mouth to scream or eyes to see. A cage of bark, a prison wood, a thing of rage where nature stood. So twisted sylvan they become, but I am _not_ the same as some. I accept my fated oaken home, I feel no need to rage and roam."

She rubbed her temples, feeling her patience coming to an end. As fascinating as the discovery of a talking tree was in and of itself, all the rhyming was quickly getting tiresome. "That is...nice for you, really. And I would love to stay all day and watch Zevran teach you dirty limericks – or the other way around – but I really need to get through that annoying barrier. I don't know if the werewolves or the forest itself has created it and frankly I don't care. Are you actually useful and able to help me to get through to the center of the forest? Or are you just here to give me a headache with your stupid rhymes?"

The creature appeared...sad? She arched an eyebrow at its reaction. "My nature is a simple guise; I cannot make it otherwise. I speak as clearly as I see. Plainer than this I cannot be. But I have but one desire, to solve a matter very dire: as I slept one early morn, a thief did come and steal an acorn." It let out a sound similar to a sigh, its deep voice bearing sorrow. "All I have is my being, my seed. Without it I am alone indeed. I cannot go and seek it out; yet I shall die if left without."

"An...acorn?" Zevran blinked, already rummaging in his pack. "We found one in the tree stump of that very funny, yet very insane hermit. Ah, it is good that I'm so used to slipping my hand into dark holes from time to time, no?"

Morrigan made a face. "Ugh. I...will simply act as if I hadn't heard about you being disgusting as usual again, elf."

"Too bad, my lovely witch." He grinned, not offended at all. "You will miss out on a long, _fascinating_ story."

"Whatever." With a grousing sound, Lenya folded her arms and glowered at the Grand Oak. "What's in it for us when we give you the acorn back?"

"Thou..hast my seed? That makes me happy indeed." It... gasped? The creature appeared completely surprised, but not less than Lenya was that the tree could... _gasp_. "My wooden skin has some magic, see, and part of it I can give to thee. The forest would see thee as a tree, and so no harm would come to thee."

"So we'd stop getting thrown out of the center of the forest with it?" Zevran played with the acorn in his hand and looked up to the massive creature. The Grand Oak made a nodding motion, the branches of its wood swaying in the wind. The elf took a step forward and put the acorn into some sort of hands, made out of thin wooden sticks. "Sounds like a deal."

"My joy soars to new heights indeed! I am reunited with my seed!" There was a brief cracking sound as the elder tree tore a branch from itself and handed it to Lenya. "As I promised, here it be. I hope its magic pleases thee. Keep this branch of mine with thee, and pass throughout the forest free."

Arai woofed in excitement and jumped around his mistress, who arched an eyebrow at her dog. "No, you _can't_ play fetch with it. I guess we will need this... thing." Stashing the piece of wood in her belt, she sighed at Arai's unrelenting whining. "Well, maybe _later_." That seemed to please the Mabari and he sat down to watch the Grand Oak with great interest. Lenya just hoped that he wouldn't try to _pee_ on it. On the other hand– she stifled a snort as she listened to the creature speaking. Hopefully for the last time, because she could already feel how a headache was forming behind her forehead.

_Ugh..._

"I wish thee well, my mortal friends. Thou brought my sadness to an end." The Grand Oak bowed down once more, this time even deeper. "May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong."

"Whatever, can we go now? There are still many furry heads to _crush_." Already Shale stomping off, visibly eager for the next massacre she liked to cause so much.

Lenya grinned at the golem's antic. "I couldn't have said it better." Turning one last time to the tree creature, she noticed how it had become still, despite the fact that she was aware of being _watched_ by it. Creepy. Shaking the feeling off, she whirled on her heels to follow the golem and her group to the main forest entrance.

There was no time to lose.

.

.

* * *

.

"...Z-Zevran?" Leliana's eyelids fluttered open.

Alistair quickly swallowed the irritation at hearing _that_ name from her lips. His personal grudge against the elf was utterly misplaced here. "No, not _exactly_." He settled for a joke, something that would take the sharpness out of his emotions at seeing his friend in such a condition. "He went with Lenya into the forest to end this curse."

"A-Alistair?" Her unfocused eyes fixed on him with confusion. "And why are you here, then, and not with Lenya?"

He briefly closed his eyes, in an attempt to will the fierce tug of pain away. Re-opening them, he forced a smile onto his face. "Well, someone has to take care of you, right?" Noticing that he was staring at her heated face and the watered cloth in his hands, Alistair jerked up from her bedroll. "But you should rest and not be worried about me. Leave that to me." Another smile before he turned, careful of not standing up completely in the tiny tent.

"No, stay. I... Talk with me. I could use some distraction." Leliana coughed as she sat up in her bedroll and paused before she asked, "Could you hand me my water skin? It is over there."

"...Of course." It didn't take him long to find it, yet he knew how hard it must have been to ask for it. Leliana was a strong, independent woman who did not like to depend on others for help, though with her sickness she had no other choice. It reminded him of when Lenya had been sick and – he groaned in frustration. Maker, could he _stop_ thinking about Lenya for one freaking moment, please? Just _one?_ Especially when he was in the tent of his sick friend and companion. It was simply inappropriate to mope and think about her _here_. _Who am I kidding?_ he thought morosely. Even looking at the Maker-blasted _grass _caused thoughts of her to rush through his mind.

He was such a fool.

"So you had a fight?" He blinked, noticing that Leliana had been observing his love-sick antics the whole time. Great. "She is quite fiery and hot-headed, but not stupid. Don't worry: she'll come around."

Alistair sighed long and deep, as Leliana drank from her water skin. "No, this time was different. I said some stupid things –"

"How is _that_ different?" There was easy humor in her voice, despite her tired eyes and the pain she chose not to show. And yet, Alistair recognized the little tremors, the flinches she made when she thought he wasn't looking. He didn't know _how_ he was able to perceive her well-hidden agony exactly, possibly because this curse did not stray too far from the affliction of the taint. He shook the dark thought off and instead concentrated on the long missed feeling of talking with her. "Oh, ho ho. Funny, my lady." The humor quickly faded, no matter how much he wished he could joke about the events. "No, I mean she...didn't get angry about what I said...much. I can handle that, but not the silent coldness and... and... her sending me back like some useless baggage." His head rested in his hands and he couldn't stop himself from blurting. "I _know_ she doesn't love me, but if I'm not even allowed to stay and fight at her side anymore, what is _left _for me? I... I feel so useless right now." His hand rubbed over his face as he swallowed down whatever tears wanted to come out. "A-and this is _stupid_, forget it. I shouldn't burden you with my trivial problems when it is _you_ who has every right to complain. Not I!"

Her hand reached for his, the gesture friendly and compassionate. Alistair was startled momentarily by the heat emanating from it, but quickly recovered and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She smiled. "I have asked, have I not? And it is better to talk with you than to lie here... asking myself how much time I still ha–" Her eyes lowered to her hands, the mouth creased in sorrow as she fell silent. He wanted to object, do something – _anything_ – to make it better, yet the bitter truth was that he could do _nothing_. Nothing but be there for her and wait for Lenya's hopefully swift return. That thought didn't make him feel better, though now for an entirely different reason.

Leliana quickly regathered herself. Shoulders straightening, she looked at him with a smile, as if nothing had ever happened. "What makes you think she doesn't love you?"

"You really want to..." He sighed, his erratic hand driven through the hair. "Fine, go on, _pamper_ me. Actually she made it pretty clear with _telling_ me that, if you want to know. I think that is the most _obvious_ way, right?

"Words...are not the most important thing, Alistair." She shook her head, smiling up to him. "There are always the things in between that remain unsaid, yet are present. Gestures, glances, that kind of thing. They often say more about what a person is feeling than words alone, or even contradict them."

He laughed out loud, finding the thought ridiculous. "Right, then you must have missed her very clear gesture of sending me back into camp. No, you know what? Let's drop this. I should finally accept that she'll never love me for who I am and move on, like Lenya has already done with Zevran."

"With ...Zevran?" Leliana blinked, dumbfounded for a longer moment than Alistair would have wanted. And then laughed even more extensively than he'd _ever_ wished her to... and just didn't stop. The amused sound rippled through her like waves of water, spilling out of her mouth in a feminine, almost girlish giggle that was so unlike Lenya's snorting.

_Maker, not again..._

"Right, go on, _laugh_." Frustrated by her reaction and the incessant thoughts of Lenya, his lips formed a boyish pout. "I'm just here for everyone's amusement it seems. _Alistair the laughing stock,_ now this spring exclusively in a camp nearby."

"Sorry, but..." Leliana tried to contain herself, but her laughing fit was only stopped by a bout of coughing, reminding him keenly that she was _still_ sick with the curse. Even if they were sitting together and talking like always, _everything_ was different now. Alistair didn't want to lose her. Leliana was a friend dear to him, a person he could turn to with every kind of problem. Especially now, it felt good to be able to talk with her, since she was a woman and he had a problem with, well, a woman.

"You are _endearing_."

"Huh?" His head snapped up, catching up with her words. "Thanks, but somehow that didn't sound too... positive just now."

"Ah, _attentive_, are we? I wish you were that observant with Lenya, though." Leliana raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I guess Zev was right, you really are totally innocent. _That_ is endearing."

"How does... wait, _what?_"

She completely ignored his bewilderment. "However, you still have a lot to learn about women and matters of the heart, my dear. Lenya might be... complicated and very closed off at times, but she is a woman nonetheless."

"This fact hasn't... eluded me." A heat rushed to the tip of his ears and he felt embarrassed and so very self-conscious of his inexperience all the sudden. "But what does that have to do with... Lenya? Or...Zevran?"

"I have watched her in camp," Leliana stated as if this were the most normal thing to do, then bit her lip. "In the forest, I mean, _before_ we met the werewolves. And don't look at me like that. It is an essential part of bardic training to learn to read body language by simply observing people and reacting accordingly."

"That is... creepy. ...Somewhat."

A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. "And a very useful weapon, too, if wielded correctly."

"Well then let me repeat: _Creepy_."

"Anyway..." She halted to take a swig out of her water flask. "To me, she looked very _confused_. I don't know what happened between you two, but the tension makes it obvious _something_ has happened." His thoughts wandered unbidden to the kiss in the rain once more, and he noticed too late that Leliana's knowing smile meant that the memory showed on his face. Damn her. She giggled, in spite of her own situation. "You are cute when you get all dreamy-eyed. Lenya is a lucky girl."

The treacherous heat wandered from his ears to the cheeks, even though he didn't feel like blushing. At all. "Well, at least _you_ think so." His eyes narrowed, the tone unwanted bitterness. "Pass her the note when you see her the next time together with _Zevran_, yeah? Thanks."

Leliana swatted him on the arm. "You can be glad that I'm sick or else I would smack you in the head for that. Well, I confess, at first I thought so myself, but now I'm sure that Lenya has no interest for him in _that_ way."

Alistair made a disbelieving snort, yet decided to play along, even if only to distract Leliana from her sickness. "And the reason you are so certain about it is?"

"Her expression when she was lost deep in thought and unaware of her surroundings." Her smile adapted a sly note. "And of course, the glances she was stealing into your direction, when she was certain that no one was looking."

"I really don't know if I should be disturbed or concerned that you were watchi- wait, _what_?"

She stifled a laugh at his reaction. "Also...she is elven, no? After thinking about it, it makes sense to me that she seek out his company, since Zevran is the only other elf in our group. Especially in a time when she seems so confused. I think she simply needs some time still. We women like to be wooed, but we also need time and distance to weigh the offered... options."

Alistair stared at the bard, unable to do anything else. His mouth snapped open and closed, but no matter how hard he tried, no words left it. He was thankful that she decided not to comment on his overly dumbfounded expression. "And even _if_ you should be right with your firm belief of being unloved by her – which you aren't – you might want to be there for her nonetheless. Because being her friend is better than to have no role in her life, no?"

A welter of emotions rushed through him and he shook himself to smother them. "I... yes, you are right. But currently it is... too hard for me to be around her. I..." He fell silent, biting on his lower lip.

"Ah, yes, unrequited love." Leliana sighed long. "How romantic and tragic at the same time. This makes me want to write a ballad, once my head is less fuzzy."

"The thrill of it is sorely overrated, honestly."

Her face, still heated by the fever, brightened up, as if she weren't sick at all. "Or I can throw you into a room together with Lenya and turn the key until both of you finally figure out whether to _kill_ or _love_ each other." There was a pregnant pause in which all humor escaped from her features, her voice bearing a tone he didn't like. "You are a dear friend, Alistair, almost like the younger brother I never had. And you... you deserve a chance of happiness, even if you are a Grey Warden. _Especially_ because of that. There is already so much death and pain around you and it hardly seems fair that you are one of the last Grey Warden to fight the Blight. I'm glad to be here, to have helped you - both of you - on your way, as little help as this might have been. I don't regret it. _None_ of it, least of all having protected Wynne like I did."

"You speak almost as if..." Alistair swallowed, yet couldn't bring the sentence to an end.

_No..._

"It's getting harder to maintain my... I feel as if I'm burning up, from the inside." She looked away, voice tiny. "I don't know how much time I still have left before–"

"No!" Alistair interrupted her firmly, a feeling of dread settling unbidden inside. "Lenya will have the curse broken, just you watch." He felt like a petulant child saying that, but was not going to lose her, _too_.

She didn't listen to him and followed through with this maddening idea he didn't want to hear about. "I don't want to end up as a beast." Leliana looked him directly in the eyes, her gaze a mixture of sorrow and silent pleas. "Please, if I ever should...start to change..." – _No, no, no_ – His head was chanting this word again and again, her intent clear before it was spoken. He wanted to cover his ears and be oblivious of her _impossible _demand, yet before he had the time to do so, she had already said it.

"..._Kill_ me."

Those little two words were harsh, raw and bare, crashing over him with an unbelievable force. He gaped at her – _his friend _– who had just asked him to _kill_ her in case... "No, you can't–" Alistair scarcely managed, swallowing what felt like thousands of needles in his throat.

"Please, Alistair." There was a hint of tears in her eyes, yet the resolve remained unbroken. "_Promise_."

His arms came around her, pulling her close, sweaty and sick and heated as she was. He felt the need to assure himself of her presence, that it wasn't a nightmare, yet half hoped it to be. Leliana patted his back a bit awkwardly, murmuring words of reassurance and how everything would be _okay_. This also reminded him that _Leliana _was the strong one, not he. Alistair was momentarily silent, stunned by the shocked realization that none of them were invincible and could perish all too easily. And given the monstrosity of this task, they most likely _would_.

Being a Grey Warden meant to do whatever was necessary to end the Blight, but deep inside he realized he wasn't truly cut out for this philosophy. He was too weak, too much filled with feelings and compassion for everyone that weren't darkspawn or mindless beasts. Deep down he was a _coward_, comfortably hiding behind Lenya's leadership, afraid of those hard decisions he pushed over to her to make. He wasn't strong, not _there_ when friends needed him the most in unbearable situations, like Lenya with tainted girl in Lothering.

Though maybe this weakness was simultaneously his strength, something that showed he was _human_ even after all the blood, killing and countless awful things he had seen. He wasn't numb and indifferent toward the events as other people could become during a war. He _cared_ and always would, especially for the people around him, his companions. But he needed to stop running away and face what it _meant_, even if it was so gruesome that it left him shaking and in tears. Alistair really, _really_ didn't want to fulfill the promise and yet it was his Maker-bedamned _duty_ as a friend to at least give it to her. So he pulled back and looked her in the eyes, teary as his own, his voice trembling yet determined.

"I promise."

.

.

* * *

.

_Lenya turned around to her friend and rolled her eyes._

"_What? Don't tell me you don't want to find out what's in there, Tam."_

_Tamlen was visibly hesitating, unsure, even shaking a bit while he stared at the entrance of the cave. "N-no, it's not that, but how can it be that we never even noticed this cave before? I mean we've been roaming and hunting in this forest for weeks and still this is the first time I have seen this place."_

_She nudged him on his arm, grinning. "Well, time to find out, right?"_

_He made a face, still not moving. "I really think we should go back and tell the Keeper, Len."_

"_And do what? Tell her we ran into _shem'alas_ that we killed for _this_?" She held up the strange figurine that looked so similar to one of the statues in camp and yet so foreign. "I'm sure she would condemn us to even _more _weeks of armor polishing for skipping our punishment today to roam the woods. As beautiful as this is to add to the collection of our clan, we need to find something more, something that makes her forgive... our, well, _idle_ day. Also it will be fun!"_

_Lenya felt her lips quirk up as she saw how Tamlen's reluctance was dwindling, how he slowly gave in to the adventurous idea. He shook his head, laughing in disbelief. "You... are a really, really _bad_ influence. Since knowing you I have been in trouble how many times? Somewhere along the years I stopped counting."_

_Again, she rolled her eyes, though this time more to mock him. "And you are always _so innocent_, right, _lethallan_? But thanks for covering for me the last time."_

"_That is what friends are for. Though, Len, you need to stop and listen at tim–"_

"_Boooriiiing." She interrupted him with a grin. "Going now. Searching for elven artifacts and all that."_

_She heard his resigned sigh even as Tamlen followed her into the cave._

.

~V~

.

_For once in her life, Lenya wished she _had _listened._

_This place was... _wrong_. An ancient elven ruin in a _cave_ – of all things – twisted with an atmosphere that was thick with despair and anger._

_And then there were the undead: dark, mad souls that should no longer linger in this world and yet did. Bound to a decaying body, the foul smelling flesh rotted and bones bared, they had attacked the young Dalish on sight._

Wrong...

_Breathless and wide-eyed, Lenya stared at one of the _impossible_ creatures, decapitated by her daggers. "Tam, maybe we – "_

"_Getting scared, are we?" He flashed his cocky grin that she hated so, because it meant he had grown too stubborn, too proud to give up now. "Well, while this place gives me the creeps, there is only one room left. After that we are out of here, with the Creators speeding our way. So just a final peek, okay?"_

_Lenya frowned at him, disliking her reaction. It had been her idea all along, after all. So it was only fair and fitting that they would finish what they had begun, bad feeling or not. "Fine... just let us be quick."_

"_Don't worry," he laughed. "I'm here with you."_

.

~V~

.

"_Wow. Have you ever seen anything like it?"_

_The beast attacking them already forgotten, Tamlen walked forward, drawn by the strange mirror-like object in the middle. Lenya, still struggling to sort out recent events, couldn't believe her eyes. This creature that now lay dead in its own blood looked like a bear, but it was... twisted. Wrong. Like everything here._

_Finally tearing her eyes away from the monster, she looked over to her best friend, seeing him move closer and closer to the silvery sheen. "Tam... That is not a good idea."_

_He didn't listen. "Let's just take one look. It's a beautiful mirror, isn't it? See how clean it is? Not a single smudge or crack. I wonder what the writing on it says."_

"_Tamlen?" Every sense inside her screamed in alarm, the inherited ability to sense magic bristling in horror. She was such an _idiot_. Why hadn't she paid heed to the warning signs before entering the room? Why had she followed through with it, too stubborn to give in to Tamlen, to confess that he had been right? They should have returned to the Keeper, like he said. If something were to happen to him now, it would be all _her_ fault._

_Blades clattering on the ground, Lenya started to run. "Get away from it!"_

_Tamlen didn't hear her. Eyes fixed on the mirror, he touched its unnatural surface. "It's... showing me places. I can see... some kind of city... underground? And... there's a great blackness..."_

No...

_She was not fast enough, as if she were running without advancing forward. Something in this room seemed to reach out and weaken her, robbing her of speed and power. Lenya fought against the dark energy with all her might, stumbling, but did not fall. "No, Tamlen!"_

_Just as she touched his shoulder to tear him away, the mirror combusted in a white light, freezing her whole being from the inside. Tamlen's agonized scream reverberated in her ears and before blackness clouded her consciousness, she knew:_

_She was too late._

_._

~V~

.

"What are you waiting for? Do you plan to stare at the ruins all day?"

Lost in memory, Lenya blinked, forcing her unfocused eyes to fix on the figure of a very exasperated Morrigan. The witch could only hold her attention a short while, before her gaze fell back on the ancient ruins into which the werewolves had retreated. Ancient _elven_ ruins.

_The Creators must be laughing their asses off at _this _twisted irony..._

Lenya laughed too, a strange, detached sound that bubbled out of her mouth until it reached a hysterical volume. All the while she stared at the ruin, couldn't take her eyes off of the memories it awoke deep inside: suppressed, bitter memories of guilt and loss. "An ancient elven ruin..." She fell silent as a tremor shook her body, rippling through her being like an endless wave, again and again. She couldn't stop it, couldn't will those feelings away; the horror was too much.

_I never want to feel that again..._

Lenya felt her knees giving in, expected and relished the fall, but arms stopped her, holding her upright. Whispering words of reassurance in his own tongue, Zevran embraced her without even _asking_ about the reason of her breakdown. He was just _there_, warm and comforting and yet _wrong_. The chest she was pressed on was more slender than _his, _the scent leather and oil instead of metal and smoked firewood. His height was similar to her own instead of being so much taller than her. Before it was always, _always_ the big, bumbling, round-eared idiot who comforted her, who knew _everything_ about her, about Tamlen. Zevran's embrace now felt... jarring in comparison. In another time and place she would have been content to be held by him, to gaze into his handsome face and take more than the offered friendship. Because he was elven – though not Dalish – and hence the _logical_, right match for her. The irrational reality, however, was... _Alistair_. Her fellow Warden, the human who could ignite her wrath with only a few words and dispel her fears with the but the barest of touches. Even now, in his absence, his presence loomed _large_.

Lenya managed to catch her breath and stop the shaking as she backed away from Zevran's chest. She saw his questioning eyebrow, yet he stayed silent. Behind her, Morrigan and Shale nearly groaned in unison, fed up by her illogical fit of drama. They didn't know _why_ she'd reacted like that, but that was _okay_. It was enough that _he _would know and understand her had he been there.

Lenya still didn't want to set a single foot inside of the ruin. In spite of that, she turned around with a smile, slipping into the role of 'The Leader' again. "I'm sorry. I was...dizzy, I guess. I'm better now." Zevran made a tiny sound in the back of his throat, too subtle for the others to catch, yet loud enough for her sensitive hearing. He wasn't buying any of it.

She ignored it, continuing to play her role with bravado. "Let's go. But if someone finds a mirror in the ruin, do _not _touch it." Over Shale's muttering of '_crazy_ painted Warden' and the roll of Morrigan's eyes, they finally moved forward and into the ruin.

Zevran passed her by and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "I will make sure to remember that, my dear Warden. Mirrors in a ruin are not to be trusted." His hand squeezed her shoulder for a fleeting moment before he was starting ahead into the steep shadows again. Baffled, Lenya blinked after his form, but quickly recovered with a smile.

Maybe it was okay when Zevran knew, too.

.

.


	76. Truth Within Deceit

**A/N:** _I don't know why Alistair has her dagger. Let's just say he searched for herbs to treat Leliana, found it and go with it. Otherwise loooong chapter due to Dalish elf plotline solution. And that took ages. Sorry for the toolset abuse at the end, tis was easier and more fitting to use the original dialogue_. _Enjoy._

_Thanks to **tlkivory **for the once more excellent beta read.  
_

* * *

_**What is this chill at my heel  
That makes the protections I've built around my pseudo world premiere  
Tearing my utopian fiction apart as it happens to just pass along  
I feel a change coming on  
Rolling out of the blue like a storm**_

_~Poets of the Fall – Change_

* * *

_.  
_

**Chapter 71: Truth Within Deceit**

.

Alistair sat on the grass, frowning at the dagger in his hand.

It was old and worn, the blade blunt and scratched. To him, it made absolutely no sense why Lenya still carried it around. She couldn't use it in a fight, nor to prepare food or cut wood. He twisted the dagger in his hand, noting the curved blade and the intricate, foreign carvings at its hilt. Maybe she still had it, because it was elven – _Dalish _– and thus a piece of her home and heritage. Then again, it was beyond ironic that she had left _this_ weapon – blunt as it was – in camp while fighting the werewolves with _Maric's_ blade. As happy as he was to be a part of it and its meaning, it thrilled him to know how _excited_ she was about the sword.

_Everything_ about her thrilled him. That still hadn't changed.

Alistair let himself fall back into the soft blanket of grass with a sigh, the motion infinitely easier without the heavy plate armor. Above, white clouds wandered over a blue-grey firmament, accelerated by a fresh, cold breeze. The wind still bore the remaining chill of winter, but the myriad of scents in its wake promised the beginning of spring. New life. A new beginning. _Changes_.

His fingers curved over the dagger's smooth surface, thoughts trailing back to Leliana's words. She was right with what she said, with _everything_. Of course. Even if Lenya wouldn't love him, he wanted to be there for her, wanted to be a part of her life. It would be hard to suppress the wish for _more_, but he could do this, given the time. _Probably_.

For now, Alistair needed a way to apologize, to fix the things his words had broken.

He only hoped it was not beyond repair.

.

~V~

.

Alistair wasn't surprised to find the Dalish throwing glares and distrusting glances in his direction as he appeared in _their_ camp. After all, he was _human_ and thus evil personified.

_May the archdemon bow down to me in awe._

The thought even let him smile a bit, his humor flickering for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Maybe, without him wearing the dreaded and unloved templar armor, they had less reason to spite him, or – _gasp_ – would even talk to him. Alistair didn't expect it, however. It was not that he didn't _understand_ their... reserved behavior, since the history between the races hadn't been, well, _fortunate_. Not to mention that elves were still inexplicably treated as lower beings in the cities, a fact beyond his comprehension. To him, no one was better or worse a person because of their _race_. Crazy.

Then again, he wasn't here to reconcile ages of mistreatment, nor was he responsible for what had happened _hundreds_ and _thousands_ of years ago. He was here for the dagger, as simple as that. But hey, if they wanted, they could ask him about his opinion of the Chantry and he would explain to them in colorful and very descriptive words _where_ they could stick their dreaded Chant of Light. Ten years of it was enough for a lifetime, possibly even _two_.

"Umm... you are the clan's smith, right?" He came to halt before a wagon – _what did Lenya call it? Aranol?_ – at the right side of the camp. To the left of the landwagon flickered a fire in a stone oven, obviously used for crafting... things. The older elven man jerked his head up at the unexpected voice, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Alistair. _Of course._ He wasn't surprised in the slightest at the reaction of the Dalish. In fact, he had expected it, was steeled by over half a year of practice with Lenya.

"I'm Varathorn, the clan's _craftmaster. _What do you want, _shemlen_?" Yep, he was as _friendly_ as he remembered him to be as they retrieved supplies from him for their task. "I thought you were with Mahariel in the forest, as you should be?"

"Well, apparently, I'm _not_." Alistair suppressed the urge to mirror the man's glare as he stated the obvious. "Mahariel..." –_ how strange to call Lenya that_– "...err, my fellow Warden had other plans that didn't require my presence. I wished… never mind."

"Oh?" One thick, gray eyebrow raised, the tone biting sarcasm. "So we have the honor of your presence now, Warden?"

A groan escaped his lips, the patience toward the Dalish's attitude snapping like a twig. "Look, I haven't eaten any elvish babies, nor am I a ferocious follower of the Chantry. They can recite their Chant of Light far away from me, for all I care. My fellow Warden is a Dalish, so I have quite the respect for your culture, really. Just... _ugh_."

The craftmaster mustered him silently for a moment. He appeared bemused by this outburst as the corner of his mouth suspiciously quirked upward. "I see, Warden."

"Yes, well, err, sorry." Alistair felt the heat rising in his cheek, somewhat embarrassed by his rant. "I haven't had the most beautiful days of my life lately."

"Surely you are not here to tell me your life story?" Varathorn was looking at him openly now, the hint of humor still present._ Huh, curious..._

"I can assure you that would would be quite _boring_." He felt himself smiling, if lightly, glad about the unexpected shift of mood, and, quite honestly, to see something besides 'shem here, shemlen there' in a Dalish of the camp. "No, I wanted to ask if you, err, could take a look at this dagger."

Alistair showed the weapon to the man and noticed how his eyes went wide. Instantly, Varathorn's tone adapted the prior subdued sharpness, the many wrinkles in his face creasing to a single frown.

"Where did you get this?"

_I slaughtered a whole clan and robbed it from the mother of a crying baby..._

Alistair had the feeling that this snarky retort wouldn't exactly help to ease the newly tense mood. So he bit the thought back and settled for a simple, "It belongs to my fellow Warden. I haven't stolen it, if that's what you mean."

"I see." Varathorn turned the dagger to observe it closer. "_Abelas._"

He arched an eyebrow at the man. "Never mind." The Dalish seriously needed to work on their mood swings, but at least he understood Lenya's impulsiveness better now. "Why are you asking?"

His finger brushed over the carvings in the hilt, eyes distant. "This is a dagger only the Keeper of a clan is allowed to possess. Normally it is inherited by the children once they become the new Keeper, but I see that Nethras made an exception for his daughter. Or Marethari did. Understandably so, there isn't much Mahariel has to rememb–" He looked up again, abruptly aware of the human's presence, immediately lapsed once more into silence.

_Keeper... his daughter. Mahariel... wait, __**what?**_ Taken aback by the unexpected revelation, he needed a moment to compose himself. "Lenya is... the _daughter_ of a Keeper?"

"You didn't know, human? Then it is not my place to comment on it, other than to ask you _why_ you bring me this dagger."

"I... well," Alistair cleared his throat. "It means so much to her. She carries it with her, even though it is blunt and hence useless as a weapon. So I was asking myself if you could possibly... repair that? I mean, you are well-versed in the craft of your people and it seems only right to do that as long we are here..."

Varathorn seized him with a proofing stare, and eventually sighed. "You have no idea what you are expecting of me, human. I might be well-versed in the lost arts, yes, but this dagger was forged long ago, in a time reaching back to Arlathan when our ancestors knew _everything_ about crafting. This is likely the reason it hasn't been repaired yet." He smiled and added, more to himself than to the human, "Master Ilen had always been better with bows than blades."

Alistair wasn't sure what to make out of his reaction." But it _is_ possible?"

"...Yes." There was it again, the distrustful tone. "Given the right amount of time and care put into the blade. It will take all of my skills, though, to do this piece of our history... justice. I just don't see a reason why I should do this for you, human."

"Oh, don't worry." He tried to appear nonchalant with the shrug. "It's not for me, but for Lenya. It _is_ her _father's_ dagger, after all."

Varathorn's eyes narrowed, the distrust visible on his features. "And _why_ is this so important to you? She is _Asha'an Vhen Sabrae_ and the daughter of the Keeper."

"That's great. And she is my fellow Warden." Alistair disliked the elder man's stare, felt himself shrinking under it. "I think, I want to give her something back, she... was taken away from her clan against her will and this seems the last part that is linking her to her... home, her heritage. It only seems right to do that for her, since..." He paused with a sigh, desperately hoping he wasn't _that_ easy to read for once. "...she has already done so very much for me."

The Craftmaster was silent for a long moment, his scrutiny never ceasing. "Very well, I will do this for Mahariel. It will take several days of work, however." If the Dalish elder had seen through Alistair's attempt to conceal his true feelings and motives, he had the decency not to comment on it, at least.

"Really?" His face lit up, pleased with the answer. "Ma.. senavne...no, ma septa–" _Ugh_, _Lenya always makes it sound so _easy_._

"Warden?" Varathorn grimaced.

"Yes?"

"Stick with the common tongue."

Alistair laughed. "Right."

~V~

He had only walked a few steps back towards the companions' camp before a familiar pull twisted his innards.

Alarmed, Alistair averted his eyes from a strange statue amidst camp and hoped he was _wrong_. He closed his eyes to simply _listen_ and _feel_, then opened them again, face grim. He was _not_.

_Wonderful. Just perfect._

The sarcastic comment in his head was quickly overruled by instinct, knowing he had to _react,_ and quickly. For a moment his mind was reeling where to get a weapon and shield and he found himself running back to Varathorn. There was no time for armor or to get his own arms, they were _that_ close.

The distance back was short, trained as a warrior and light without plate armor as he was. Which _could_ become a problem, given his habit of running headlong into the eye of battle. Alistair had no time to care, nor to recognize how Varathorn blinked at his reappearance in confusion. "Sword. Shield. Get the Keeper. Darkspawn!"

"_What?_ How do you–"

"I can sense–" He groaned and reached over what seemed to be a counter to grip the next best sword and a wooden shield. It had to suffice. "Just _do_ it, Maker-dammit. And get the children away!"

Varathorn was gripping his bow, signaling he wanted to fight. Alistair pulled him close, his tone a single warning. "No! This is _my_ job. Alarm the Keeper and hunters, because they won't believe me!"

Already was he running, ignoring the gasping and shouting of the agitated elves as they saw the evil shem with the sword and shield was sprinting through their camp. Soon something much worse than that would arrive here if he wasn't quick enough. Instincts taking over, he slipped completely into the role of the Grey Warden and warrior. Reaching out to sense the amount of darkspawn, he was relieved to feel a distinctive lack of dark magic. No emissaries. _Thank the Maker for small mercies._ Still, the advancing group was anything but small.

"Darkspawn. A horde is coming!" he shouted those words towards the remaining companions, those who would pay heed to his warning without reservation.

Oghren sprang to his feet and gripped his axe. "'Bout sodding time. My ass is all pins and needles from the sitting about."

Alistair swiftly changed to his own gear and allowed the borrowed sword and shield fall to the ground without heed, glad to have the time to do so, after all. "Oghren, stay with Leliana. Wynne, watch out for the children and everyone not capable of fighting. Erect a barrier or something. Sten, follow me to the northern borders."

The Qunari let out a displeased grunt, yet followed without words.

.

~V~

.

"Warden!"

It wasn't Zathrian who awaited him on his way across the Dalish camp, but Lanaya, framed by a group of hunters. Alistair didn't answer or slow his pace, his nod toward her the only acknowledgment of her person.

"So it is true." Good, she wasn't questioning him and believed the warning. That would make things easier. Lanaya carried her staff in her hands, illuminated by magic which prickled on his skin. She followed him. "Where? When?"

"Northern borders. Any minute now. I'm going there." His blood was already humming with their presence, the need to kill them growing with each passing moment.

"I'll go with you. Our hunters, too. We need to protect the wound– "

He whirled round, no patience to explain. "No, you are the Keeper's apprentice. I can't risk –

Her magic flared up, her voice and bearing making it clear that she wouldn't accept 'no' as an answer. "These are _my_ people, Warden. You can't expect me to stand back and watch. I will fight. Also, you wear no armor and need support."

Alistair groaned. When would he finally learn _not_ to argue with Dalish women? They were too stubborn for their own good. "Very well. Just keep out of the main ba–" His voice fell silent as he spotted a small horde of genlocks fighting against a group of Dalish scouts guarding the borders. They were holding up for the moment, but one misstep and they would be killed or infected with the taint.

Alistair stormed forward, using his momentum to run a genlock through without stopping. A wave of powerful magic rushed past him, targeting the few stragglers on the right. Roots shot from the earth, twisting and gnarling around the tainted, rotten bodies and tearing them apart with a sickening, moist crunch. Shale would be giddy with joy at the sight.

Shaking his head, he ran past the first horde, fixing his attention on a group of hurlock coming from behind. Sten flanked him and it was reassuring to know he was there, if not essential. Alistair moved with a purpose and force all his own. Every step, every bash with the shield, every strike an instinctive, pin-pointed move. The darkspawn fell quickly, losing limbs and heads in the process. To him, it felt good to fight and to kill them. This was what he was good at, this was his expertise, his purpose. To battle, to protect the Dalish clan – even if they hated him – made him feel _useful _again. His sword drove through their rotten flesh like melted butter, while Lanaya's magic healed his wounds and tore enemies apart on its own.

And then it was over.

Due to Alistair's quick reaction to the darkspawn's approach, little damage was caused. The small group of Dalish scouts and hunters were bloodied and exhausted, yet seemed unharmed otherwise. Alistair prevented worse as he shoved a young man aside just before a genlock tried to bore its teeth into the hunter's flesh. His shoulder still burned, but Alistair couldn't care less, because he was already tainted, _immune_. There was no _extra _taint for the tainted, fortunately. Covered with blood – a little of his own and a lot of the darkspawns' – he sank to the ground, sword and shield clattering beside him.

"Surin..." Lanaya rushed over to the young Dalish Alistair had spared a gruesome fate of slow death by the taint, and shook him awake.

With a groan, he regained his consciousness, eyes wide in an instant. "What? What _happened_?"

"_Atisha emma vhen!_" Her voice was hushed, but even if Lanaya had spoken loudly, he wouldn't have understood the words spoken to the hunter._ "Ma dar reth, sahlin. Dorfen'ashin reth el Vhen'an elvhen a ma sulevin dar'din."_

She turned around to Alistair with a smile, her breath still ragged. "An odd place to sit down, Warden. Are you okay?"

"Yes, just a few cuts and a biting wound, thanks." Alistair nudged one close-by darkspawn corpse with his foot. "You know, after a while you get used to their sten – ugh, who am I kidding? I need to burn these clothes. Quickly."

Lanaya helped the young hunter up, but not before she sent a soothing wave of healing magic Alistair's way. "I... must thank you, on behalf of my clan. Without your quick reaction, it could have been so much worse." She hesitated for a moment. "I have heard much about the Grey Wardens, but seeing one actually fighting was... something else. Most impressive."

Grinning, Alistair got up from the ground and collected his gear. "Thanks, you're not so bad yourself. That spell with the roots coming out of the earth and ripping enemies apart? Excellent party trick, I'm sure. Also Shale – the golem in our group – would _love_ it."

"You are quite the... colorful gr –"

"You have... _saved_ me?" The elf Lanaya called Surin stepped closer to Alistair. Now that he was up close, the Warden recognized his face. He was the rude Dalish hunter who had insulted him and even Lenya in their tongue. On that day, Alistair had been close to punching his lights out due to his behavior toward Lenya. And now he'd saved the hunter's life. _Funny, that._

"I guess I did, yes. Boggles the mind, eh?" Alistair sighed, long and dramatically. "You might ask yourself why did the oh-so-evil-human do that? Well, let me explain: I'm a Grey Warden. If a darkspawn bites me, I get a pretty scar to impress the ladies-" which he had never considered so far, but that elf didn't need to know that, "-but if the darkspawn bites _you_, you are _dead_. As simple as."

Turning to go, Surin sputtered some indignant elven words at Alistair, but that didn't stop him from grinning.

Sometimes life itself was the biggest irony.

.

.

* * *

.

The elven ruins weren't as bad as Lenya thought they would be.

They were _worse_.

Aside from the millions of werewolves throwing themselves at their feet, there were also millions of undead skeletons doing the same, more or less. And then there was the constant feeling of being _watched_. Spirits seemed to haunt this place since the Veil was thin here. This place felt _wrong_ and gave her the creeps, just like in the cave where everything had started.

On the positive side, there were no mirrors. Admittedly, this fact didn't make her hate the ruins _less,_ yet it was somewhat comforting. If only there weren't the incessant stink of wet dog, though... The whole place reeked like Arai when he rolled in something... dead. _After _he got drenched by rain. _Tenfold_.

Alas, the stench only got worse the further down they went into the ancient building.

Arai woofed and ran forward, snapping her out of her thoughts. The Dalish looked at her Mabari, his muzzle and body covered in blood, gore and whatnot. Surprisingly, he halted after a short distance and started to growl... at a closed door. Either he had gone mad now, or her dog was astonishingly still able to distinguish the _living_ werewolves from the _dead_ ones by smell. Which was quite a feat, since Lenya herself couldn't even properly breathe without _gagging_.

And now she found herself staring at the door without opening it. Brilliant. Surely the curse would get lifted if she only _stared_ hard enough.

_Ugh..._

Shale noticed Lenya's hesitation, but didn't stop to care. Instead she stepped in front of the wooden door, and, without further preamble, smashed it into a myriad of pieces. She chuckled at the ear-ringing crack. "That was fun. Now it's time for the furry heads in there to get crushed," the golem said and stomped off into the group of werewolves waiting in the middle of the room. Lenya blinked. _Waiting_? That was...odd. They didn't attack her and her group upon entering the room like each and every werewolf before them.

"Parley, le–" There was a deep, werewolf-like voice before it ended in a wet, crunching noise – and Shale's giggle.

"Squiiiish!"

Screams –_ or were they growls?_ – of pain, the sound of tearing limps and Shale's giddy laughter reverberated through the lit, narrow room. The werewolves were slaughtered one by one by the golem and didn't even have the chance to move around her to attack the others.

Zevran tilted his head, presumably to get a better view of the mess. "That is... quite the sight, no?"

Lenya's mouth flew open with an audible pop, caught between horror and admiration. "I might actually consider quitting and just send Shale alone to the Archdemon. I think she would have the time of her life."

Chuckling to himself, Zevran stepped forward and into the room just as Shale stomped on the last, twitching werewolf. "Impressive, my stone friend. Not the most _subtle_ approach, but impressive nonetheless."

"Ugh." Morrigan made a face at the bloodied mess in front of her. "'Tis barbaric. Not that I mind having the golem do all the work... Yet am I the only one who heard the word "parley" before the golem smashed them to... _this_?_"_

"Parley?" Shale glowered at the witch. "Bah, this is so much more fun than talking."

"Obviously." Arching an eyebrow at her companion, Lenya sighed. "Still, it is... odd they didn't attack us like the others before. It is not that I object to killing these stinky beasts for what they have done to my people, but something feels... off. I don't know how to describe it."

"Pah, you fleshy things and your feelings." Shale let out a disgusted scoff. "There was a dimwitted fleshy sack in Honnleath who urinated himself in fear just at the sight of me. Naturally also in_ front_ of me. Too bad I was frozen in place and couldn't squish Its little head at the time."

"Fascinating, I'm sure." Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Maybe we could try a more subtle approach? As I said before, I don't trust Zathrian. 'Tis all a bit too convenient for my taste."

"What reason would the Keeper have to betray us?" Lenya shook her head. "I can't believe that. He just wants to protect his clan. Understandably so."

"Well, time to find out, no?" Zevran grimaced. "Judging by the stench behind this door, there are plenty of werewolves yet alive we might want to interrogate. Or leave to Shale to smash, depending on how the talk goes." With an uncaring shrug of what waited beyond, the elf opened the door to enter.

.

.

* * *

.

The hall on the other side was larger than expected.

Daylight filled the room from the high, vaulted ceiling down to an artfully carved stone floor where it fell in bright patches. The feral growling and snarling of the werewolves on each side as they entered the place was ear-shattering, almost unbearable. Lenya tried to ignore the massive volume and revolting stink of wet dog as she hastened forward, always wary of what lay ahead.

With hands on her weapons, the Dalish came to a halt in the middle of what seemed to be their sanctum. On white, rounded stone plates stood another group of beasts which looked ready to attack any minute. In fact, all of them were tensed as if fight, the atmosphere taut to bursting.

Shale narrowed her gleaming lava eyes, as she turned around to Lenya. "Pah... and It wants to talk? _Really_?"

Before Lenya even had a chance to respond, a humanoid figure appeared between the towering, gnarled trees and green leaves,. The body of the creature was shaped into a perfect illusion of a human woman with long, dark hair and delicate features, but... why wasn't she wearing, well, _anything?_ The strands of its hair was strategically placed over its _breasts_ and Lenya found herself gawking at that, wondering why all spirits and demons had such aversion to _clothes_. Or why so many of them looked like human women, for that matter.

"Please, be at peace, all of you. This is my sanctum and I do not wish it violated." Its voice had an unnatural, otherworldly echo, yet compared to the demons and spirits she had met so far it had a serene and calm undertone.

"Ah, such a lovely lady. It would be a waste to kill her, no?" Lenya noticed how the werewolves were slowly calming down, but even more how Zevran was shamelessly ogling the tits in front of him. She suppressed the desire to roll her eyes at his obvious and, sadly, _to be expected_ behavior, choosing instead to retain her battle-readiness. It would not be the first - or, likely, last - time a spirit or demon had tried to deceive her with a harmless appearance or friendly behavior.

The wolf in front - who Lenya recognized as Swiftrunner - remained wary of her and her companions' presence. "But they have slain those who guarded your sanctum, Lady! They seek to harm you!"

She lifted an eyebrow toward the stinking beast. "Well, to be honest, I didn't slay the werewolves, at least not those _particular _ones. That was the twitchy golem next to me. Want a repeat?"

Swiftrunner responded to the taunting like the wild beast he was, claws and fangs bared as he rushed forward the Dalish. But it was the spirit who lay its hand on the werewolf's fur and calmed it down. "There is no need for violence!" The eyes that glanced over to Lenya with a warning were huge and pitch black, which shattered the human-like illusion. "Allow me to bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest."

"Lady of the _ruins _would be more fitting, but as you wish." Lenya shrugged and ignored Swiftsrunner's new hateful words spat toward her. It seemed to be his theme, anyway. "So tell me, is there any point in this conversation or are we only exchanging niceties before I hack you to pieces? In that case I would prefer to omit the first and switch to the latter, because I can't wait to get out of this stinking mutt-hole of a ruin."

The Lady maintained its irritatingly serene manner of movement and speech. "Do not rush to false conclusions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you. I hope you are aware of that."

"Such as?" Lenya crossed her arms, gaze defiant. "But you know what? I don't give the slightest damn as long there is no Witherfang or his heart. I _need _that to cure my people and I won't move or listen until I have it."

"See, Lady? This elf is just like all the others. Let me kill it." Swiftrunner let out an outraged growl. "Let us send its shredded body as a message to Zathrian, before we kill _them_."

"Hush, Swiftrunner. Your urge for battle has only seen the death of the very ones you have been trying to save. We must set our rage aside to speak with this outsider." Much to Lenya's surprise, the beast complied to the spirit's wishes. She felt its eyes upon her again and then the Lady spoke words she never would have expected. "It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer."

Lenya felt as if the earth had been pulled out from under her feet. "What?"

The Lady's expression adopted a sad note, as did her voice. "Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and one day while they were out hunting, the human tribe captured them both."

Swiftrunner walked up and down at the Lady's side, his posture more calm than before. "Hrrrr. The humans... tortured the boy, killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later she was... with child. She... killed herself."

Lenya was only capable of staring, needing time to process the new turn of events hidden from her by Zathrian. Through the haze in her mind, she heard Zevran speaking. "That is... horrible. They got what they deserved, I hope?"

"Yes, indeed they did." The Lady nodded toward his direction. "But Zathrian's hatred was also what created the curse. He came to this ruin and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be, and it hunted the humans of the tribe, fueled by Zathrian's rage. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures... like Witherfang _itself_ is."

Shale made a sarcastic snort. "So the Dalish leader misled us? That is _so_ surprising."

"No, tis _not_." Morrigan glared up to the golem, a frustrated noise escaping the back of her throat. "'Tis what I have tried to make our oblivious leader understand for _days_ now, but she is too caught up in her loyalty to her people."

"Yes, and this is the reason why I imagine its little, bald, elven head to go squish between my..." The golem trailed off with a happy sigh, "...Ah, yes, here we go."

The Lady ignored their antics, instead continuing with the story where the thread was left only minutes before. "When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remained in the forest as pitiful and mindless animals."

"Until we found you, my Lady. You gave us peace and a voice." Swiftrunner bowed down before the creature with a reverent, soft growl reflected by all the gathered werewolves.

"We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead."

"Some things are hard to forget... even harder to forgive." Lenya's face scrunched into an angry frown. "So, let me get this straight: _this_ was the reason why you attacked the Dalish? All this agony and death of innocents for petty blackmailing toward the Keeper?"

"In part," the Lady of the forest confessed. "We thought he would care for his clan well enough to finally react to our pleas. We have sent word to Zathrian every time the landships passed this way, asking him to come, but he has always ignored us."

Swiftrunner howled out, his teeth bared in a feral grin. "_Hrrr!_ We spread the curse to his people! So he must end the curse to save them!"

"That is _disgusting_." She only felt the anger rising, her fingers gripping around the solid steel hilt of her weapons.

Zevran's hand stopped her from drawing them, his voice a half-serious scolding toward her. "Ah, don't be too hasty, my dear Warden. Don't you think this begs the question of _why_ the Keeper never answered their call? _Why_ doesn't he care enough to save his own people as their leader? My inquiring mind wants to understand this, no?"

Morrigan groaned, seemingly at an end with her thin patience. "'Tis a simple answer: because the mage is _hiding_ something. I thought as much would be _obvious_ by now. Even to you, Lenya."

"I–" she felt herself stagger, her mind swirling with all the new, _impossible_ information. There was truth in Zevran's interjection and words, but that would also mean that Zathrian would have deliberately calculated to allow the sickness to spread within his clan. But for what purpose? It all made no sense. He was the Keeper and there to protect his clan and people. It went against everything she had ever learned. Her hands moved away from the blades to be clenched and unclenched at her side with a mixture of confusion and sudden ire. "-need to find Zathrian."

The Lady nodded, seemingly pleased with this option. "Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight... surely he will agree to end the curse! Tell him if he refuses, I will ensure that Witherfang is never found. He will never cure his clan."

Swiftrunner's howl sounded desperate. "He will _never_ break the curse, he will never help us, my lady. It is better to kill them all, as long as we have the chance."

"No, we won't." The spirit shook its all too human head. "We can't know this. Certainly his hatred and vengeance doesn't run so deep he would endanger his own clan!"

"It had better not!" Breath accelerated by an overpowering feeling of wrath, she whirled around and stormed off into the direction from whence they had come. Lenya hated the thought of threading all the way through the ruins back to its entrance, but she would _drag _Zathrian here against his will if she must.

"Wait, mortal! Outside of this chamber, the passage leading back to the surface has been opened for you. Return with Zathrian as soon as you can." There was a distinctive clicking sound, as if a door had been opened by magic. The prickling sensation of its remnants still lingered in the air and on her skin.

"Ah, how thoughtful of you, my lovely forest lady." Zevran showed a toothy smile, as he bowed deeply down to the creature. "We will be back soon. Do not worry."

.

~V~

.

Lenya rolled her eyes at him, momentarily forgetting her anger as she turned to the elf on the long, ascending staircase. "You just did that to have a better sight of the Lady's … err... _front_, didn't you?"

"My, we are so _observant_." He chuckled. "One must wonder how the hair remains fixed in such a strategic manner, yes? Ah, the miracles of nature. Marvelous."

"Men." Morrigan let out an annoyed groan. "'Tis so _typical _of them to forget everything should a pair of full breasts appear, no matter if it is an _ancient spirit_ showing them."

"Jealous, my dear witch?" Zevran glanced over at Morrigan and didn't stop at her face. He grinned. "I can assure that your bosom is just as fine."

"My relief knows no bounds, indeed. Should your lecherous gaze persist on its current point, however, I shall make you regret the notion, elf." A small ball of energy started to crackle in her hand. "_Quickly_."

"Shut up. Both of you. There are far more important things to–" Lenya stopped dead in her tracks, her words brought to a halt as she found the Keeper at the entrance of the ruin, bowing over some bodies of werewolves. It almost seemed as if he had been waiting there for them – _the entire time_. Lenya felt her prior forgotten anger returning within her with full force. Arai's ears flattened back as he started to growl with bared teeth at the Keeper.

"Ah. And here you are already." The older man blinked and smiled at them, as innocently as he could, ignoring the Mabari. It wasn't enough to convince Lenya _or_ Arai, whose growling only added in volume.

Morrigan's chuckle accompanied a comment whose tone was laced with sarcasm. "He wishes to see if we did his work for him. Is that not why you are now here, sorcerer?"

"Do not call me that, _witch_." Disgust laced into his voice. "I am Keeper of this clan, and have done what I must." He looked at the Dalish. "Did you acquire the heart, Mahariel?

Lenya didn't answer for a long moment, felt the blood pumping through her veins. _Tainted_ blood. And yet she was Dalish, too. It was _this_ part of her which screamed in utter rage to her, who wanted to– "No, I did NOT!" Before she was even aware of it, her blade rested against the Keeper's throat, her other hand clenching the front of his robe. He was a powerful mage, but she was physically stronger, especially enraged as she was. "I want answers first!" She was barely aware of the hot sizzling and cracking of magic on her skin until a wave of energy grazed and flew past her, throwing the Keeper back and on the ground.

"Nice try, _elf_. But you are not the only one with magic here." Morrigan towered triumphantly over Zathrian's form and claimed his staff. "He was about to cast a spell on you, Lenya, in case you failed to notice. He is a mighty wielder of ancient magic; who knows what he was about to do to you?"

Shale scoffed. "Best we crush It. I never liked It, anyway."

"I'm not objecting to that option, actually." Lenya glared down to the Keeper, her blade back at his throat. "But first I want answers."

"You... attacked me," Zathrian coughed and slowly sat up. Lenya allowed him that, because she was also aware that he could eradicate them with a snip of his finger. But so could Morrigan, although he possessed easily the more powerful magic as a Keeper. "One of your own. How could you do this? I'm the Keeper and I shall be respected by you, _da'len_."

"_Respected_." Her laugh was bitter, jaded. "You _lied_ to me. _Used_ me and my loyalty toward my people. I'm _really_ allergic to that, Keeper or not."

Unimpressed by her words, Zathrian stood and brushed the dust from his robe. "If you were loyal as you _should_ be, _elvhen_, you would have brought me the heart by now. But it seems the spirit convinced you to act on her behalf. Might I inquire what she wants?"

Lenya was aware of her companions circling and enclosing the keeper, but her attention and wrath was solely fixed on him. "Easy. You are coming down with me to the Lady of the Forest. To end the curse."

"_That_ is what she is calling herself now? Amusing. You _are_ aware that she is Witherfang?" He laughed at what must have been a dumbfounded expression. What should she believe at all anymore? "You had no idea? You have much to learn, _da'len_. _She_ is the powerful spirit of this ancient forest that I summoned long ago and bound in the body of a wolf. Her nature is that of the forest itself. Beautiful and terrible, serene and savage, maiden and beast. She is the Lady and Witherfang both, two sides of a single being. The curse came first from her. Those she afflicted with it mirrored her own nature, becoming savage beast as well as human."

Lenya blinked repeatedly to discern deceit from truth. It was getting harder by the minute. "But the werewolves have regained their minds."

Zathrian scoffed disdainfully. "I find that difficult to believe. They attacked my clan, showing themselves to be the same savages then that they have ever been. They deserve to be wiped out, nothing more." He walked forwards and toward the steps. Turning to Lenya, his voice adapted a softer tone, as if coaxing her into this. "Come. I will accompany you back to the ruin. Let us go and speak to the spirit and I will force her into Witherfang's form. He may then be slain and the heart taken."

Lenya didn't answer, but deep inside she already knew that she couldn't support that plan. There was so much she still didn't know, the confusion about what to believe growing. A half year ago, she wouldn't have hesitated an instant to support him and kill the wolves who attacked her kin to get the heart. Even now she _wanted_ to trust the Keeper, as guide and guardian of a clan. _Normally_. But she felt the myriad of experiences she had had in those six months urging her to look past that loyalty, past what she once had been. To her, this was a disheartening feeling, because if she couldn't believe the words and guidance of a Keeper anymore, what _was _left for her then?

Zevran walked behind Zathrian and leaned over to Lenya, pulling her out of her dark thoughts. "Do you think it would be a terrible tragedy if the Keeper would, let us say, stumble and fall down all these many, _many_ steps? Such accidents happen often, you know?" She gave him a pointed look, which caused him to sigh. "Ah, I was only trying to lighten your mood, my dear. And this seemed to be the perfect opportunity to... _shove_. Just a _tiny_ bit. No? _Tsk_, you really _are_ no fun."

.

~V~

.

"So here you are, spirit." Zathrian's hateful tone was barely audible above the roaring volume of the growling the wolves made as they saw them.

As expected, it was Swiftrunner who jumped forward and in front of the Keeper, bearing menacing. "_Hrrr!_ She is the Lady of the Forest! You will address her properly!"

The reclaimed staff in his hand, Zathrian shook his head with a scoff. "You've taken a name, spirit? And you've given names to your pets? These... beasts who follow you?"

"It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian." The Lady spoke in a calm voice, its movements in front of him deliberately slow. It seemed to Lenya as if it didn't want to anger him, for whatever reason. "And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are."

"Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were." Zathrian walked up and down, face twisted, gestures exaggerated in his ire. "Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!"

"He will not help us, Lady!" Swiftrunner looked at the spirit, its tone carrying a warning along with a hint of fear. "It is as I warned you! He is not here to talk!"

"No, I am here to talk, though I see little point in it." For a moment, Zathrian's calm demeanor pulled back to reveal an undercurrent of anger, his gaze disdainful. "We all know where this will lead. Your nature compels it, as does mine."

"It does not have to be that way." It shook its head, fingers made out wooden vines reaching out to the Dalish man. "There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely your retribution is spent."

He yanked his arm away from the creature as if stung, eyes narrowing. "My retribution is _eternal_, spirit, as is my pain. _This_ is justice, no more."

Having been the silent spectator of a scene that she never expected to happen, Lenya had heard enough. Rushing to the Keeper, she screamed at him with barely contained frustration and ire. "This is _your_ doing, _Keeper_. The curse originated with you and now it is _our _people who suffer from it!"

Zathrian closed his eyes before slowly opening them, face a pained mask and his gaze fixed on the dirtied ground. "You weren't there. You didn't see what these _shem'alas_ did to my children, my son and daughter. And so many others." His head snapped up to her all the sudden, every word a single plea. "_Ma dar Vhen'elvhen._ You understand how hard our life is, how much we must fight for justice, to be safe. You have experienced the injustice of _shemlen_ yourself, Mahariel. They took your father away from you and murdered him in cold blood before you ever had the chance to meet him. You must know that there can't be absolution for their crimes. Never!"

Her fist jolted forward, grabbing him by his collar. Lenya trembled with rage, her breath coming in heaving short gasps before she found herself able to speak. "No! Don't you _ever_ compare me to you! I'm not like you!" Another tremor shook her body, almost robbing her of the strength to stand upright. "I'm _not_ like you!" she repeated, more to herself, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Behind her, she could hear the Lady move, a sound like petals fluttering in the wind as it advanced closer. It seemed as if the spirit was seeing its chance to get Lenya completely on its side. Given the course of events of the last minutes, it wasn't even needed. "There is another thing you should know, mortal, as I doubt Zathrian has told you about it."

"More lies?" Her jaw set in a firm line, she released him from her grasp to turn away from the Keeper. A man she so desperately wanted to believe without condition, because he was _Dalish_, a leader of his clan. A part of her heritage. Home. _Elvhen_. Now, instead of a feeling of respect or belonging, there was nothing left but contempt. "When does it stop?" She didn't turn to him, didn't want to give him the triumph of seeing tears welling at the sides of her eyes. "When do you have enough of the deceit? By the Creators, you are _worse_ than the Dread Wolf!"

The spirit looked at her with a hint of compassion, as if it could sense her confusion. "It is time to let you know the whole truth about the curse, mortal, if Zathrian refuses to do so. I was bound to the body of the great wolf, Witherfang. Not possessed, like a sylvan or the undead, but bound into one being," the Lady explained, its face tipping upward thoughtfully for a long moment before continuing. "Such powerful magic, however, could not be accomplished without Zathrian's blood. The curse and his life... are intertwined." A touch of steel stole beneath its voice as the Lady looked at Zathrian. "Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, but that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you. Your death plays a part in the ending of the curse."

Rage flashed briefly across Zathrian's features, his dark eyes glaring with an intense hatred. "I did what was just and it _still_ is. I did it for my people! I did it for my son, and my daughter! For them, for _justice_, I would do anything! Those beasts deserve to suffer on the curse for all eternity!"

Blood pounding wildly and red webbing her vision, Lenya launched herself at the Keeper, throwing him down on the ground. In her utter and complete wrath, she forgot about the weapons strapped on her back and was reduced to fists, claws and raw violence. "_Halam sahlin. Ar tu na'din a ar tu na'lin emma mi!"_ She punched him square into the face, every word cracking with furious venom. "_Seth'lin, ma tu harel a din'dareth el Vhen'an elvhen nuvenin ma'nan! Ma ir din Vhen'hahren! Ar tu na'din!"_ Before she could land another blow, or Zathrian recover from the forceful assault, it was Zevran who pried her off the older man. Kicking and screaming, Lenya tried to free herself from her friend's arms, spitting the word "_Seth'lin_" into the Keeper's direction over and over again. Eventually, he needed Morrigan's reluctant assistance to get her away from him.

"Now, now, patience, my dear." The elf glared over to the man who struggled to his feet again, his staff used for support. "I would like nothing more than to watch you rip that bastard to pieces, but alas we still need him. As the lovely lady has just explained without him the curse cannot be broken." Another dark glower in the Dalish man's direction. "Though, I confess: I look forward to _forcing_ him to end this."

"'Tis powerful bloodmagic he used to achieve this." Morrigan's wary eyes never left the Keeper while she waited for Lenya's squirming to abate. The Dalish, however, was too occupied with cursing Zevran as he calmly stripped her of her weapons. "While I'm intrigued by the sort of magic used, I can understand your reaction, my friend." From beneath, Lenya saw the witch frown, as if she was appalled by her own words, her features hardening again in an instant. "Let us put an end to this. I'm tired of this endless discussion."

"Pah, I have been saying _that_ all along." Shale snorted with indignation."So please, would someone finally _kill_ somebody?"

"Then we kill _him_, hrr!" Swiftrunner bared his massive teeth. "We tear him apart now!"

"What would you gain from killing me?" Zathrian was still swaying on his feet, in this moment every part the old, weary man that he truly was. Several bruises formed itself on the left side of his weathered face. His wrinkled skin was marred with scratches from Lenya's nails, but he didn't seem to care. His endless rage fueled him enough to keep going, it seemed. "Only _I_ know how the ritual ends, and I will never do it!" Like a petulant child, he stood among the wolves and companions, who had ceased to even regard him.

After her fit of rage, Lenya slipped into the role of the passive observer again. She felt so tired, so incredibly _empty_ all the sudden, lacking the strength to keep going. She just wanted to be _away_ - away from this place, this _conflict _and all it entailed.

_This_ wasn't the _elvhen_ as she remembered them to be.

Lenya had thought her people watched out and took care for each other, that the Keeper did his or her best to protect and educate the clan. This here was... _false_. Lies and secrets full of egoistic motives that allowed her people to _suffer_ instead of helping them. All for petty revenge for something that happened _hundreds_ of years ago. It was... bizarre, so out of place that she felt detached from the cause and situation. Lenya was aware that she should fight and force Zathrian into ending the curse that had gone on all too long, but she couldn't bring herself to _care_ anymore.

Fingers slipped beneath his chin to lift Zathrian's eyes to its unnatural, black ones. He flinched away from its touch, yet remained silent and listened to the Lady's solemn voice. "Your vengeance had been going on for too long, Zathrian. What could keep one going after so many centuries of life? Love, or a bitter hatred that clutches at a heart that should long ago have ceased beating?" The spirit tilted its head and looked at him for a longer moment before it continued its speech. "Do you really want to let your people suffer, innocents who _trust_ you to be their leader? To protect them?"

"I swore to them," he said hoarsely. "I swore that the tortures visited upon my children would be repaid a thousandfold."

"And they were." The Lady nodded, her voice soft. "But is it worth it to force such agony upon your own people now? Do you cling so much to your life of bitter hatred and vengeance that you want the affliction to remain, even when those responsible for it are long dead? What would your children say about the tortures visited on your own clan by this curse? Is that what they would want?"

"I... No." Zathrian inhaled deeply and slumped to the ground, defeated. "I'm _old_, spirit. Perhaps I have lived too long. My hatred is deeply rooted in me like an ancient, gnarled root. It has consumed my soul." He looked up at the creature before him. By now, everyone in the chamber was completely quiet; even the wolves only _watched _the scene with great interest. "What about you, spirit? Your life is bound to mine. Aren't you afraid to die?"

A faint, enigmatic smile touched the Lady's lips."You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things I desire nothing more than an _end_. I beg you, maker... put an end to me. _We_ beg you... show _mercy_." The creature fell on its knees to emphasize the spoken words, its motion causing no sound at all. Lenya was surprised to see that the werwolves knelt down in front of the keeper, too. Within a matter of moments, she and her companions were the only one in the ancient hall still standing and she would rather marry a _hurlock_ than to bow down to this... _traitor_.

_I'm not like you..._

A shudder rolled through the keeper as he released a sigh that seemed to come from his very bones. "Very well, let us end this." Zathrian slowly rose from the ground, his movement sluggish and exhausted, yet with a hint of a smile. His eyes grew distant and for a fleeting moment Lenya couldn't help but to ask herself if he was already seeing his children in the Beyond.

The wolves gathered around the Lady, while Zathrian reclaimed his staff from the ground. The spirit looked at each and every one of the beasts, its gaze a clear sign of impending farewell. Lenya knew she should probably move closer too, but she found herself paralyzed where she stood. A massive wave of weariness washed over her as she watched how spirit and Keeper slowly vanished into a glowing light. Gnarled hands of roots entwined Zathrian's staff, and the tingling of strong, old magic rushed through Lenya's consciousness, an impossible gust of fresh wind enveloping her. The werewolves were lit by the same gleaming light as they bowed down to the lady and Keeper, their massive bodies shifting and reforming into something smaller. _Human._ After a brief moment, Keeper and spirit were no longer present, swallowed by the light and magic Zathrian had instigated, his staff clattering to the ground. The prior beasts were now human once more, women and men alike hugging each other and cheering that the curse was broken. They were finally free, the affliction lifted from them, from her people, from Leliana.

Lenya was aware that she should be glad to have achieved what she wanted, what was _right_, yet she couldn't feel a hint of joy or even relief. There was simply nothing but exhaustion and the misplaced feeling of defeat.

"I... thank you. For fighting for what was right. For everything."

With an impassive stare she looked at the whiskery, burly man that once had been Swiftrunner. Dressed in no more than a few rags, he bowed to her even though she didn't react, the motion genuine. "You have given us a chance at a new life. We can go to the humans and live with them. Thank you once more." Lenya watched them go, not caring in the slightest what would happen to them.

"The forest should be safe for them, since we cleaned it up so thoroughly, yes?" Zevran's voice permeated her haze of apathy, but its effect didn't last long. She noticed how he was kneeling beside her, a hand resting on her back, his tone worried. "Lenya?" _It is so rare he calls me by my name,_ her mind noted without any emotion.

Reminding herself that he wanted some sort of reaction besides her staring at the ground, she lifted her head and turned to him, voice quiet. "Let's just... leave. I don't want to be here any longer."

.

.

.

* * *

**Elvish notes:**

* * *

_Asha'an Vhen_- Daughter of the clan (Dalish heritage)

Lanaya: "_Atisha emma vhen!_" _"Ma dar reth, sahlin. Dorfen'ashin reth el Vhen'an elvhen a ma sulevin dar'din." -_- You are save now, brother. This Grey Warden saved our clan, without his help we would have perished."

Lenya_: "__Halam sahlin. Ar tu na'din a ar tu na'lin emma mi!"_ - This ends now. I'm going to kill you and I will see your blood on my blade.

Lenya:_ "__Seth'lin, ma tu harel a din'dareth el Vhen'an elvhen nuvenin ma'nan! Ma ir din Vhen'hahren! Ar tu na'din!" _- Thin blood (heavy insult) instead to protect your clan you lied to them, to **me** and endangered them. You are no keeper. I'll kill you___."_


	77. Arrival

_**I believe in nothing  
Not the end and not the start  
I believe in nothing  
Not the earth and not the stars  
I believe in nothing  
Not the day or not the dark  
I believe in nothing  
But the beating of our hearts **_

_~30 Seconds to Mars – 100 Suns_

* * *

_._

**Chapter 72: Arrival**

.

She had sworn to herself that she would never care for _anyone_.

Feelings represented weakness, unneeded and bothersome trivialities that they were. And yet she couldn't help but be _worried_ for the only one she called a friend, a _sister_, even.

Morrigan's amber eyes rested on the figure walking in front of her. The once so-proud woman that had impressed her in the Korcari Wilds even before their first meeting was only a shadow of herself. Shoulders slumped, posture reflecting only defeat and exhaustion, Lenya marched silently through the darkening realms of what she once must have called home. Morrigan knew it had been foolish for her to expect _this_ clan to be exactly like _her_ clan, as if nothing had happened in the time since leaving her people. Lenya had changed, had _evolved_ into something beyond the narrow black-and-white vision of her people. Their views of Thedas had became incompatible with that of the Warden.

It was also foolish of her to have set such hopes in the Keeper. She was like a lost child that kept wanting to look to him for guidance only to end up severely disappointed - by him, but even more so by her own unrealistic expectations. She had warned Lenya of him _dozens_ of times and actually more than her patience normally allowed... and still the stubborn woman had not _listened_.

It was maddening to see the fallout of her unreasonable, adamant behavior now, but even more so that she found herself _caring_ so much about it. Morrigan twisted her lips into a scowl, hating all these _feelings _within. Especially the illogical urge to kill the Keeper a _second_ time for all the disappointment he had inflicted upon her friend. She didn't know how to handle this heavy silence between them, how to approach Lenya in her crestfallen state to make it _better_. Objectively, the entire notion was nonsense in itself, because there was _nothing_ that could engender relief. So Morrigan remained in the shadow of her steps and followed without words, like she already had done it for hours. Looking up to the sky, the witch smothered the idiotic wish to heave a long sigh.

_'Tis frustrating..._

Not only was there nothing she could do for the only person she found herself caring about, the horizon hued by red and orange heralded the approaching darkness. They needed to find a place to camp, as it was obvious that they wouldn't be able to make it back to the Dalish camp like Lenya intended.

Morrigan disliked the thought of spending more time in a place where the Veil was so thin and the spirits were still angered by a battle centuries ago, but even she felt the weariness deep in her bones. Her magic had long been spent in the countless battles against the beasts and undead in the ruins. Maybe it was better if they stopped to rest first, as much as she bristled against the thought of staying here. She was certain that foolish demons would try to lure her into compliance with hollow promises of power and wealth while she wandered through the Fade, especially here. Their futile but constant attempts were getting annoying and–

Her head snapped up, an uneasy feeling settling into the base of her stomach, as Lenya stopped walking all of a sudden. Leaning on her staff for support, she observed a picture-perfect camp laid out before them. The fire was cheerfully crackling in the middle of a clearing, the perfectly erected tents warm and inviting... and so very _wrong_. Surely Lenya must feel it, too?

"Mercy! An old camp in the middle of the bloody forest?" Zevran let out an irritatingly dreamy sigh. "Now I call _that_ an invitation." Already the stupid elf was laying his equipment down and stretching his limbs with a yawn. "You know, if it's all the same to you, why don't we sit down for a while? Strange as it sounds, I'd rather camp here before going back out into the forest to reach the Dalish camp."

Much to Morrigan's horror, their leader nodded with complete apathy as her backpack fell onto the grass with a loud thump, not caring at all.

"Hmpf, I find it suddenly hard to move, like in Honnleath. We should probably not stay here, lest any damnable birds–" The golem fell silent, the glowing lava light in its eyes dimmed to a low shine.

_No..._

_Something_ was reaching out to _her_, as well, clawing at the back of her skull and mind, trying to tire her. "Lenya, we need to move on!" Morrigan heard an urgency in her own voice that sounded strange to her own ears, a worried undertone that startled her with its foreignness. And yet the elf did not listen to this rare plea from her.

"Why? It's very clean and inviting," Lenya mumbled in reply, already curling herself into a ball next to Arai. "I'm... tired, can't go on. _Sooo_ tired."

"Idiot! 'Tis a trap!" Desperation crept inside of her as she shook her friend, trying to keep her awake. "We must go!" As much she hated this feeling inside, it simultaneously fueled her resistance against the force wanting to lure her into sleep. "Now!"

"Just let me rest a bit, Morri–" Lenya stopped mid-sentence, her head sinking to the ground as she lost consciousness. Morrigan slapped her once, then twice, but to no avail. The Dalish remained sleeping, rendered completely immobile by the strange force in the clearing. Something was preventing her from waking and fed off of her despair and strength. Morrigan could _feel_ it, a pathetic specimen of a demon who wanted to suck off _her _power, too. Scrambling back to her feet, the witch's grip tightened around her wooden staff as she gritted her teeth.

Her eyes wandered over the huge branches of pine trees and darkening clouds above. She saw nothing, but _felt_ its presence. It was deathly quiet, the rushing of water nearby the only sound. "Show yourself, you petty coward!" Patches of fog suddenly rose from nowhere, clouding her vision and stealing her sight. Morrigan's fingers clasped around the little vial of lyrium within the bag at her side and pulled it out. Uncorking it with her teeth, she swallowed its contents in one pull. She would regret it later, felt the headache already forming behind her skull, concurrent with the surge of new mana rushing through her.

Morrigan didn't look down to Lenya and the others, ignoring their lifeless bodies, and refused to think about the consequences should she fail to kill the creature. A low snarl became audible and Morrigan smirked; she would not fail. _Ever_. Stepping in front of where Lenya lay in an almost protective manner, she summoned a crackling ball of energy within her hands. She waited for the demon to appear, her voice and glare a dark promise as it became visible. "You chose the _wrong_ victim, creature."

As her magic crashed and burned into its rotten body, Morrigan noticed that her magic wasn't the _only_ one present.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya was confused as she regained her consciousness.

In fact, she hadn't expected to awake _ever_ again. She had heard Morrigan's desperate pleas and the sounds of battle, but had been caught in her own body, unable to speak or move. A strange force had been luring her into a sleep that would have become everlasting without Morrigan's intervention. Lenya blinked rapidly. The light was blinding, the rush of sound and voices overwhelming to her senses.

The first thing she saw upon awakening was Morrigan, ironically. The witch had noticed her awake state, but didn't say anything. Instead, her golden eyes lingered on her form, the gaze undecided between impassivity and intense relief. She stared a moment longer before a scowl tugged on her lips in visible exasperation. "Fool! How could you do this? Do you want yourself dead so badly?"

Lenya slowly sat up from the ground where she lay, every bone and fiber within her body protesting against the motion. With a frown, she saw how Morrigan's mid-section was bandaged. The battle must have been harder than she thought. She smiled up to the witch. "Careful. It almost sounds as if you were worried about little old me."

Morrigan huffed, arms crossed and head shaking as she looked away from her. "Don't be foolish. 'Twas just so idiotic and reckless of you. I thought you'd know better than to fall for an easy trap of a demon."

"Normally, I am, yes. But I was so exhausted – I _still_ am– that I didn't care. I just wanted to... I don't know, _forget_, perhaps." The smile on her lips changed into something rueful. "_Ir'abelas, lethallan. _But I thank you for saving me, once again. It is becoming a habit of yours, huh?"

"_Tch_," Morrigan shifted uncomfortably in her place, hesitating before she continued with, "I did what I must and... 'twas not only my doing."

"That demon had fed upon careless adventurers for a long time." Lenya looked towards the source of the unknown voice and saw a red-haired elven man nearby. "It was luring them into its trap like a spider in its web. Good that it has now been ended." He bowed to her, politely. _"Andaran atish'an, lethallan._ I noticed your _Vallaslin._ Are you one of the Alvaran clan? I haven't seen you before."

Lenya knitted her eyebrows, needing a moment to sort the onslaught of words. "Wait... are you the one who saved me?" She looked around, saw how Zevran was mocking and laughing with Arai. The golem watched the scene with her usual apathy from close by. "I mean... _us?_"

The man smiled, little laugh lines among the prominent _Vallaslin _becoming visible at the motion. "I'm adept in healing, but the school of primal magic has never been my strong suit, I fear. So it was your friend who did most of the damage. I was the one who patched you all up afterward, though."

"I... see. Thanks for that." Lenya made a noncommittal sound, feeling a bit overwhelmed with his... _liveliness_ so soon after awakening.

"You are welcome. It was hard to convince the golem to carry you all away from there. It is quite... _jaded_, no? Most... interesting to see a golem which functions without any control rod and with a very _strong_ free will." He laughed, its sound deep but friendly. "We didn't have _those_ in the tower. ...Ah, _abelas_, I have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Aneirin."

"My name is Len–" At that moment, the Dalish was buried under an ecstatic whining mass of fur, paws and... dog spit. _Ugh_. "Hold – it!" She sputtered in her attempt to get her face away from her Mabari, but his strength and weight were far too much, not to mention his joy at seeing his mistress alive and awake.

"He never left your side, you know. Well, except a few minutes ago as your elven friend offered strips of meat that he apparently didn't have."

Lenya finally managed to calm Arai down, but the Mabari refused to leave her lap like a little puppy. He was nearly crushing her legs with his massive weight, but it was a bearable trade for no longer getting drowned in dog spit. She ruffled his ear. "Treacherous dog, you. Leaving me for some imaginary food." Arai huffed softly and growled into Zevran's direction before he laid his head down on her, as well.

"Ah, you are awake." Zevran's words were casual, but flashes of relief were visible on his face. "And you already made the acquaintance with our awesome and quite handsome rescuer. Marvelous!"

Lenya turned to Aneirin just in time to see traces of a blush. She shook her head, half amused, half in disbelief. Zevran did it again. "As I said before, I was close by and I didn't do it on my own." Morrigan groaned and stood up to leave, probably fed up with of all the commotion around her now. "What is it for magic she uses, I wonder? I haven't seen this sort before, at least not in the tower. Or her, for that matter."

"Well, let's say, Morrigan is a freelance mage, my friend." Zevran threw his arm around the elf, which flustered him even more. "Like you. When did you escape the tower? Ah, you are most fortunate that Wynne isn't with us now. She would get half a heart attack if she could see you. A mage outside the precious tower and living in the wilderness, unthinkable, _tsk_."

Lenya had seen and heard enough, as well. Shoving a reluctant and displeased Mabari from her lap, she stood up to seek the silence the nearby clearing offered.

"Wait..." she heard Aneirin speak in the distance. "...Did you say _Wynne_?"

.

~V~

.

Lenya found the sought-after solitude in the shadow of a giant tree and settled herself at the base of its massive trunk. Its deep green needles stretched far out, the ground directly beneath its expansive branches covered with the browning refuse of its limbs.

She didn't know how much time passed after she sat down or how long she stared at the scarf in her hands. Maybe it was only minutes, or a fleeting moment, but to her it felt like hours. The scarf had come from Danyla, the Dalish woman she had promised to find for Athras. She had found her: found her far too late. She had already transformed into a werewolf, twisting and howling in the pain caused by the curse.

"_Tell him I love him..."_

It had been her last words before Lenya drove her blades through her to end her cursed existence, just like Danyla had _begged_ her to do. A promise for a promise, it was an old Dalish custom. But now, even with the curse lifted, the scarf was all what was left, _all_ she could give to the older man upon her return.

Her ears twitched at the rustling sound of dried leaves nearby. She turned and saw Zevran approaching, obviously making the noise deliberately to herald his approach.

"There you are. Did you know that Aneiran knows Wynne? He was her apprentice once." He sighed, easing himself down next to her. "Ah, Thedas is such a small place, after all."

"Amusing, really," she muttered under her breath, yet didn't laugh. She was aware he was here to try to brighten her mood, or to make her talk about what depressed her so, but she couldn't even raise her head enough to look at him, let alone make the effort to talk. It was all too much at the moment and she had to suppress the feeling to run away.

_Fleeing_. She scoffed. Yes, _that _was what she was good at. Lenya always had a talent for escaping from bothersome topics, feelings or responsibilities. Yet even running away from _those _tired her out now, and she didn't want to do it any longer. That didn't mean, however, that she had the slightest clue of how to face _what_ they entailed. Much to her surprise her otherwise so-talkative elven friend remained silent, the plucking of grass his only motion. The stillness lasted for such a long time that she jerked forward when he next spoke.

"My mother was Dalish, as you might remember. I feel no allegiance to them, nor would I call myself Dalish by any means, but I know the feeling of betrayal well enough." Pain flashed within his features and twisted them before the casual mask was set back in place. "Ah, that is the scarf of the werewolf, I take it?"

He was changing the topic before even starting it. Lenya decided to go with it. She didn't want to talk or think about the Dalish, the ones she called her people. _Normally_. "She wasn't always a werewolf, but a Dalish woman. Danyla was her name. In fact, an older man in the camp asked me to find her, his _wife_. And I _killed_ her. All that is left of her is this stupid scarf."

His voice was soft. "Ah, once again you are too hard on yourself. You only did what she asked you to do, my dear."

"Still, it was stupid to burden me with killing her. Even though the curse is now broken, all I can return to him with are the scarf and her words. Why did she do that? Why didn't she wait like I suggested?"

"She was in great pain," Zevran said, laughing bitterly for a reason she couldn't fathom. "Pain can make death seem to be a release, an absolution from everything in life. A _mercy_."

"Is that so? Maybe I cling too much to my life, but to me that is just _stupid_."

He frowned. "You have seen that for yourself with Zathrian, no? As much as I would have enjoyed to see him shred into pieces by yours truly, I think he sought death, anyway. He was tired of living, which was fortunate for us in a twisted, ironic way as that made it possible to compel him into lifting the curse."

Her sigh was the only answer, the thought of Zathrian unwanted and heavy with contempt. She had been _such _a fool to ignore all the signs of his involvement simply because he was the Keeper and thus not to be questioned. Even if she was rebellious and going her own way most the time, that rule was something she had paid greatest heed to in the past. She _wanted_ to, because she still searched for something to believe in. Instead of answers for herself about her identity, she had only found more lies. Somehow everything seemed so... _forlorn_ and she hated herself for feeling this dread in her stomach, or for sinking her head into her hands without thinking about not being alone enough for such a dramatic gesture.

"The symphony I see in thee, it whispers songs to me. Songs of hot breath upon my neck, songs of soft grunts by my head. Songs of hands on muscled back, songs of thee come to my bed. Songs of hot breath upon my neck, songs of soft sighs by my head. Songs of nails upon my back, songs of thee come to my bed."

Her head jolted up to him, eyes widened in... surprise? Disgust? Lenya didn't know _what_ it was and settled for something in between. "Ugh. _Uuugh_. And I repeat: Ugh! I feel so _dirty_ right now." Or maybe it was just unadulterated disgust, after all.

"I know, right? _Horrible_." Zevran chuckled, his face lightening up in easy amusement at her reaction. "It was recited to me, as I recall, by a rather wealthy mark. I had sex with her anyway, but that goes without saying. She still had to die. The poem was amusing at the time, however, and thus I've always remembered it."

"Too. Much. Information."

"_Tsk, tsk, tsk._" Again his mocking tone and the Creators-damn wagging finger. Lenya glared at him. If he went on like this, she would make sure he'd lose both of them to her blade one day. "Here I thought you might be cheered up by some naughty poetry. You simply look so... _unhappy_." In one movement he was back on his feet and adding with a grin, "Or you can simply recite it to Alistair someday. I'm sure he will be _thrilled_ to hear such poetic words from your lips, my dear."

"I _hate_ you!"

"Ah, no, you _don't_." The grin widened. "But you _love_ someone else, no? And that is _okay_." He reached his hand to her to help her up, but all she did was glare at it. "We should move on, if you are ready."

.

.

* * *

.

By the time they reached the borders of the western forest, dusk was again clouding the firmament. Lenya idly wondered how much time they had spent in Aneiran's clearing, how long she had slept that it was getting dark yet again. The impatience in her spoke 'too long' as an answer almost automatically, because she wanted to get back to camp. Wanted to... she was not exactly sure _what_ it was what she sought, but it needed to be reached _quickly_.

And so she hurried her way through the uneven path of leaves and wood, the darkspawn stragglers nothing more than a footnote in her haste. Lenya only came to a halt reluctantly as a group of Dalish stepped in her way, one woman in particular blocking their path.

"You! You are the Grey Warden who broke the curse!"

"Word travels fast, it seems." She lacked the patience to deal with them right now. Glowering like the young woman in front, Lenya folded her arms. "And what is your problem? _Everyone_ seems to have one with me these days. It is getting annoying, you know?"

With no little satisfaction, Lenya watched how the other woman sputtered elvish curses before regaining her composure. "I demand to know what happened to the werewolves! Where did they go?"

_Fiery, are we?_ The demand, as she called it, only caused Lenya to lift a brow. In more ways than one it was bizarre to see a woman in front of her who was _exactly_ like herself... half a year ago. "As you said before, the curse is broken and thus there exist no werewolves any longer." She shrugged. "As for where they went, I have no idea. I forgot to _ask_ them, actually."

"Stop mocking me, Warden. I warn you just this once." _Yes, see me shaking in fear. _"I need to know where they are. I want my vengeance!" The Dalish woman was trembling with pure and bitter hatred. Like a cobweb it snaked itself around her consciousness, clouding everything else. No one knew this better than Lenya herself. She had been there. It was no fun.

"Vengeance." Her eyes narrowed, a pang of anger soared up and begged to be set free. She complied. "Why do you use that word so lightly?"

"Because they have so much Dalish blood on their hands! Because they killed my husband!" The Dalish launched herself at Lenya with a scream, but all she did was take a casual side-step. It was enough to throw the woman off her balance and gave Lenya time to draw her weapons.

"I don't wish to fight you!" Her blades met the Warden's weapons with a ferocity and brutality that surprised Lenya. Still, she lacked finesse and a deliberate pattern in her attacks, which made it almost _too _easy for Lenya to disarm her with one, two timed parries and feinted strikes. Kicking her pair of daggers aside, Lenya glowered down at the kneeling and gasping woman. With a sigh, she sheathed her own weapons again to pacify the other Dalish hunters nearby. It looked as if the gesture worked, because they weren't moving from their spot. For the moment.

"_Ir'abelas, falon elvhen._ For your loss. But vengeance is no resolution for your pain, it will only eat you up from inside. Believe me, I know. I was there as _your_ Keeper confessed his involvement with the curse. It was _he_ who created the curse in the first place." Lenya had talked herself into a frustrated rage, her words clipped and more harsh than needed in her fury. "His – _our _– people suffered because of the crimes of humans _centuries _ago. These humans are long dead, but his bitter hatred lasted over all these years, destroying his soul. So much that he didn't give a damn until the end if all the hunters in camp became afflicted with the curse, too, because he was too caught up in vengeance and blinded by it."

"No! You... you lie!"

"I wish I _were_." She was screaming at her by now. "Because then I would have something to believe in still! How do you think I felt watching a Keeper endanger his clan for his own egoistic motives, when he should have done everything in his power to protect them? If you think that what he did was just and fair, I can't help you anymore. Throw yourself at my blade for all I care, but this won't bring your loved one back!"

"Panowen!" Lenya heard an exasperated groan from behind, coming from one of her fellow hunters. "Maybe you should accept what the Grey Warden says as the truth. You've seen the hunters... they are better and there are no werewolves anymore. And she is one of our own. What reason would she have to lie?"

"Your name is... _Panowen_?" Lenya gave in to the urge to blink, staring at the woman gasping on the ground. Her face buried in her hands as she… sobbed? Creators, she had expected every reaction in the range of wrath, but _not_ despair.

"I couldn't... save him. _Again_. I couldn't..."

Lenya frowned as she lay a hand on the shoulder of the weeping, defeated woman. _Guilt_. Of that she had her fair share, as well. Lenya knelt next to her; rather than her fellow hunters, it was _she_ who spoke words of solace. _Panowen_. She knew the name, could never forget it. Pictures of suppressed memories from the Deep Roads so long ago swarmed her mind, unbidden. This was the woman Nithius had told her about, this was the woman he had once _loved_. And he did so until his death and last breath, of that Lenya was sure.

She looked over to her companions still standing a good distance from the scene, unsure how to react. Standing, she walked over to them and her pack. It took a while until she found the little object within, something she didn't even know _why_ she was still holding onto. But as much as this was a remembrance of her first friend outside her clan, of Nithius, the shaped amulet belonged not to her. And maybe it was time to return it to its rightful owner. Nithius would have certainly wanted that.

Her eyes closed for the moment while she inhaled the scented air of pine-needles and earth. So much pain, so much loss and despair... Would it never end? Lenya felt a weariness inside her that seemed to come from her very bones. She needed... well, she wasn't exactly sure. A break, perhaps? Something she wouldn't get, _ever_ - at least not until the Blight was ended. Even then – in the unlikely event of her survival – she would always be linked to the darkspawn. Morrigan had been right: that was her life now and who she was, and she was tired of running away from it.

"Here, I want you to have this."

Panowen needed a moment to calm down before she looked up, her eyes widening as a hint of recognition swept over her face. "This is..." Her hands reached out to the dangling jewelry and yet drew back from touching it, as if afraid that it would vanish. "How? Why?"

"I met him. In Orzammar."

Her frown deepened and she tilted her head, afraid to ask. "Is he...?"

Lenya kept her expression even. "No." Sometimes a lie was a necessary evil when it was less painful than the truth. "But he saved me, many times." This _was _the truth. She remembered his warmhearted way, the patience with which he had tried to spread peace in a place so dark and forlorn. The endless conversations she had had with him, if only to take her mind away from the suffocating stone around them.

"Why would he give you that? I don't... understand." Confusion etched itself within her expression, the words hushed as she brushed over the amulet's smooth surface.

Lenya looked away, couldn't hold her gaze while the half-lie fell from her lips. "He is hiding there from the Shemlen-chantry, since he sought refuge with the _durgen'len_. We became friends during my time there." _So much for the truth.._. "I told him that I would search for a Dalish clan and he asked me..." Lenya faltered with a sigh, knowing she couldn't go through with it. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't lie to you. You deserve... better. Nithius... he was attacked by darkspawn and it was too late to save him. _Ir'abelas_, I know words can't possibly excuse what happened. But you should know that he never stopped loving you, not for a single moment."

There was a taut, silent moment while Panowen stared at her in disbelief and with a hint of contempt. Then her face twisted in pain, an audible sob rippling through her body. "All these years... I thought he... I was a fool to believe... the Keeper's words. I should have gone with him when he left. I–" she blinked the tears away. "No, you are right. Vengeance won't bring them back." The Dalish hunter stood up, knees and body still shaking. "I thank you, _lethallan_... but I need to be alone now."

With that, she and her group left the place. Lenya watched them as they vanished between the trees, sunk in thought.

Zevran was the first to approach her and break the silence. "You could have simply lied."

"Hmm." Lenya nodded. "But I'm tired of escaping the truth. I don't want to run any longer."

"Ah, this is good, yes?"

"Maybe." She smiled. "I still need a moment to sort out what it means, though."

He mirrored her smile and turned it into something suggestive, as he so often did. "I'm sure you already know that, my dear."

"Yes." Lenya heaved a sigh. "But that doesn't mean it still isn't terribly confusing."

"Ah, love always is, my dear. Or so I have heard." He chuckled. "Come, then, it is about time to return to camp. Now more than ever, no?"

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya didn't return to camp.

She'd asked her companions to march ahead without her, needing a moment of her own to think. Now the moment had turned into many, the sky a deep black overhead, dotted with a multitude of stars. The moon was round and prominent, its silvery light illuminating the grassy ground and reflecting off the surface of the rushing river. She stood at its bank and listened to the incessant, wild sound that mirrored the chaos inside her. Arai tilted his head and made a worried noise as he observed her rigid posture. He had refused to leave her side, not wanting to return when she wouldn't, and so he had stayed.

Lenya swallowed hard. Despite her words before, she was still doing it. She was still too afraid to face the truth, felt she had no right anymore after all these weeks of hurting him. And it was not only _that_, there was still the overbearing feeling of being lost, induced by the Keeper's lies that shook her trust in her own people. It was all... too much.

She couldn't fathom how long she stood there and thought in circuitous circles without any conclusion at all. But then Arai was growling and barking at something all of a sudden, ripping her out of this endless trail of her mind. She didn't need to turn around to see _who_ it was that had agitated her Mabari so much. She already felt it, more intense than ever before.

"Wow. He still is every bit the nice dog that I remember. Good to see you back, mutt."

Silence.

"You know, when you squint your eyes and turn your head to the left you can see that that bunch of stars there is actually a wheel of chee–"

The sigh that fell from her lips sounded more harsh than intended, as were her words. "What are you doing here, Alistair?" Lenya didn't want to be seen by him, not now, not when everything was still so disconcerting and complicated.

His answer was defensive and maybe a little hurt. "You... didn't return to camp. I was worried."

She felt her face scrunch in concentration not to cry. _Of course_ he was. He always had been, in spite of everything. _Stupid human._ "_Abelas_, I needed some time alone. I... needed time to think."

Lenya heard him approaching, his steps _impossibly_ heavy in the grass. "About what?"

"About what happened. About who I am. About _what_ to believe."

A pause followed before his answer. "Wow, that is a lot to think about, really."

"Hmm."

Another sigh, not less pregnant than the first. "But you know, I'm also here, because we didn't exactly part on the best of terms and I wanted to – I don't know – apologize. Again. Sometimes there are moments where I just put a foot in my mouth, and that was definitely one of them."

"You... want to _apologize_?" The notion seemed ridiculous to her. It had been s_he _who had been rude and sent him away. And yet the gesture settled warm and welcome within her stomach.

"I... yes, but if you like it better that I leave you alone," he hesitated. "I should probably go..."

"No. _Stay_."

"Funny, that is the _exact_ opposite of what you told me last time. You are a... very confusing woman." Lenya laughed at that, a genuine sound that didn't in any way reflect the confusion he induced within _her_. Stillness claimed them both once more as neither of them spoke. There were no words, no way to begin. And still, he stayed, was simply there and that was... enough.

She stared at the reflecting surface of the river, her voice quiet while she hugged herself. "I believed him, you know? At least, I wanted to, in spite of it all. I ignored everything, all the signs telling me otherwise, because he is... _was_ the Keeper."

"Oh, _that_. Zevran told me about what happened. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not." Her voice grew hard, fingers balling into fists. "I'm _angry_. At his deceit, yes, but most of all at myself, for my stupidity. He was so consumed by bitterness and hatred of humans, he was unable to see reason. Unable to stop hating, even centuries after their death." Lenya swallowed, and suddenly the anger was washed away, replaced by quiet despair. "I... don't want to end up like him. I don't want to spend my life–"

"You are _nothing_ like him!" The force and determination in his voice startled and moved her at the same time. Tears welled up behind her eyes and she made the futile attempt to wipe them away before they flowed freely. With a ferocity that surprised her, she whirled round to him, facing him for the first time since his arrival.

"And what makes you so sure about that, huh?" She shook her head, sniveling. "I learned all my life how to hate and despise humans for what they have done to us, to my people. Do you really think I can forget all that so easily? That I'm free from the same bitterness that the Keeper fell victim to? I don't think so. It is rooted deep inside of me, ever since I heard _how_ my father was murdered. I can't forget.. _that_." She paused, her voice small. "I have killed humans before, and I _enjoyed_ it. I–I'm not a good person, Alistair, and I never will be."

Lenya flinched away from his attempt to touch her, not wanting his pity. Alistair made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, eyes turned to the sky as he groaned. "Again, you are wrong. I... may not be the most objective person concerning you, but I _am_ human, right? So this should qualify me to answer you on that." He took a quick breath, his gaze upon her almost unbearably affectionate. Lenya had to will herself not to look away, feeling herself smolder under his eyes. "Maker... this is... never going to get any easier, is it? Alright, please bear with me, then." He cleared his throat. "I've known you for over half of a year now and let me say, I'm _proud_ to fight at your side. In that time, I've seen that you are more than just a bitter or hateful Dalish you compare yourself to. _Much_ more. I have seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I love _what_ you are, what you do, how you _try_. I love to... just _be_ with you. Because you are an amazing and wonderful woman."

She gasped and snapped for air, found it suddenly _impossible_ to breathe. Her heart was beating so fast it was becoming hard to hear the flowing water beside her. Before the first tear fell, she whirled away from him again, head in her hands in the attempt to avoid the inevitable.

"Are you... _crying?_" Alistair sounded completely perplexed, and maybe a bit overcharged by the situation and her reaction.

"...No." An added whimper escaped her as she noticed how plaintive that sounded.

"Good, no crying here, I see." She heard him smile, his tone changing from joking to soft. "Because I can't stand it when women cry. ...Especially not _you_."

Lenya felt him coming closer and tried to compose herself before he touched her. She didn't know if she could stand his nearness or touch without falling to pieces in another, more confusing way. Inhaling deeply, she steadied her breathing enough to speak. "It is just... you are here. _Always_. And telling me _this_... even, even..." _Creators_, her stammering was _pathetic_. Since when was it so hard to put coherent words together when he was so close? Groaning in frustration, she started another attempt. "Even though I was so mean to you and hurt you so much. Why are still you always there for me?"

"Well, this is what... err... friends do, right? " He paused to sigh. "I have thought long and hard about it, and I would rather have you as my friend in my life than not at all."

_Friends?_ Lenya blinked, turning to him with an sulky frown. _To the Dread Wolf with that, for fuck's sake. _"Alistair, we _aren't_ friends." Her frown deepened. "Actually, I don't want to be _just_ your friend."

"Oh, I see." Lenya knew that the human had his unpredictable moments at times, but she had never expected a crestfallen expression as a reaction at her words. Then again, only _he_ had the talent to overhear an obvious _'just'_ in her sentence. "Then I... better go, right? I don't want to distu–"

"Stupid human..." Her hands grabbed the collar of his tunic before he could turn away and pulled him roughly down until he was at her height. Using the element of surprise, she pressed her lips on his. She noticed how he tensed, his whole posture stiff and unmoving in utter shock at the turn of events. Slowly one hand released the fabric of his tunic to wander up to his face to draw little, reassuring circles. Their lips did not do more than the barest of touches, and still Lenya found herself sighing into the kiss. She was hot and cold, lost and found, all at once. It was perfect in its imperfection... until he pulled away and out of her reach.

Lenya felt her pulse and heart racing and was as breathless as after a long sprint or fight. "Wow..." she managed in between the gasps somehow, feeling overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions its wake._ Definitely _more_ than friends. _Her eyes opened again and she saw how Alistair stared at her in utter bewilderment, as breathless as herself. He still remained bemused for another moment before the corner of his mouth threatened to quirk upward.

Pouting and blushing, Lenya turned away from of what looked like his mocking expression. "Yeah, go on, _laugh_. Laugh about the irony of a Dalish falling in love with a human, of all things. _Haha_, I'm sure the gods are crazy with gloating over my–" She halted her rant, perplexed. "...Wait. You're _not _laughing?"

"Nope, no laughing here." His chuckle was rueful. "I... was just asking myself when I would wake up and be ripped out of this wonderful dre–" Lenya slapped him square on his arm. "–Ouch. ...Okay, no dream then, but I won't panic. I'm calm, composed and _manly_... Wait, did you say you _love _me?" Blinking, he gaped at her as if she was a giant ogre about to eat him.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Your grasp of the obvious is _inspiring_, really."

Alistair's mouth sprang open and closed without any words coming out for a while. Finally he managed, "B-but w-what about Zevran?"

"Zevran?" It was _maddening_. Lenya gritted her teeth and smothered the wish to slap, then kiss, then maybe slap him again. Inwardly, she counted to ten before she answered, "He is my friend and has become very important to me within the past weeks. But..." She chewed on her lip and looked up to him. "...he is not _you_."

"Oh. I–"

"Look." Lenya sighed, fed up of all the endless talk. "I understand if you don't want me anymore after all what happened. Maybe it is better when w–" She was crushed against his chest before she could end her sentence, wrapped in the cocoon of warmth that was Alistair. His lips claimed hers in such a searing kiss she felt like she was going to ignite on the spot. Jolts of _impossible_ electricity rushed through her and caused her to groan as he deepened the kiss even more. She was falling apart and simultaneously set in place again, thoroughly lost in the moment and yet more complete than ever.

Lenya's fingers raked through his hair and still she craved more of the closeness, more of _him_. Her arms twined around his neck, holding herself upright and in place. She felt him shiver, every little shift of his muscles palpable to her. A low rumble in the back of his throat escaped him as he snapped for air to continue kissing. Just like her, he didn't want to stop, couldn't get enough of the perfect bliss between them. By the time he pulled away, her lungs burned, _screaming_ for air, yet she protested the loss of his lips.

Gasping and dazed, Lenya leaned her forehead on his chest. She enjoyed the soft pattern his fingers drew on the small of her back, while the other hand secured her place within his arms. For the first time, Lenya didn't feel caged by his affectionate gesture, but... _safe_. She didn't need to run any longer. It was as if she finally arrived where she _belonged_ after a long, exhausting journey.

"I never _stopped_ wanting you..." Alistair whispered softly as he gasped for air. Then she could hear him smiling. "And I, um, have wanted to do this... for a long time now. A _very_ long time, to be honest."

Tilting her head curiously, Lenya looked up to him. "Oh, really?"

Even in the faint moonlight, she could see him blush. _Amusing_. "Well, err, yes? I mean, I–" He fell silent, completely enraptured by the sight of her face. His fingers on her cheek were rough, but his touch was so very gentle. It was a perfect, fitting contradiction in and of itself and she wouldn't have it another way. "Maker's breath, but you're _beautiful_. Have I ever told you... _wow_." His hand was quickly substituted by his lips, trailing light kisses where his fingers had lingered.

Lenya let out a quiet sigh, feeling comfortable and content. This was just like in her dream, only _better_. If he was trying to divert her from speaking, it worked perfectly. At least until the moment he drew away. "As much I could get used to this," she said, looking up, "but you are evading my question."

"Am I? Sorry. It is just... I still can't believe that you ar – _ouch_." Alistair laughed as he rubbed at his arm, the sound more easy and free than she had ever heard from him. "Oh, I see. _Still_ no dream, my beautiful, but_ violent_ lady. And yay for that."

"Yay, indeed." Still looking at him, her brows drew together in a frown. "But... I'm sorry I caused you so much pain. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize... _everything_. "

He placed a kiss on her forehead, easing the lingering frown. "It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters to me is that you are here with me _now_."

"Hmm," Lenya wrapped her arms around him again and buried her head within his chest. "Home. At last."

.


	78. Interlude IV: Rules Are There To Break

_**A/N: **__Thanks to all for their continuous support for this story monster and especially to Tklivory for the beta. You all rock. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

_**I've walked the distance,  
I paid my dues and tried to have a go at what I thought I knew was real,  
held no appeal  
I've been to places, I've seen the tidings,  
I bought a book of rules for every coin that I could steal  
And so I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn  
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn**_

_~Poets of the Fall – Roses_

* * *

.**  
**

**Interlude IV: Rules Are There To Break**

.

A bonfire as high and huge as the sky burned in the middle of camp, and each and every one of the clan gathered around it to celebrate and mourn at the same time.

They honored the death of their old Keeper Zathrian and the many hunters who had fallen victim to the curse with multiple prayers to Falon'Din and the symbolic burial of their bodies. For each fallen Dalish there were two saplings planted upon them – oak to guide them and cedar to chase away the ravens Fear and Deceit now that Dirthamen was gone. While it was somewhat nice to see new life springing from death, Lenya was appalled to see how _many_ trees in the end were planted, how many lives the bitterness of the Keeper had actually taken. For a still moment before the singing and chanting continued, the sheer amount of saplings in front of her eyes sent a chill down to her spine. Unwanted memories of the last time she had witnessed this very ritual came to her mind and Lenya had to shake off the feeling of dread it induced. She looked up and her eyes ran over a sea of faces, all elven, all Dalish, until she found the one that seemed so misplaced here. A human was amidst her people during this sacred ritual, something that had been unthinkable only days before.

Now he and all her other companions were invited, honored guests who had stopped the plight brought upon the clan by the curse. The wounds inflicted by it were raw and open still, but now that the curse was lifted, the injured hunters and the clan itself could also begin to heal. The first sign of this healing was the initiation of Lanaya, a woman who was intelligent and warm-hearted, as their new Keeper. She cared for her clan first and foremost, something that showed she'd be a good Keeper, even if she wasn't nearly as experienced as Zathrian.

Lenya had never seen the initiation of a Keeper before, since Marethari had been Keeper all of her life. After hours of mourning, the clan intoned words of a new beginning, of hope for a new homeland spoken in a language the so-called outsiders of her group wouldn't understand anyway. She found herself chanting the words automatically and with little thought as they slipped from her lips, smiling. The smile increased in brightness as she noticed the confused expression on _his_ face, in addition to his natural curiosity, which she found more than endearing in the flickering light of the fire. Only moments later their eyes met – as if drawn to each other – and suddenly she wasn't smiling because of feeling home, but because of _him_.

It was hard to follow the words and Lanaya's ritual in the front of the fire after tearing her eyes away from him again. Love was a terrifying force, something that was completely overwhelming her. Like a tidal wave of the sea it crashed down on her, surrounding her and holding her in its grip with its power. Lenya had never felt so helpless before against her own emotions, running amok inside of her, yet she sought more of this feeling. She felt constantly drunk without the awful side effects of a hangover, and as light as if she were suspended in the air. From a purely objective viewpoint, Morrigan was right: Love was an inanity which had managed to draw her attention away from a ritual sacred to the Dalish! All she could think about was stealing away from here for a kiss or two with Alistair who sat too far away from her across the fire. It was… _frustrating,_ both his distance and her inability to pay attention to what was the most meaningful event for a Dalish outside of obtaining their Vallaslin, save that Lenya couldn't distinguish _which_ was bothering her more.

Hours later, the ritual had turned into a celebration with subdued music, tales and laughter. Incense burned to honor the gods, scenting the air with the sweet tang of lilac and jasmine. There was wine - lots of it - and Lenya found her face burning with its effect, adding to the emotions already roaring inside. Mithra was talking to her about old times, though her words didn't really penetrate as Lenya glanced over at Alistair. Only Tamlen's name snapped her out of the warm fuzzy feeling inside, her head instantly turning back to her former friend. "What?"

"I was asking how Tamlen is doing... but you weren't listening. _Obviously_."

"_Abelas_. I'm... a bit tired. It has been an eventful few days, to say the least." Which was an complete understatement, if Lenya was honest. Not only had the Keeper deceived her and his clan, she was completely in love with a human, too, of all things. Funny what a difference a few days could make.

"_Ma nuvenin_. Still, you haven't answered my question, _lethallan_."

For the first time since the kiss, a frown appeared in Lenya's face, momentarily suppressing the everlasting smile. "I'm not sure I want to talk about that, Mithra."

The Dalish looked at her, puzzled. "Why?" The bewilderment turned into something mocking and suggestive. "Alright, I get it. Want to keep him for himself, huh? You always were close, even as kids. So tell me, is he a good kisser?"

_Yes, yes...YES!_ her mind screamed in delight, before reminding herself that Mithra was actually talking about _Tamlen. _"Err...we never were _that_ kind of friends. He was my brother and the best friend I ever had. But I never…" The frown deepened as her words stopped. "Look, I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"So you mean he's still available?" Her grin widened. "How fortunate, since the next Arlathvhen isn't that distant anymore. I'm looking forward to mee–"

"Mithra, he is _dead!"_ It burst out of Lenya, unwanted, but she couldn't stand how she was talking about Tamlen. Objectively, it was just friendly chatter between two Dalish women, but mindless gossiping was something Lenya had always hated. She felt guilty for the shocked expression she caused on Mithra's face, so she added, "_Ir'abelas_."

"How...?"

Lenya heaved a sigh and mentally shortened the painful story to the bare minimum. "We found a cave, an ancient elven ruin. There was... some sort of mirror. Tamlen touched it before I could push him away and it exploded. Since that day I've been tainted. I was lucky enough to be found by the Grey Warden leader and get treated by Marethari, but Tamlen remained missing."

Her face brightened, hope visible within. "So he could be still alive, just like you."

She shook her head and gnawed on her lips before answering, "No, that is impossible. I only survived because I became a Grey Warden. Let's... leave it at that. _Please_."

"I... don't know what to say. Had I known that–" Mithra swallowed audibly. "_Abelas_, I think I was too harsh to you the last time we saw each other. You had to leave your clan against your will after losing your best friend. And needed to adapt to the foreign shemlen world, too. I can't even fathom how hard this must have been for you." She lay a hand on Lenya's shoulder, the gesture compassionate.

_Oh, and by the way, I love a human now..._ The highly likely brain-breaking reaction of her fellow Dalish at that sentence – should she say it out loud – restored her good mood and smile. After all, Lenya still needed to remind herself that this fact was the truth and not just a weird dream after having too much of Oghren's ale. "It is... well, I cope. Being a Grey Warden isn't all bad, you know." _Except for all the death, the blood, the nightmares and the shortened life, of course. _"I'm not alone in this, after all." Lenya smothered the wish to look at her fellow Warden and instead smiled over to Zevran, which was... _safer_. The elf mirrored the gesture with a wink and a smile of his own.

It only took moments for Mithra to put the seemingly fitting pieces together. "You... and the flat ear? I... wow. I mean he is not bad, but he is not Dalish."

Lenya smiled and shrugged as innocently as she could. Yep, it would definitely break Mithra's brain, if she knew the truth. Deciding to leave it at that, she stood up. Her stiff back and sore bottom reminded her why she had never liked such long-winded rituals in the first place. But there was also the comfortable buzzing of the wine and food inside and the pleasant remembrance of how being with a clan _should_ be, so not all of it was bad. She stretched her limbs in a way Alistair definitely would notice and felt suddenly more than eager to be away from the festivities.

.

.

* * *

.

"Ah, _'amora'._"

Zevran chuckled over his own choice of words after following her only moments later to their secluded camp. "I figured I'd leave with you, since your friend now firmly believes I'm the one you want to see now."

"Perceptive as always, I see." Lenya laughed, as well. "I figure you are here to check up on Leliana, right?" The bard was recovering nicely after the curse got broken, yet remained too weak to participate in the celebration. Like the other hunters, she still needed a lot of time and rest to regain her strength.

He shrugged and his smile turned into something wry, mocking. "But it is such a wonderful, clear and starry night. Ah, _romantic_. Are you sure you don't want to spend more time with me, after all?"

"Well, yes." For a moment, she enjoyed the perplexed expression on his face, before turning to her tent. "Hold that thought." With that she vanished within, only to reappear moments later with something in her hands. "I want you to have these."

Zevran blinked at the objects pushed into his hands, not quite understanding the gift. "Gloves? You are giving me _gloves_? What for?"

"They are Dalish, made by Master Varathorn to thank me. But I think it is more fitting to give them to you. I know that you don't hold allegiance to the Dalish, but nonetheless you shouldn't forget that _this_ is still a part of you. The gloves are a symbol of that, I guess, and a way to thank you. Because you helped show me where I belonged when I was lost, so I figured it was only fair if I did the same."

Zevran looked as if he were frozen on the spot. A complicated cascade of emotions swept over his casual mask as he stared on the gloves. Finally the casualness won over and he smiled one of his smiles that Lenya knew was there to cover what lay behind. In that, they were both very similar, after all. "Ah, but _I'm_ not lost, my dear. I'm very much a proud Antivan and assassin... or _ex-assassin." _There is a hint of hesitation, a quiet sigh as he gave up the pretense, hopefully because he knew he didn't have to be guarded in her presence. "Still... this is..." he paused to swallow, visibly moved. "...a surprise, but actually I shouldn't be surprised with you anymore, my dear. Ah, my mistake, no?"

Lenya was confused. "You don't like them?"

"No... it is not that. Quite the opposite, in fact." His fingers traced over the leather surface of the gloves, his eyes distant. "Through all the years of my Crow training, the _one_ thing of my mother's that I possessed was a pair of gloves. They were of Dalish make, I knew that much, and beautiful. I had to keep them hidden, of course, as we were not allowed such things. Eventually they were discovered, and I never saw them again." Zevran sighed at the memory and turned the gloves to observe them from all sides. "Astonishing. These are _much_ like the gloves that belonged to my mother. The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery... but these are very close. And quite handsome." Eventually he looked up to her, his gaze warm and grateful. "I don't know what to say. Never has someone just... given me a gift like that, and such a fitting one to boot. I... thank you, _Lenya_."

Her name from his lips was still surprising and enough proof to her how much he really liked it, and that was enough for her. With a smile she stepped closer to embrace him. "No... thank you, _lethallin_."

Her smile widened even before the new arrival to the scene made himself noticeable with a clearing of his throat. Not only was he still unbelievably _loud_ when he walked, there was also this internal connection by blood that even racial differences couldn't sever.

"Hands off _my_ girl!"

Both elves turned to him with a quirked eyebrow, a picture which seemingly caused him to chuckle. "Sorry, _always_ wanted to say that." A pause followed in which Alistair fidgeted in his place, apparently unsure how to proceed from there. "Uh, can we talk?"

"Talk?" Lenya blinked. "What about?" If she was honest, she wanted to do anything _but_ that.

"No, I didn't mean you... err... _love_." He grinned from ear to ear, proud at saying this one little word, which was such a sweet reaction to her. "I... mean, well, Zevran."

"Ah, I see. I'm a wanted man this evening." Lenya was not surprised that the elf had already slipped back into his casual role and mask he chose to let the others see. It was to be expected with his years of practice of hiding behind it; what was _not_ expected was that Alistair actually sought to talk with him.

"Well, whatever. When you're done here, puppy, find me so we can... _talk_." With a meaningful look and a brush on his arm that sent her nerves tingling as much as his, Lenya left them to their surely _insightful_ conversation.

.

~V~

.

"Hmm, do you mind if I give you some advice, my dear friend Alistair?" The elf saw how he was opening his mouth to decline and decided to be _quicker_. "If the both of you want to keep up the amusing charade of being 'only friends' while in the Dalish camp, you might want to consider being more subtle. Because the glances and smiles you both gave each other during the long time at the fire were anything _but_ that."

"Err... okay?" He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "It's just..." He sighed, its sound distracted and every part the man in love. "Have you ever been in love?"

For the fraction of the moment, Zevran staggered and lost his cool composure before recovering. "Ah, but this isn't about me, my dear Alistair. I'm worried for your well-being, or at least that of your beloved Warden. I know how important her culture is to her and hence it is a big step to be open with her love to you. Yet she is not ready to share with the whole clan. Given their distrust and demeanor toward humans and every other race that is not Dalish, this is an understandable notion, don't you think?"

"Yes? I mean... I would _never_ push her into something she doesn't want."

"Good." Zevran looked at the dirt under his nails, his voice without any emotional inflection. "Because if you were pushing her or are going to hurt her someday, I will quite happily break your nose. Or other gruesome things that can come to the mind of a retired assassin in such a situation." He shrugged, his smile all bright as he patted the man on his shoulder. "But I'm happy for you both. Finally the moping within camp will come to an end and get replaced by unadulterated passion. _Marvelous_. Let me know if you ever need tips on how to please your woman."

The flush of deep red within Alistair's face gave away that he'd already forgotten everything that had been said before that sentence. _Pity._ "Pleasing?... Oh, _that_. N-no, I – wait, _why_ are we even talking about that?"

It was almost too easy to mock him. Zevran blinked in an innocent fashion. "Ah, but I thought you wanted to talk with me?"

"Y-yes, but not–" Alistair paused to harrumph. "All right, you almost got me there. _Haha_, really. Would you listen just this once? I want to get it over with and leave to see Lenya."

"Oh?" He perked up at his serious tone, the mocking momentarily forgotten. "Now you have my interest. I'm all ears, as we elves like to say."

"I just wanted... I wanted, well, to _thank_ you. There I said it. Good night."

The human was already turning to leave, but Zevran stepped in his way. "Ah, but my dear Alistair, don't be such a terrible tease. You can't say that and simply leave. Have you no manners? What is it that requires the rare occasion of your thanks? I need details."

Alistair stopped with a groan, frustrated at the interruption of his next plan. _Marvelous_. "Because you actually pushed me into talking with Lenya when she didn't return to camp yesterday. And you have been a good friend to her in the time, where I, err, _wasn't_. I still don't like you, nor trust you... much, but at least I give you credit for this."

He chuckled. "Ah, I see. So you want to thank me that you got the girl, yes?"

An unusual smug smile appeared on Alistair's face, a side which Zevran hadn't seen in the man before. Interesting. "Yes, _I_ got the girl. Indeed."

Zevran had the wit to quickly put distance between himself and the human before placing the last final jab for tonight. "Ah, congratulations, my dear friend. Quite the achievement. Still, I kissed her _before_ you." With that he vanished into the shadows of the night, too quick for Alistair's eyes. A bewildered "_Whaaat?_" and threats to kill him were the amusing sounds that echoed behind the departing elf.

.

.

* * *

.

"I figured you'd find me even if I didn't say where I was going."

Lenya leaned against a tree and smiled at the approaching figure in the half-dark. "Then again, I decided to stray not too far from camp. It is quite peaceful here." She pointed at the lake nearby, the light of the moon and stars reflected in its still water. "This is what I wanted: a quiet place to spend some time with you after the hours of, well, spending time with my people."

No answer, though his steps gave away his approach. "Alistair?"

"So you and Zevran? _Just_ friends, huh?" She was puzzled by the hurt in his voice and the hint of... _jealousy_, perhaps?

"Why? What has he told y–" With a speed that surprised her, he was at her side and interrupting her speech with a heated kiss. Lenya still had enough sense to notice how the rough bark bit into her back as Alistair pinned her to the tree with his weight. He withdrew only moments later, the abrupt lack of his warmth leaving her head whirling and her heart aching for more.

"Did he kiss you in the same way?" Despite his confident approach before, he was very self-conscious and insecure, the erratic fidgeting with her hands a tell-tale sign. It was a mark still left from the time where she had pushed him away too often.

"No." The sudden pang of guilt was substituted for anger. "What did he tell you? I'll kill him."

"Get in line for that." His snort was derisive, but quickly faded for a frown. "So it is true? _When_?"

"In the Brecilian Forest... the night after you left." Lenya sighed and wriggled out of his grasp to wander up and down. "I was very confused at that time. I had just dreamed of you in a way I... never had before."

"Oh... really?" He beamed before returning to his sulky frown. "No, hold that thought for later. Still peeved here."

"Yes, and obviously Zevran caught it. Naturally he wouldn't let it rest and kept poking me about my feelings for you."

"So you kissed him? Right, that makes sense."

She rolled her eyes. "Would you listen for once, so we can back to kissing instead of _talking_ about it? I quite liked that part. Anyway, I snapped and demanded to know why it was so important for him to know. Well, his answer was something unexpected, moving."

"Yes?"

"Because I want you to be happy, he said. It was... surprising. And yes, I kissed him shortly after that and no, I didn't like it. Not as much as…" She sighed anew. "I don't know _why_ I even did it... Maybe I needed to discover for myself if I really loved the elf instead of the human, as it should be, at least when it comes to the view of my people. But... obviously the opposite is the case and... I don't want to have it another way." Lenya closed the gap between them and looked up to him. "Loving you is against all rules and conduct of my people but quite frankly: _Fuck_ the rules. I was never the most dutiful Dalish, anyway. _Elgar'nan_, I mean I have seen the ritual of initiating a Keeper for the first time in my life, something that is sacred to my people. But you know what? I simply didn't care, because all I could think of was... _you_."

Alistair let go of her hands, only to fold his own behind her back to pull her close. The tension in his muscles and posture left him at once as he breathed out. "I'm sorry, I don't want to look like a creepy, possessive man in love. It's just seeing you laughing and talking with Zevran the past weeks after, after–"

"It is okay, really. I understand why you would think so." Lenya nodded and bit on her lip. "And I'm sorry for all what happened. But Zev is more like... I don't know, Tamlen to me. And I kissed him, too... or rather he pressed his lips to mine once. Which was _totally _awkward, since he was, like, my brother and all."

"Oh? Really? So... you liked it more... when we kissed for the first time?" He laughed, weakly. "I know, terrible weather at the time, so I quite understood why you ran away afterwards." Despite his joking demeanor, she could clearly see that he sought reassurance from her. Considering the events of the past weeks and the overall way he was raised, his reaction didn't surprise her much. Everything was so _new_, so overwhelming. The sudden change in their relationship was a fragile, delicate thing that still needed time to grow. Just like Alistair, she feared to wake up and find that it had all been a dream or illusion conjured from the Beyond. Lenya knew nothing about love, had thought it was something foolish like Morrigan did. Now within a mere day, her world and view was turned upside down and made _him_ the center of it. This was bound to elicit confusion and insecurities, and not only within her.

Her fingers brushed gently over his stubbled cheek, and he leaned in to her touch. "Don't sell yourself short, _emma lath_. You are a wonderful, considerate and warm-hearted man, and I love you for _who_ you are. Even if it took me quite some time to recognize that." She shrugged with a chuckle. "As I said before: Rules are there to be broken. That is what I'm good at, at least it is if you ask _my_ Keeper."

His face brightened and he bent down for a quick kiss, grinning. "Right, I can imagine. Still, there is so much I don't know about you, before your time as a Warden. Seeing you with the clan tonight was really interesting, the way your face lit up as you spoke the verses and... how happy you were. So I can't help but want to know more about it... and your culture."

"Then _ask_. But all in its own time," Lenya said, casually, and tried to cover up how very moved she was by his words. Damn that human, always saying the right thing. "We don't have only tonight, after all. There is no need to rush." She sat down on the grass and motioned him to do the same. It was still odd to Lenya how big and tall he was compared to her; even sitting, he was still... _huge_.

"Right. You're right, of course." He sighed. "It's all just a bit... overwhelming."

Though as soon she leaned on his chest and he enclosed his arms around her, it didn't matter anymore. It was perfect in its imperfection and the one thing in this chaotic, blighted world that made sense to her. "Yes, it is indeed. But we will figure it out together." Wrapped up in his warmth, she listened to the calm beating of his heart, while observing the glint of the stars above in a comfortable silence.

_Together, not alone._

It was a thought Lenya could get used to.

.

.


	79. Someone Special

_**A/N:**__ I guess this is bit of a silly, lighthearted chapter._ Yes, _Alistair sees the sun shining out of Lenya's bum, so please bear with his excitement over her and their overall sugary sweetness. I try to write their relationship in a, well, realistic way, and fresh couples tend to be a "bit" obnoxious with their lovey-dovey for everyone standing at the side line, so... yeah. Also closest I ever got to a M-Rated chapter so far, I guess, so be warned this one is full of suggestive stuff.  
_

_Thanks to **tklivory** for the beta.  
_

* * *

_**You lift my spirit, take me higher, make me fly,  
Touch the moon up in the sky, when you are mine  
You lift me higher, take my spirit, make it fly,  
Where all new wonders will appear**_

_Poets of the Fall – Lift_

* * *

.

**Chapter 73: Someone Special**

.

The next couple of days passed in a blur of happiness.

As a matter of fact, Alistair found it difficult to wipe the constant grin from his face, a necessity when talking with any Dalish that was _not_ Lenya. By unspoken agreement the two were discreet about their newfound love while still with the clan, though it was hard for him to maintain the facade. He kept having to smother the wish to scream it to the world just how _much_ he loved her. That in itself was nothing new, of course, since he had been in love with her for what felt like _ages_. The fact that utterly amazed him was that she loved him _back_.

To be loved was a feeling he couldn't put in words, since all of them were too weak to describe how exhilarating and powerful it was. Especially when he was loved by _her_, this magnificent, witty and completely gorgeous woman who–

"Alistair?" In the back of his mind he heard his name, but he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from, well, _her_. Or rather her ...backside, which was swaying in such a hypnotic rhythm before his eyes that he couldn't refrain from _staring_, quite openly. He was aware that he _shouldn't_, but after all she _was_ the leader... leading them from up front as she was used to, right? Granted, the way he looked up at her for guidance had now changed quite a _bit_, but–

"Heh, he's off in Lala-land again, Wynne." The dwarf snorted. "Must be a sodding fine place since he spends so much time there."

Again the bothersome noises in the form of their companions while walking through the oddly peaceful forest. The only problem with so many people around was that they were never alone, not _really_. There were stolen moments in between, away from everyone, but they were few and far between and not enough. _Never_ enough.

"Obviously." The elder mage chuckled. "And it seems to have a nice view, as well."

That jolted him out of his current occupation, a groan escaping his lips without conscious thought. "I can still hear you, you know?"

"Oh?" Again the faint laughing sound that sounded _far _too devious for a woman of her age. "Will wonders never cease. I don't blame you for zoning out, though. The landscape is quite beautiful, isn't it?"

Alistair looked over to her, an eyebrow raised. "The ...landscape?"

Wynne inhaled deeply and smiled. "Why, yes. The air is clear and you can hear the water rushing from afar. This is a piece of untouched nature and yet full of history." With her staff, she pointed at a densely wooded clearing, dried leaves cracking under their feet. Sunlight was defying the tree's thick canopy, spilled through in tiny patches and falling upon the grassy ground.

He tried to focus on which beauty Wynne meant and was at a loss as it was in between the memories of the werewolves and the feeling of the thin Veil here. "Yeah. Not to mention that the magical energy of the past still lingers here. _Creepy_."

"Magical energy? Sodding right." Oghren chortled, a deep rumble from his chest. "The only magical thing I see here are your eyes glued on Missy's ass. Heh."

With horror, Alistair watched how Lenya slowed her steps and turned around to look at him, amused. "Oh? What is so captivating about my backside?"

He couldn't believe she even _asked_ that. Didn't she know how attractive she was to him? "Is that... a trick question?"

"Yes, love." He would never _ever_ get tired of hearing _that_ little word from her, nor seeing the smile that warmed his insides more than thousand suns. Maybe it was just his love-addled mind, but he liked to believe that the smile she was showing him differed from the ones she gave to the rest of the group. It was more bright, more genuine and... "Hence I plan to marry the archdemon, be the queen of all darkspawn and take over Thedas."

Alistair blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Huh?"

Lenya laughed and shook her head in mock-exasperation. "Where have you been, silly?"

He felt the heat crawling up his cheeks, yet tried to cover it up with a winning smile. "Err... thinking of you?"

"_While_ I'm talking to you? Well, that is… stupid." She arched an eyebrow at him before her smile widened . "...but cute."

"Cute? _Cuuute_? Yeah, that is what every man wants to hear. Why don't you stab me directly through the heart while you are at it. _Ouch_."

"Shut up." With a sly grin, Lenya stepped in to steal a quick kiss from his lips that he was all too willing to give.

"Ugh...I haven't had nearly enough booze to endure _that_." Oghren made a sound somewhere between a annoyed grunt and snort before stomping away, head shaking.

Alistair ignored him, or rather the whole world around him that _wasn't_ Lenya. It might seem obnoxious to others how they were constantly making googly eyes at each other, not to mention their sugary, flirty talk. But after all the things they had been through together, Alistair couldn't bring himself to care for any feelings other than Lenya's and the behemoth of love inside of him. Being with her meant the world to him, and she was the center of it. Everything else beyond that was unimportant for the moment and for an undefined time after that.

His head still reeling from her closeness, Alistair grinned even after she had turned away from him to continue walking. "My, you are feeling a _lot_ better now than days before," Wynne chuckled as she observed his dazed expression. "I wonder why that is?"

Alistair cleared his throat in the futile attempt to be coherent again. "Funny how life is at times, right, Wynne? Lenya gets attacked by a demon – which isn't funny at all – but afterwards gets healed by an elf named Aneirin, who happens to be a former student of yours. And he is even living here in the woods somewhere nearby, no less. It seems that Thedas _is_ a small world after all."

The mage sighed. "And I'm glad and anxious at the same time about the chance to meet him. Distrusting of humans as he was, my impatience and harshness was what drove him into fleeing the Circle when he was not more than a child of fourteen years."

His brows drew together. "Impatience and harshness? I can hardly imagine you like that."

She laughed. "Oh, age and wisdom have mellowed me, young man. I was quite different back then. Much more... unforgiving."

The thought of a Wynne being even _more_ stern gave him the creeps. She could easily guilt trip flowers into wilting with one of her disapproving stares, after all. "I see." He suppressed a shudder as he shoved the thought aside. "So you thought the templars had killed him, then?"

"Yes." She breathed out, head tilted up to the sky shrouded by branches and pine needles. " I don't need to tell you that the templars are specifically trained to track down rogue mages and are quite thorough in doing so. When they returned I begged them to tell me if he suffered, if they gave him a quick death, at least. I got no answers from them. I was his mentor and they wouldn't even tell me what became of him."

"And yet another reason that makes me glad I'm here now and not, well, _there_. I'll take fighting the Blight over _that_ any day, really."

"Hey Missy, didn't we pass these sodding trees already?" Oghren piped up all the sudden. "Do you even know where to go?"

Lenya turned to smile sweetly at him, tone dripping with sarcasm. "No, of course not! I'm just a trained Dalish hunter skilled in track traces, especially in the forest I grew up in. And of course I never met the elf we're in search of. So no, I have not the slightest idea of where to go, and I am simply running us in circles for my own amusement. Because _that_ is my idea of fun."

"For someone being so overly lovey dovey with the boy, you are quite caustic." The dwarf snorted. "Still haven't been laid, huh?"

To Alistair's relief she ignored this inappropriate yet _typical_ Oghren comment. "I'm nicer to him because he doesn't ask such _stupid _questions. ..._Often_."

Alistair chuckled, feeling not the least bit offended. "You are too good to me, love." After basking a moment or two in her answering smile, he turned back to Wynne. "I think we got interrupted on our conversation. Please, do continue." He may be head over heels for his fellow Warden, but that didn't mean he was forgetting his manners. _Much_.

"It's all right, Alistair." Her eyes were fixed on Lenya's back as she led them towards some sort of clearing. "I'm just glad I have the chance to set things right and perhaps correct the mistakes made in my past."

.

~V~

.

At first, Alistair didn't see the man and wondered for a moment if Lenya really had led them in circles within the wide clearing.

The faint doubt shattered, however, as he finally noticed the shy figure of an elf, staring back at Lenya in disbelief. "_Lethallan? Abelas_, I'm a bit surprised to see you again."

"I am too, believe me. But it seems as if we have a common acquaintance who wishes to see you." Lenya shrugged and waited for the others to catch up. Alistair stopped beside her, that _feeling of belonging_ so very strong whenever he was near her, but conscientiously left some space for the elder mage. Wynne looked at the elf for a long moment as if she had seen a ghost.

The expression was mirrored by his elven, tattooed face. "Wait, I... I remember you... but younger, more impulsive, stern... Wynne?"

"Aneirin?" The mage leaned on her staff and paused to inhale before she trusted her voice enough to speak. "I... Maker, I thought they had killed you."

His eyes flitted to the ground, the lean posture tense. "They very nearly did. The templars found me while I was searching for the Dalish... they ran me through and left me for dead. It was the Dalish who found me and saved me. They gave me a new chance to live."

Alistair listened to their words of regrets and forgiveness in silence. He was glad that Wynne had this opportunity to lift the old but heavy feeling of guilt from her shoulders. He remembered how grateful he had been when he had been given a similar opportunity to bury Duncan's remains when they had returned to Ostagar. His death still hurt at times, and his advice and presence were sorely missed, but the last respect given to the man had... _helped,_ despite the fact that Loghain was still very much alive and hunting them for crimes _he_ had committed.

_Bastard. One day I'll..._

"Booooring!" Alistair felt a tug at his gauntleted hand and glanced at her just in time to see her characteristic eye roll followed by a mischievous smile as the tugging increased in force, the intent clear. It was not the most polite thing to do while Wynne was talking and clearing regrets of her past, but how could he _not_ follow the beckoning of this wonderful creature? It was downright _impossible_. So he let himself be dragged away from the scene and toward a secluded area, ignoring Oghren's deep chuckle and naughty comment in their wake.

As soon they had vanished from sight behind a tall, thick oak, Lenya pulled his head down, an unspoken command Alistair was happy to comply with. How could he not? His heart beat louder as her lips met his, only to beat faster as she started to kiss him in earnest. He would never get enough of the quiet contented sounds she made while her soft warm lips were pressed on his, or the feel of her fingers threading through his hair and caressing the small of his neck. A myriad of feelings rushing through him that were... _wow_. Kissing her was the best thing _ever_.

"_This_ is much more interesting, really." Alistair heard her smile afterward, but couldn't bring himself to look up to check her expression. Instead, he buried his face in her neck with a happy sigh and breathed in the now familiar scent of her skin. The temptation proved quickly to be too much as he gave in to the urge to also _taste_ her skin. Nibbling and kissing the sensitive spots of her neck elicited soft, trembling gasps out of her that he also found very _likable_. The combined effect of her warmth, scent and taste caused a heat to coil through the base of his stomach, which settled in... _Uh oh._

His eyes snapped open as he noticed the new tightness of his... _lower_ armor, which was decidedly _uncomfortable_. Not only in a physical way but also the embarrassment it could cause in its wake should she, well, _notice_.

"Oh? Giving up already? Pity," Lenya teased, oblivious to the reason why he had backed away from her neck and form. Already was she was closing the gap in between them once more, the feel of her warm breath on his skin more than _distracting_. He needed to think of something. _Quickly_.

"Umm..." Alistair gave her a crooked smile that hopefully didn't look too pained. "I was just thinking that it is very impolite to vanish for snuggling when Wynne is having her heart-to-heart conversation nearby." _Oh great, that was convincing. Not._

"Yup," she agreed without hesitation."It is indeed. But you should know I don't give a damn about _politeness_ right now." True to her words, Lenya kissed him once more and all resolve within him shattered as she parted his lips to caress his tongue with her own. The feel of it was pure bliss and sheer... _torture_. While he was glad for his new, shiny armor being a barrier between their bodies for once, kissing her in _that_ way did little to achieve relief. It rather _added_ to the problem, but still he just couldn't _stop_.

He was a weak, _weak_ man.

"Sit down." Her voice in his ear was breathless and alluring, at least until the meaning of her words permeated through his hazed mind.

"Wh-what?" Alistair's eyes grew wide. He already had problems standing as it was and the thought of sitting in armor _right now_ sent him through a fit of wincing and pained scowls. "W-why?"

"Why?" Lenya laughed, shaking her head. "Because you, silly human, are too tall for me, of course. It is not the most comfortable way to kiss you, you know?"

"Right." Alistair sighed in resignation, feeling incredibly awkward. Every prayer that came to his mind he sent upward the sky. Considering the distraction her presence and his current state, there weren't many that penetrated his thoughts. "Err... maybe we should just... talk. About old times and... stuff?"

"Talk?" A mischievous grin tucked at the corner of her mouth, one that told him he was done and finished. And yet he was caught by surprise as she launched herself at him with a throaty little laugh and threw him down on the ground, his armor clattering against the rough bark. "Nope. _No_ talking."

While he still was undecided what pained more – the bump on his head or the feeling of being emasculated by the pressure of armor – Lenya started to assault his neck with a devious giggle. He wasn't kidding when he had said that this woman would be his death, he just hadn't expected it to be this _soon_. And yet despite all the torture this posture caused, he didn't have the heart to push her away. Especially not since her mouth and tongue mimicked his movements on her neck earlier, causing a low groan to leave his lips. Her dedicated affections were making it _harder_ to maintain some semblance of composure and that only in the most liberal interpretation of the word. He couldn't let her notice his discomfort, couldn't bear to let it happen.

But _of course_, Lenya noticed. "What is wrong? Are you not feeling well?"

"_Ngnaah_," was all he managed, its sheer elegance making him want to slap himself upside the head.

"Is that a new word?" Her eyebrows shot up as her grin widened. "Or just some human word I never heard before?" Her hands touched his face and the worried expression suppressed the amusement. "You are sweating and all red..."

Alistair wriggled on the spot and a bit away from her, steadying his breathing to speak. "The armor is a bit, err, _tight_, so sitting is quite uncomfortable."

"Oh... _oh_." Her eyes widened. "_Abelas_, I knew it was new, but I thought Master Varathorn had fit it to your measurements. Maybe I should ask him to rework it again, so you can move without discomfort."

"Y-yes. This is... probably best." Alistair decided to leave it at that and stood up with a pained expression. "I don't to want to appear ungrateful for carrying it back from the ruins, love. This new armor is _much_ better than the templar set." A pause. "Actually fighting in my _smalls_ is better than templar armor."

She shrugged. "It was Shale who carried the set, not me. Way too heavy. Still, it suits you."

The talk proved to be a nice distraction so he could cool down, at least a bit. "Yeah. Of course, after you cleaned it for hours and gave it to Lanaya – to do what? _Exorcise _it?– it better look good. Also makes me wonder _where_ you found it."

"Oh...you _don't_ want to know." Lenya beamed at him. "Suffice it to say that I'm resourceful."

"And veeery devious. The launching bit? Never saw that coming. Ouch, by the way."

Cautiously, Lenya patted the bump on the backside of his head, laughing. "Sorry, _emma lath_." Her grin widened. "Still, it seemed to me that you liked what came _after_ that."

"Ah, yes." Alistair felt the heat returning to his cheeks. "Quite. Kissing you or being kissed by you is the _bestest_ thing ever, quite frankly."

"Then _why_ did we stop?"

"I don't know. To breathe in between, perhaps?" His chuckle is rueful. "And besides, wasn't it you who said we shouldn't rush things?"

"I'm not rushing-" Lenya looked up to him, her pout dissolved into a somewhat insecure expression. "It is just... I enjoy being with you so _much_. Given my history and prior opinion of love and the kissing thing, this is a huge step up for me."

"Oh, I know, Len. I _know_." How she always managed to touch his heart with only her words was still a miracle to him. He felt the need to take her into his arms, which had nothing to do with lust and everything with to do with pure, unadulterated affection. "So I _am_ the one who caused this change, right?"

"You _still_ have to ask?" Lenya blinked with feigned shock and _tsked, _a sign that she was spending way too much time with the assassin. "And here I thought _I_ was the slow one concerning all things _love-_related." She stepped up to kiss him again, but this time it was... different. Chaste, slow and achingly sweet, which caused his heart to soar in joy.

She frowned at the hard plate of his armor before leaning onto it. _"Ma'arlath. Ma dar emma atish'an." _Naturally_, _Alistair didn't understand the meaning of her elvish words, but with the affectionate tone she put behind every syllable it wasn't even needed.

"I love you, too." Lenya glanced up in surprise, letting him smile and take note that some of her foreign words were meant as a declaration of love. They lingered in comfortable silence for a long moment, which gave him the opportunity to calm down. He might still need to take care of... _that_ later, though at least the immediate _urgency_ was gone.

"Sooo..." He drawled out the word, hating to destroy the peaceful moment and yet compelled to ask. "...not that I don't enjoy spending time with your people since they have miraculously stopped glaring daggers at me, but what comes after this? Where to next, my lovely leader?"

"Actually," Lenya took a step away to look at him and sighed. "I haven't given it much thought yet. I'm grateful for the pause from the bloodshed, and that is what I needed, I guess. A couple of days spent with the Dalish without the need to be wary of danger at every turn has been great. But I _am_ aware we need to move on. As soon as Leliana is healthy and fit enough to travel, I think we should leave."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. As much as you hate to hear it, love, there is still the matter of the _shem'alas_ Loghain. His ass is still warming the human lord throne and hence it will be... difficult to gather our troops in an efficient way." She made a face. "But I don't have the slightest idea of how shemlen politics work, nor have I any interest in it."

"That makes two of us." He laughed nervously. "And that in spite of me being human. I was always told that Grey Wardens shouldn't meddle in politics." _And that I'm just a bastard, a commoner and nothing more,_ his mind added bitterly against his will. Alistair swallowed hard and even her wonderful presence didn't hinder the feeling of dread that rose at the thought, at that unwanted but necessary idea. "Maybe... we should go to Redcliffe. Arl Eamon should still have all of his troops and is very adept and influential in politics, as well. He could help us with Loghain, I'm sure."

"Oh, so you mean," she drew a long breath in, her posture tense. "I get to meet the shem'alas who treated the man I now love like dirt? Wow, that sounds like _fun_."

"Lenya..."

"Don't you _Lenya _me! You're trying to defend this _shem'alas?_ _Seriously_?" Alistair winced at the force in her voice and gaze, the anger palpable. "That human sent you away like an old piece of luggage because you had become _inconvenient_ to him. I don't know if that is just a twisted, human way to show affection to a child, but you can be sure that I will do anything _but _curtsy to get his cooperation. If he doesn't want to help us, _fuck_ him! I'll just march on the human capital myself and into the palace to put Loghain's head on a spike and feed it to..."

Alistair silenced her angry rant with a kiss, feeling the tension slowly ebb away. She was angry on _his_ behalf, had gotten so worked up because of the way _he_ got treated. The thought in and of itself was... mind-boggling, yet he felt an incredible warmth spread inside him at the realization.

Lenya was almost completely limp in his arms as he parted himself from her lips, leaving him in awe at the effect he seemingly had on her. It was still hard for him to believe that this amazing woman really loved _him:_ the odd, bumbling and slightly awkward Alistair. He wasn't someone special, and he was average in every way, yet she made him feel like the most important and precious person in the whole of Thedas.

"We'll sort it out together, right? Just like always."

She hummed her agreement into the crook of his neck, her words not more than a murmur. _"Emma atish'an, sulevin."_

He frowned. "It sounds.. nice, but what does it mean?"

"Not important." Lenya brushed him off with a wave of her hand, thoroughly calmed down. "There are already enough things to worry about, after all."

_Yeah, like my heritage catching up with me... _Alistair cringed at the thought and hated its newfound meaning and urgency once they started traveling toward Redcliffe and Eamon. He told her they would find a solution for everything, but the truth was he had not the slightest idea _how_ to tell her _that_. Alistair pushed the thought back into the furthest corner of his mind and would love to let it _rot_ there.

Turning to her, he forced himself to smile. "Let's head back then, shall we?"

.

.

* * *

.

After what felt like an eternity, she awoke.

Her eyelids fluttered open, noticing that her surroundings were dark and still. Only a faint flicker of firelight illuminated the walls of her thin canvas. Night. It was a delightful thought to _not _have to adjust her eyes to blinding daylight after such a long time of sleep.

Leliana had had periods of consciousness since the curse had been broken, but they were few and far between. Her body still needed a lot of time and rest to banish the remains of the sickness that had once coursed through her. She didn't quite trust herself to sit up yet, so she remained supine, listening. The noises outside were quiet, fleeting. There were feet shuffling over dried leaves, steps heavy before subsiding again. The stifled laughter she recognized belonged to Lenya's and Alistair's voices murmuring too low to be understood. The way the wood cracked and splintered in the fire, the faint chirping of cicadas far away - it seemed to be peaceful outside, almost as if there was no Blight to fight, the conflict with werewolves and Dalish alike long forgotten.

Leliana wondered what she had missed during her sickness. She remembered a flicker of incoherent scents and sounds from the outside world while she slept. Dream and reality were mixing into an indiscernible mass of confusion. Images of fire and werewolves, howling to the moon in the distance... Marjolaine and her past as a bard in Orlais, the days and nights that they made love to each other tainted by the way she had been thrown away and betrayed as if she had meant _nothing_ to the woman she loved... that night spent with Zevran so long ago, and the many nights spent talking and flirting at the fire since...

Maybe her body and mind were prepared to die, and thus showed her all the events of her life in dreams and flashes as a farewell gift. And, if she were honest, Leliana had not _expected_ to wake up, at least not in _human_ form. Lenya's absence seemed too long, and the agony she had endured too painful as she writhed, slowly shifting, in her bedroll. But the curse was broken now and she was still alive. Still human.

She smiled at the knowledge, noticing that the voices and laughter of the two Wardens had faded into the distance. The camp was quiet except for the sound of nature and light-footed steps advancing towards... her tent? Startled, Leliana gasped and closed her eyes, pretending to be sleeping. She heard the rustle of canvas as the person entered without any further sound. She heard the metallic clang of a bowl being put on the ground nearby, the burbling sound of water following only a fraction later. A faint scent of herbs wafted to her nose, accompanied by the tang of leather and oil. Then the person started humming, its tone soft, calm... and _familiar_ somehow. She had heard it before, the scattered sound belonging to a flicker of memory from when she had been conscious enough to discern it.

She drew a breath in, as the person –_ he, _she corrected herself – came closer and knelt down beside her. Leliana was confused and delighted alike to notice that the person taking care of her was... _Zevran_.

And that was not all...

All the days she had been barely conscious and too weak to even open her eyes, there had been the _same_ sound of humming while a warm, wet cloth cautiously dabbed her forehead. She recognized it now that her mind was clear and not hazed by the curse. Had he been here all these days, nursing her? She needed to know.

As soon as Leliana felt him leaning over her, she reached out to grab his outstretched arm, inadvertently knocking the wet cloth from his hand to lie on the ground, forgotten.

"Ah... you are awake." She heard the surprise in his voice, uncharacteristically without any casualness.

Leliana opened her eyes and smiled at the elf. "It seems so, no? It's about time, too. I think I've slept enough for weeks to come."

"Interesting." It was astonishing how quickly Zevran could fall back into his usual mask of nonchalance and many words, without saying _anything_ at all. "So you ought to be able stay awake at night for a while, yes? Ah, whatever will you do when it is all dark outside for hours on end, my dear?"

"I'm sure you have an idea or two, no?" Sitting up, she mirrored his playful grin for a moment before a frown found its way onto her features, replacing it. _No more games... _"That song you were humming-"

"Ah, stupid isn't it?" He laughed. "I've had that tune stuck in my head for days and can't seem to–"

Leliana silenced him with her lips and kissed him thoroughly as she received verification of her suspicion. He had been here for her and helped her when she was sick, with no expectation of reward. The beginning tension at the shock of her action quickly ebbed away as Zevran pulled her into a close embrace. She let it happen, was tired of playing games, of thinking of wrong or right. In this moment Leliana only wanted to feel the surety of being alive, and he gave her that with his closeness and warmth.

Letting herself fall into the kiss, Leliana had never felt more vivid than this moment. Her fingertips roamed over the toned muscles of his stomach underneath the linen fabric, felt the muscles twitch in response. His caresses on the small of her back were well-versed but without pressure and didn't wander too far, or assume too much intimacy, almost as if he - the brazen and experienced assassin and Antivan lover - was unsure whether to continue or not.

Breaking away from what had become an ardent, frenzied kiss, he looked at her and asked in a breathless, gasping voice, "Are you sure?"

Leliana felt the blood pumping through her veins, her body heated by a tingling arousal. And she _liked_ it. She felt alive, _cherished_. Especially with his considerate question whether to proceed or not, in spite of his obvious desire. Flashing Zevran a seductive smile, she pulled him back into her arms.

"No more talking."

With that, both of them ceased to question - to _doubt_ - and left the talking to their bodies.

.

.


	80. Emma Atish'an

**A/N:** _**More** relationship building. The pace and tone will pick up after this chapter, though. And the other characters will have bigger roles again. Just an FYI, as the last chapters have all been... slow... though 'twas needed since I have not one but __**two**__ relationships to develop. Though I guess you won't object to more Lenya/Alistair either way, no? XD Again suggestive stuff, I think it might be soon __time __for a rating change._

_Thanks to all still reading and/or reviewing this story monster of mine, in spite of people's noticeably dwindling interest in DA. And **tklivory** for the awesome beta.  
_

* * *

_.  
_

_**Without you I'm nothing at all  
And life has the face of a morbid game  
With you nothing seems impossible  
It all seems to fit the frame**_

_~Poets Of The Fall - Roses_

* * *

.

**Chapter 74: Emma Atish'an**

.

It was the final evening they would spend in the Dalish camp.

Lenya was very aware of the fact that they would be leaving the next morning, yet the expected feeling of wistfulness was... _missing_. Still, she intended to enjoy this quiet evening to its fullest, before her life would be back to bloodshed, death and darkspawn at every corner.

After having dealt with the official part of discussing the treaties and all it entailed in the Keeper's aravel together with Alistair, Lenya now sat near the fire. Lanaya had encouraged them to gather here with her clan as a final thanks for their help and to say farewell at the same time. While she had been tutored by Zathrian her entire life, Lanaya's style of leadership was vastly different from the old Keeper, more open and tolerant. She had no problem sitting next to Alistair, nor was she bothered by Oghren's rude antics - well, _much_. Lanaya possessed a natural curiosity that let her see past the limitations of race, a trait the Alvaran clan would benefit from in the long run, Lenya was certain.

Then again, the clan _itself_ seemed to have grown more tolerant of the outsiders in the past week after the curse had been broken. Only a few members still refused to share their meal, wine and stories with the unusual guests, but to Lenya it was not a big loss. All the faces she wanted to see once more before leaving were present. Athras discussed a variety of herbs with Wynne, while Leliana hummed quietly as she coaxed songs from her lute. Oghren was being, well, _Oghren _and lay passed out and snoring near the fire pit, which induced some exasperated elvish words from the Dalish elves next to him.

Mithra smiled at Lenya as she noticed the sweeping gaze, meeting the other woman's gaze from her place alongside the recovering Deygan. She was surprised to discover Gheyna and Cammen some distance from the fire, seemingly together. They gave the Dalish Warden a shy nod and raised their cups to toast. Lenya did the same and took a sip of the wine it held. She had missed this wine: its heady flavor; the sweet, fruity taste; and the way it burned comfortably in her stomach after swallowing. Though for this feeling and effect she needed no wine these days, as one glance into Alistair's direction was enough to achieve the same.

His genuine interest in her culture still surprised and delighted her in equal parts. A few days ago, he had dragged her in front of all statues in camp and asked their names and meaning, his face scrunched in concentration as she told him all the stories she remembered. It was endearing how he actually listened to her as if the history of her people was of life-saving importance in the fight against the Blight. Lenya was sure to have confused him more than once with the multitudes of names for the gods, but to her it was the thought that counted.

Lenya breathed in, smelling the oh-so familiar scents of lilac, jasmine and woodsmoke. Memories of her own clan flickered through her mind as she looked up at the clear, starry sky above, idly wondering where they were now. She knew she couldn't return to that life anymore, or to her clan, but she could at least contribute her part so that _they_ would have a place to return to. Fighting the Blight, together and at Alistair's side, was her duty, her destiny as a Grey Warden, and always had been. Still, there was a new meaning to it now: a sense of belonging, a purpose beyond simply slaying darkspawn. She had something to look forward to, maybe even a future that appeared less bleak and morbid with him at her side. No matter what it was, with Alistair, it all oddly seemed to fit within a frame. Watching the stars a moment longer, she heard how Lanaya raised her voice.

"I am... a bit curious of the outside world. Do you mind if I ask you a question or two?"

"Sure, why not. I'm curious about it _myself_." Alistair's voice caused her eyes to stray away from the firmament and over to him, the impulse natural by now.

"I hear the human cities are very large: thousands upon thousands of souls all packed together in their houses. Is that true?"

"Err... all in one house?" Alistair grinned at her, not at all serious. "That must have been a huge house then. But since I was raised by dogs, I don't know much about it anyway. "

"Dogs?" Lanaya blinked at him.

"Yes." His grin widened and Lenya had to stifle a laugh. "Flying dogs from the Anderfels. They were very strict parents and –"

Lanaya raised an eyebrow. "You are having me on, right?" Turning to Lenya, she asked," Is it always so difficult to get a straight answer out of him?"

"Yes. _But_," Lenya shrugged, amused, "you know how it is... typical _human_. They are all craaazy."

"And insidious," Alistair added, still grinning.

"And _eeeeviiiil_."

"Indeed. They are a disgusting bunch. Can't trust 'em," he said with a straight face and nodded in agreement. Lenya struggled not to burst out laughing. Only weeks ago she wouldn't have even dreamed to joke about _that_.

Lanaya was confused. "You say that about your _own_ race?"

"No, I'm not human. My parents were flying dogs, remember?" Alistair chuckled, then the humor faded. "Though in all honesty, I haven't been in cities for long, or at least only Denerim, Ferelden's capital." His eyes strayed away from the young Keeper's face. "Just occasionally... when the Chantry allowed us out, which wasn't very often. Also Redcliffe was – _is _– much smaller. So actually, I have yet to see thousands packed into one house myself too. Must be quite a sight. Narrow, too."

"How very loud that must be with everyone talking all at once. I try to imagine those of our people living in such a place, surrounded by walls of stone and indifference. It... is a difficult thought." Lanaya frowned and Lenya noticed that his half-joke went over her head.

After so many months she could tell by heart if his tone was joking or meant to cover unwanted things up. Here, it was somewhat both. Her arm itched with the urge to reach out for him, to ease the bad memory by touch. In spite of the desire, Lenya didn't move, settling for a side glance that she hoped was not too revealing of the emotions within. He noticed and flashed her a small, grateful smile, which made it even harder to look away again. In this regard, she was glad to leave here, since the self-imposed secrecy had become increasingly grating. And yet she did not dare break this one last rule: to be open about her love for a human in front of her people. Maybe it was better this way, a necessary evil, or she was simply too afraid of the consequences. While she wholeheartedly accepted and welcomed the fact of being in love with him, she didn't feel ready for _that_, as well.

"Why do they stay, do you think? These elves who live with the humans?"

Lenya snapped out of her reverie, glad for Lanaya being too curious about the outside world and thus too oblivious to her thoughts and emotions. The topic of flat-ears was another, unwanted subject that raised her ire, voice laced with years of disgust and contempt for them. "Because they are fools. Obviously."

The Keeper studied her, something hidden in her gaze that Lenya couldn't quite fathom. "That is... a harsh thing to say." And perhaps Lanaya was right about that, the surprise in Alistair's expression a silent rebuke. But Lenya couldn't refrain from thinking so low of the elves that allowed themselves to be treated worse than cattle, the ones who teamed up with humans – _no, shem'alas _- to kill her father. It was an utter betrayal to all that the _elvhen_ stood for, or were supposed to be.

"It is said that one day, we will have a land of our own. We Dalish gather the ancient wisdom in preparation for this," Lanaya spoke with reverence. "When that day comes, all elves - even those who have forgotten - will reclaim their former glory." The tone in Lanaya's voice made clear she believed into her words and Lenya was surprised to ascertain that she herself did... _not_.

A home.

It had become such an alien concept now that her clan was gone from her life and she was constantly on the run. Before becoming a Warden, home was always where the clan wandered. Now it was... _Alistair_. Lenya's eyelids fluttered in utter astonishment, bewildered at the unexpected realization. It would explain, however, why she thought of him as _Atish'an, _her safe place. He wasn't her clan, and could never replace them – not entirely – but he was the closest thing to a home she could get. And that was enough, _more_ than she could actually ask or hope for.

"I have one more question and then I will spare you from my nosiness." The Keeper smiled apologetically at her. "Though I'm not sure you can answer it. Do the humans... ever regret... what they did to us?"

Lenya was acutely aware of the little shift in Alistair's posture, the tense anticipation of her words. So she took a moment to choose them more... wisely. "I... haven't met many humans on my journey, nor have I been in their weird stone cities, so far. So I can't speak from experience here." She let out a sigh, which faded into a smile. "...but the humans who are traveling with me are surely different from... _them_. None of them have ever questioned my ability to lead or looked down at me because of my race, so I... learned to respect them. Even if it took me some time to see that they are vastly different from what I learned about humans within my clan."

"I see." With a nod, Lanaya looked at Alistair, in a way that unsettled Lenya. She couldn't even place why, but seeing the trace of admiration in her expression annoyed her. "It must have been... odd at first that your fellow Warden is a human and – in all honesty – it was for me, too. But nonetheless he came to my clan's rescue against an attacking horde of darkspawn without hesitation. Without his early warning it would have been much worse, indeed."

"I heard about that, yes," she answered with a wave of her hand and took a sip of her wine. "A Grey Warden slaying darkspawn. Wow, that _is _news."

"Hey, don't downplay my heroic deeds." Alistair showed her a pout and fidgeted with his hands in the air. "They were as big as houses. At _least_."

Lenya snorted. "Oh, I'm _certain_ they were, lo–" Horrified at her slip, she stopped and downed the contents in her cup in one gulp. She hoped doing so would cover the blush and she could put the blame of her heated face to the alcohol. "Elgar'nan, I had almost forgotten how strong our wine is." There was no reaction from the keeper other than a confused frown, so Lenya straightened her posture again and tried to clear the overly awkward air. "I think you will be a good leader of this clan, Lanaya."

"You... think so?" Her face brightened, surprised. "I was trained well by Zathrian, and I am ready to do anything for my clan. I will lead them, though it is all bit... daunting."

Lenya smiled, understanding her doubts. "It always is. Oddly enough this reminds me of what Hahren Paivel once said: you grow with your task. " She chuckled, its tone bearing a hint of sarcasm. "Considering I have to fight a darkspawn army of unknown size _and_ the Archdemon, I must be as tall as a hundred trees by now."

"_Mythal'enaste, ir abelas, lethallan!_ " Lanaya blinked, somewhat shocked. "Don't ever think I will forgot that it was you and your companions who have done this for my clan and who are fighting the Blight outside these borders. I... shouldn't bother you with my trivial fears, as your task is so much... bigger." She sighed, eyes straying to the talking group of elder Dalish near the bonfire. "It will just be... difficult to fill Zathrian's shoes. He was our Keeper for many centuries, and he will be sorely missed. I..." The frown dissolved and was replaced by a determined expression. "But _I _am Keeper now. As promised, allow me to swear in the name of Mythal, She Who Watches, that we are indebted to you. Call and we shall come, with great speed and purpose, and we shall strike at your foes. This I swear."

"Of that I have no doubt." Lenya inclined her head respectfully to the young woman and then continued to drink and enjoy her last evening with the _Elvhen_.

.

~V~

.

"You are drunk."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at the giggling and slightly unstable woman at his side after another bout of celebrating. The night stayed surprisingly mild, but it was pitch dark on their way back to their camp. The only light sources were the huge Dalish bonfire flickering at their back and Morrigan's defiant one far in the distance, giving him a sense of direction. He could barely make out the contours of her face in the shadows of the night, but still knew she was _grinning_.

"Noooo," Lenya protested, swatting his arm. "Wardens don't get _drrruunk. _So I'm not._" _She paused to giggle. "Well...maybe a _bit_. Th'wine was tasty, y'know?"

"Yup, obviously." He chuckled and held her upright as she stumbled. "A bit too strong and sweet for me, though. And didn't you want to leave early in the morning, love? You will regret this decision veeeery soon."

Lenya didn't so much as shrug. "Then we gooo later. S'not as if Archie and its stupid army will refuse to battle ussss if we sssleeep in a bit. S'the last time, after all." She stopped walking to their camp to look up and flash him what must have been a brilliant smile. "Loove you."

Alistair felt a wave of warmth wash over him and settle with a tingle in his stomach. Being in love was already miraculous in and of itself, but having that love requited by her was still so utterly... _wow_. He halted a moment to glance over to the Dalish camp, hearing the faint laughter and tangle of voices in the distance. Having ascertained they were quite alone, he pulled her close and planted a kiss on her hair, inhaling her scent. The spicy smell of wine was unsurprisingly dominant, though he could also distinguish traces of smoked firewood and the incense of sweet flowers on her skin and hair. It was so very her, so very _Lenya_ that breathing it felt like coming... _home_. The thought hit him unexpectedly, because he never had a place for himself, except for the six months before Ostagar, perhaps, but even that was vastly different from being with her. The feeling of belonging was more intricate and intense, and ran deeper than the camaraderie he'd had with his Grey Warden brothers and Duncan.

"_Ma serannas, Atish'an._" Lenya mumbled into his chest, unwilling to move one inch away from where she was. "For not pushing on after the curse got lifted. For giving me the pause from fighting and killing I needed. For... being _you_." She sounded incredibly sober for a drunk person and yet full of emotions.

As her words sunk in, he recognized _why_ his thoughts had taken this surprising turn; he was loved and accepted for _who_ he was, not _what_. Not the bastard of a king, not an eternal failure in the the eyes of others or a Grey Warden fighting the Blight. He was loved by her for simply being... _Alistair_. Without any conditions.

_Wow..._

"S' just…" He blinked at her sudden interjection, the tone suspiciously drowsy. "I'm happy." Alistair felt her full weight sinking against him, a telltale sign that she had fallen asleep on the spot. He chuckled, still amazed of her odd ability to sleep _anywhere_, but she had once explained it as a necessity of a Dalish hunter while being on the hunt for sometimes _days_.

"Hey, Sleepyhead." He sighed in mock-exasperation as her only answer was a light snore. "Well, then it's about time I get you to your tent, right?" Still amazed by the lightness of her frame, he heaved her up into his arms, afraid of waking her. Sleep was a fragile thing for a Grey Warden and sacred for Lenya as well, both being sound reasons to treat her with the utmost care. As he slowly walked back to their camp, carrying her in his arms, he noticed with a smile that he was, too.

Happy.

.

.

* * *

.

Zevran enjoyed the evening at the fire with the Dalish.

This mildly surprised him, somehow, given their frosty and distrusting start. Twirling a flower in his fingers, he thought about giving it to one of the Dalish women, just to see their expression. But in truth he was watching _Leliana_. The bard sat not far from him, enigmatically chatting with a group of young Dalish curious about life beyond the forest. They had exchanged tales for hours while Zevran preferred to simply observe the scenery and occasionally charm a Dalish lady or two. Yet he never strayed too far from the human, not even walking over to Lenya who surely was having an enlightening conversation with that beautiful new Keeper.

He found himself _wanting_ to stay near the bard, which only increased the frowning the flower received from him. As relieved as he had been to finally see her up and well again, bedding her right after her awakening appeared a bit hasty, far too _needy_ to him now. Or was it she who had seduced him this time? Either way, he should have waited until_... what?_ Until their games continued as they had before? Zevran didn't even have the answer to his own question, and that was annoying, too. Like the way he searched for reasons to spend time with her, instead of Lenya. Given, his lovely leader and friend was very occupied right now with the templar, but it was not as if this had stopped him before. Even worse, he was starting to behave like he had with Rinna in the beginning – _No._ Zevran shook his head, willing the very thought away. _Never._

It was leisurely fun, a welcome distraction to –

"Ah, is this flower for me?" He blinked up at the form of the bard, face adorned with a grin and rosy cheeks, the firelight reflecting in the red of her hair. Surprised at her sudden attention to him, he had no answer but to gape like an adolescent, inexperienced boy and hate himself for it. Her grin widened, almost in sync with her eyes, when her lips let loose an incredulous gasp. "I know that smell! Isn't that 'Andraste's grace'?" Leliana bowed lower to smell the flower in his hand, doing so in such a way that his eyes couldn't do anything but wander to her bared decolletage and she _knew_ it. He recovered with a chuckle, well aware that she had won this round.

Except that the expression on her face wasn't a coy, impish one, but rather contained a wistful, lost note. "It is the only thing I remember of my mother's. The sweet smell of Fereldan wildflowers. She kept dried flowers of it in her closet, amongst her clothes."

Zevran hesitated to speak, waiting for her to go on. "She died when I was very young. Lady Cecilie, whom my mother served in Orlais, let me stay after her death. I had no one else. I grew up with her and studied music and dance to entertain her. Sometimes I think it is unfair that I have more memories of Lady Cecilie than of my mother." Her smile at him was warm, without the usual layer of playfulness. "But this flower... it reminds me of her, of being sheltered in my mother's arms when I was young." She took the flower out of his hands and inhaled its scent deeply, her smile still warm. "Thank you, Zev. That is a considerate and lovely gift."

Zevran refused the urge to blink in surprise. Without even _knowing_ it, he had done something very right. "Ah, you know what it means when you are accepting a flower from a man in Dalish territory?" His smile and tone was back to its usual suggestiveness and Leliana looked as if she were willing to play along.

Her smile adopted the same note as his, her eyes glinting mischievously. "I heard about it from Lenya back in the day. We would be terrible guests if we don't respect their customs, no?" She winked at him and he needed no more encouragement to drag her away from the loud and noisy place to somewhere... quieter.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya couldn't sleep.

It was not as if she _hadn't_ been, but that was before the archdemon roared in her dreams with fire, pain and agony, uncaring of her besotted, happy slumber. Now she lay awake in her tent, caught between horror at the pictures of her perpetual share of Warden nightmares and annoyed by the suspicious noises outside that hindered her from sleeping again.

_Oh for the love of–_

She jolted up from her bedroll, the sweat clinging to her form chilly in the night air. Arai still snored peacefully at her feet, yet that wasn't the bothersome noise keeping her awake. The assault of sound came from two sides, attacking her sensitive hearing. One of them sounded to be farther away and was what always happened right before spring: the rutting of the Halla, a loud, keening sound which was welcomed and tolerated by every clan, because it meant new calves next autumn. The other noise was less welcome by her and not as distant, but was as inescapable as the Halla becoming, err, _fond_ of each other.

Thoroughly peeved at _everything_, Lenya kicked the blanket away to stand up. She didn't bother to get more dressed than her light sleeping tunic and hastily donned breeches before leaving the tent. The night was clear, the stars above alight: a peaceful scene indeed if not for the noises. Passing Zevran's tent, Lenya smothered the wish to knock it off of its balance and instead glowered hatefully at it. They had been going at it for what seemed like hours, reminding her of what an illusion privacy was within a camp. Not that this fact kept them from doing – Lenya made a face – _what_ they were doing, in any form. At this rate she would be better off sleeping in the woods, haunted by spirits or not.

Wynne looked as if she had just crawled out of her tent too, which was not a pleasant sight for Lenya, disheveled and wrinkled as she was. Looking up from one of her books, the mage spared her a compassionate glance before reading on. Wandering aimlessly, Lenya recognized an elegant raven soaring up from the underbrush and flying away with what seemed to be a very Morrigan-like, annoyed caw. For once, she envied the witch her ability to shift her shape. Only Oghren lay snoring at the flickering bonfire, oblivious to the world, making her wonder _when_ the drunk dwarf arrived here and _how_ he had managed that. Then again, Lenya didn't know how _she_ got in her tent, too, but her bet was on Alistair's always considerate way. That thought made her smile at least, like every thought of him did lately.

.

~V~

.

She found him standing at the Halla pen, head canted, the tips of his round ears burning.

"Are they doing what I _think _they're doing?"

It could get annoying at times, but Lenya actually _liked_ that she never needed to say a word to let him know she was near. "Umm..." Her head tilted as well as she observed the scene of nature before their eyes. "Yes. It is getting to be spring, after all." A grin snuck onto her face. "They are very, err, fervent animals and it will go on for days, which makes me glad we leave tomorrow. Also reminds me of the mixture of aphrodisiac herbs I put into their fodder once together with Tamlen. My clan didn't sleep for a week but we never had more calves than that autumn."

He chuckled, turning to her. "Maker, you really _were_ a troublemaker, huh?"

The grin widened, the bad mood forgotten in wake of the memory and his presence. "Oh, you have no idea." Lenya stepped closer, the promise of warmth he offered too inviting to keep her distance. It had become a natural impulse by now to search for his closeness and lean her head on his broad chest. He was so different in size from her – bigger – that her arms couldn't even fully close around his muscled torso. Still, an appreciative noise came from his lips at the mere attempt of an embrace, an exhalation that faded into a happy sigh. One hand threaded through the loose strands of her mussed hair and she couldn't help but mirror his sound at the comfort it induced in her.

After a moment or two, Alistair pulled away, an adorably goofy grin on his face. "What about your rule of no hugging or kissing in the Dalish camp?"

"Screw the rules," she grumbled under her breath and yanked him down to her height. Now it was her turn to sigh, and for the duration of the slow, affectionate kiss that followed, she forgot everything around them, even the loud noises. "Hmm..." she hummed with approval, leaning against his stubbly cheek, "I _love_ kissing you. It is so very different than I ever thought it would be, though."

"Because I'm human?" His breath tickled her ear, making it twitch. Yet in spite of this distraction she didn't miss the edge of doubt in his voice. It was still present, even after a full week of being the center of her attention. Lenya didn't blame him; after all she had put him through, those doubts still needed time and encouragement to fade.

_No time like the present_. "No, silly." She smiled, his stubble tickling her cheek with the motion. "Because I never thought of kissing as something appealing and looked at it as a boring, irksome thing to do. ...Until a stupid human came along and showed me how wrong I was, of course."

"Oh." She felt his lips quirking up and he turned to the side of her neck that lay bare before him. "So you love it when I do _this?"_ Without warning the warmth of his lips trailed their way up and enclosed the shell of her ear, teeth nibbling lightly. Lenya felt her knees giving in and she was unable to stop the groan that rolled like a tidal wave from her mouth. Her fingers grabbed a fistful of his tunic, undecided for a moment whether to push him away or encourage him to continue. The force of alien emotions rushing and burning through her at the simplest caress _there_ startled her and eventually became too much. Not trusting her voice to speak, she used her hands to shove him away.

"Stop. It is..." She shook herself, face flushed and heart beating like a Halla stampede. "It..." Her voice failed her again, unable to build a coherent thought or string of words. He chuckled at her obvious state of confused arousal, causing her to groan once more, this time in frustration. "You... are _impossible_."

Her exasperation seemed only to fuel his amusement. "But you _liked_ it."

"Yes, but..." Lenya crossed her arms, trying her best to look annoyed and intimidating, but due to her heated face it was probably not _that_ effective. "...what is it with you humans and your fascination with elven ears? Just because they are pointed and not half-missing like yours?"

"No, I'm rather fascinated with _you_." Alistair kissed her cheek. "Very much so, though you might already have noticed that."

"Still, my ears, they are _sensitive_." The blushing increased. "They are for all elves. It is a bit... intimate."

"Hmm, I see."

Her eyes narrowed, critical of his matter-of-fact answer. "You will totally use that against me now, won't you?"

He chuckled. "You are cute when you pout." Then, the humor faded from his features, the voice soft. "But I would never do anything that you don't want, love. Because I want you to enjoy whatever I'm doing."

"It is not that I don't–" Lenya stopped with a sigh. "It is all just so... confusing and new. I never had interest in... _that_ before. I laughed about the girls running and giggling after the boys in my clan, preferring to train instead. I never have – And now I feel like being one of those adolescent, giggling girls I made fun of."

"Aww. So you... never licked a lamppost in winter?" Alistair tilted his head, eyebrow and corner of his mouth quirked up in good humor. "Good, I hear it is quite _painful_."

Lenya gaped at him as if he had grown a second head. "What, by the Creators, is a..._lamppost_? And what has it to do with _whatever_ you are saying? You are frustrating with your inane human terms."

"Sorry." He laughed. "Sometimes it is so easy to forget you never have been in a city before." Lampposts are – as the name implies – devices that provide light in the night within a city and –"

"Still confused. Why should I lick one? _Ugh_. That makes no sense."

"No I meant –" He sighed, one erratic hand driven through his hair and a blush forming itself on his cheeks. "Well, I for myself, never had the _pleasure_. Not that I didn't think about... _it, _but being raised in the Chantry isn't exactly the _wild_ way of growing up. " Lenya's eyebrows rose higher and higher with every word that bubbled out of his mouth. "Also I... have too much respect for women to jump... I may be old-fashioned, but I could never do _that _without love. The other Wardens used to poke fun and Maker knows what at me for it, but that is how I am. I just don't want to rush things." Finally, his mouth snapped closed, the horror of the meaning of his words visible in every inch of his expression. "And why haven't you stopped me already?"

Lenya needed a moment to process the squall of words and to find the meaning in... _Oh_. Her eyes widened as it dawned her. "You mean... _sex?"_

Alistair was beet-red by now. "Err... I confess, I never had a woman to come out with it just like that, but... yes."

She frowned at the coupling animals. "So one day you want to do that with me, too?"

He blinked at the Halla and tilted his head. "I don't know... that doesn't look healthy to me, exactly."

Laughing, the Dalish closed the gap between them. "Silly, I think I would be _very_ peeved if you mounted me like that."

"Right. Is it warm here... or is it just me?"

The kiss she placed on his lips was chaste and yet full of promises. "And no, I haven't _either_. You would be the first man I bond with, which would be fitting since you are the first I fell in love with. But all in good time, right?" She bit her lip. "I'm not... err, I mean you are handsome, but–"

He swallowed hard and squirmed a little before trusting his voice. "Of course, as I said, I don't want to rush. We just... _started_. I mean, I still need to shake myself at times to see that I'm not dream–" Faltering, he flashed her a grin. "_Handsome_, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, yes. You didn't miss that... or the admiring looks Lanaya gave you tonight, I'm sure."

"Well...what can I say, I'm _suave_." Alistair chuckled, kissing her nose. "No Dalish woman can resist me." He hesitated, as if something within his myriad of thoughts made its way to the surface. "Wait here, I have something for you."

Before Lenya could protest or even ask what was so important to call him away and leave her alone, he was gone. With a sigh, she turned around to observe the stars above. The sky was hued in black, the time until sunrise still a few hours away. Which was good, since she would need the sleep, archdemon or not. The journey would be lo–

"You and a _shemlen_? You can't be serious!"

There were steps advancing from the underbrush and she recognized them as belonging to Mithra. She groaned at the harshness in the disgusted voice, wondering what her former friend had seen. _Perfect. Just marvelous_.

"_Madar sa seth'lin? Din'elvhen sa'shemlen ashin thar vhen."_

"You really do know only black and white, don't you?" Lenya answered deliberately in the common tongue, her voice laced with derision. "Should I tell you what your Keeper really did? What his motivation really was? Why the curse hadn't been broken for centuries and why Zathrian lived as long as he did? The world isn't as easy to categorize into good and bad as you believe it to be."

"This isn't about me or my former Keeper, but you and the shemlen!" Mithra stepped over to her, letting out a disgusted noise. "I saw you _kissing _him. How _could _you, after all the shemlen have done to us, to our people?"

Her eyes narrowed. "He has a name, you know? _Alistair_. He is my fellow Warden and not less worthy because he is a human. Quite the opposite: he is a better person than I could ever be. He was there for me since the beginning, since I became a Grey Warden. _Always_. He was friendly and patient with me even when I hated him for being a human and hated everything around me in my bitterness." Lenya swallowed, the distant movement and the twinge in her guts making her aware of his return. And yet she didn't stop, her words flowing rather freely now. "He never gave up on me, and believed in me even when I had ceased to have the strength to do so myself. He was a persistent, annoying human at times and he _still _talks too much. But he knows what it means to be a Grey Warden, how hard and painful it often is and he always, _always_ fought at my side, no matter what. Even after leaving my clan, I was _never_ alone and you have no idea what that means to me." Lenya laughed out, shaking her head. "Actually I didn't know either, for the longest time."

Mithra blinked, completely baffled by her speech. "Y-you... _love_ him?"

Lenya didn't hesitate to answer. "Yes. I'm Dalish, but first and foremost I'm a Grey Warden fighting the Blight. I can't return to my clan and life even if I wanted to. I'm not the same–" She faltered with a sigh. "There is so much despair, pain and bloodshed I've seen and experienced. But with him, it's all _better_, because even with all the chaos and ugliness around us, he manages to make me _smile_. I think... for the first time since I lost everything - my clan, my best friend, my prior life - I'm _happy_. And if this is wrong due to him being _human_, then so be it. I don't _care_."

Lenya stared her down a moment longer, angered by the injustice of Mithra judging him for _what_ he was without even _knowing_ him. The young Dalish hunter eventually faltered under her adamant gaze, her face furrowed into a deep frown and seemingly lost for words. Lenya didn't wait for an answer. Whirling around she took Alistair's hand and dragged him away. "Come, _Atish'an_. We're leaving."

"W-wait." Only a moment later he seemed to remember that he was stronger than her and stopped her furious pace. Lenya looked up at him, noticing the flushed face and the glistening eyes. Alistair swallowed slowly. "You knew I was there the whole time, right?"

She nodded with a smile. "Warden connection, remember?"

"Right." He fumbled with his hands, still reaching for air. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but Zevran and Leliana still busy with... err... each other and I couldn't go to my tent to get what I wanted to... err... get for you and then I thought I should at least give you something and so this flower I found on the way seemed nice, but I still was back too early and–"

Lenya stopped his rambling with a kiss and found not only herself relaxing. The tension left his shoulders and muscles and he sighed into the kiss the same way she did. Her heart melted at the achingly sweet way his lips responded to hers and for the moment, everything was perfect. Lenya felt calm again as she drew away and smiled at him. "You talk too much." Her eyes strayed to the flower still clutched in his hand; a red, wiry thing that was beautiful and dangerous at the same time. Her smile widened. "By the way, this flower is _poisonous_."

Alistair gasped, letting it fall to the ground in an instant. "I... oh. Sorry. That was stupid of me, picking foreign flowers just because they look _pretty_."

Leaning her head on his big form, she chuckled. "Naaah, it is cute. I appreciate the thought."

His arms came around her. "And yet you have given me so much more."

"_Na'nehn, emma Atish'an._ And I mean every word."

He swallowed again, the frown morphing into an amazed expression as if the weight of her words just became comprehensible to him. "I... _know_."

.

.

* * *

.

The morning after a long, beautiful night, was, well, _less_ beautiful.

In fact, Lenya hated its bright light and the hectic bustling of packing around her while she barely had managed to _crawl_ out of her tent. Mornings were an idiotic invention of people who not had to deal with darkspawn nightmares. And over-active party members. Actually, especially _this_ morning could kiss her where the sun _didn't _shine: she would crawl back into her tent and–

"Morning, sunshine! Up already?" Not able to articulate more than a tired grunt, she ducked under Alistair's attempt at a kiss, making him chuckle. Why was he so sunny and bubbly anyway, when he only had the same poor amount of sleep? Damn that human, it wasn't fair. As much as she loved him, in that moment there was nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred for being so _disgustingly_ chirpy. And with a glare into his direction, Lenya let him know this.

"Woow, I feel so honored to stand before the _definition_ of grumpy, love." Another chuckle. "Wait, I think I have something that might brighten your mood." With that he _finally_ vanished which gave her the chance to sneak back and–

"Warden Mahariel?"

_Oh, for Creators' fucking sake._

Smothering the impulse to _behead_ the person addressing her, she turned around to the source of the voice. In front of her stood a fully armed and provisioned hunter of the Alvaran clan who gaped at her. Considering that she was only half-dressed, her hair was mussed and her expression was anything but friendly, Lenya wasn't surprised at his reaction. Then again, she was too tired to even care. "_What_?"

The hunter winced at the force of her voice, but quickly recovered. "_Andaran atish'an, lethallan_. The Keeper has charged me with finding your clan in the north, to bring them word of the Blight. If the Creators smile upon me, I shall find them in time for the coming battles. Is there word you wish me to bring to them?"

Lenya inhaled sharply and felt the world crashing down upon her. She was unable to answer and staggered until a strong hand from behind stopped her shaking. "What's the matter, Len?" The confusion and worry was palpable in every syllable of his words. "Y-you look as if you've seen a ghost."

She pointed at the bewildered man. "My clan. He is searching for my _clan_. And I was asked if I have a message for them. I–"

"Oh. Well then, I'd better leave you alone and continue packing. There's –"

"No!" Lenya's hand grasped his, almost desperate. "_Stay_. Please. I need you now."

Alistair only nodded and remained at her side. The hunter eyed her critically, but Lenya could care less what he thought about her seeking support in a human. She tried to steady her breathing to speak and his presence actually helped a lot. "There is so much, I don't know where to start. I... tell them..." She took another deep breath. "Tell them, I'm well. That I made peace with who I am now, with my task. I will fight so that they will have a place to return to here in Ferelden. And tell them that I miss them." Lenya struggled with the wish to cry and forced back the tears before they could run free. "That... is all."

"_Ma nuvenin."_

As soon the hunter vanished in between the trees, Alistair took her into his arms and comforted her. "I'm sorry, love."

Lenya felt herself shaking, but his support made it... _easier_ to bear. "It is okay. It just came... unexpectedly. I never thought I would have the chance to talk to them again, even if it is just an indirect message."

"I know." Alistair let go of her, much to her dismay. Smiling, he put a finger under her chin and made her look up to him. "Hey, I think you could use an encouragement now more than ever and, well, I guess this will do. Hopefully."

He put something into her hands, an object that was heavy and cool to the touch. As she looked down, she couldn't believe her eyes. "That is... my father's dagger. But why is it..."

"Sharpened? Repaired? In my possession? Well," Alistair rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. "I know what this dagger means to you. It's part of your heritage, part of home. Which is why I always found it a pity that it was so worn and unusable. So while you were away, I begged Master Varathorn to repair it for you. It only seemed right to let him do so and not another smith, since this is an dagger from the time of the... Arlathan? Is this right? Sorry, I'm still a bit shoddy on the elven history despite the endless hours you've invested in me. I know it's not as perfect as it should be, but he did his best with the dagger, I think – Lenya?"

Lenya stared at the weapon that threatened to reduce her to a pile of tears and weak knees. As far as it had been possible, the notches had been worked out, leaving the blade glinting and sharp again. The intricate carvings within reflected the sunlight in its blade. "No, it is perfect!" She sniffed, tears blurring her sight. "Stupid human, _always_ doing the right thing. I don't know how or why you did this, but thank you."

"_Why_, she asks." He scoffed and looked at her in mock-indignation, hands on hips. "Because you're _important_ to me, silly. _Very_ much so."

Lenya swallowed the tears and smiled up to him. "I know."

"And I think you should have a reminder of your heritage and clan, other than just a few words relayed through a stranger." He tilted his head, gaze on her soft and understanding. "You still miss them, right?"

Lenya nodded, the smile adapting a sad note. "I will _always_ miss them. I... love you from the bottom of my heart, but you aren't my clan. You can never replace them."

"I... see." Unconsciously, he took a step back, his armor clanking with the motion.

"Silly, let me finish, won't you?" She closed the gap between them again, her hand reaching out for his cheek. "And still you are the closest I can get to a home. With you I feel calm, at peace. You are my safe place in all this chaos. _Emma Atish'an_, Alistair."

He was silent for a moment as if considering her words. "Oh... _oh!"_ He blinked in amazement, before a grin found its way onto his face. "So _that's_ what it means. You've been calling me that for days already... and wow, I think I could get to like this."

Lenya laughed. "Let's get ready to leave, shall we?"

.

.

* * *

**Elvish note:**

_"__Madar sa seth'lin? Din'elvhen sa'shemlen ashin thar vhen." (Mithra)- Are you a thin blood? After all you chose a human man over your own people._  


___Na'nehn, emma Atish'an (Lenya) _- You are welcome, my place of peace (her nickname for Alistair, as we know now)___  
_


	81. Ghosts Of The Past

_**A/N: **F__luffy times are officially called off. About time. Heh. And a fair warning: I write Leliana a bit..._differently_ from now on, more like her bardic nature and less like the pious lay sister. Being at the brink of death and Zevran's constant influence do such things to you, I guess. Like Alistair, she is in the process of 'hardening'. Hope it is not (too) OOC, though. Also I'm aware that Felsi isn't in Redcliffe in the game, but in my story she IS. It makes more sense than walking all the way back to Lake Calenhad for Oghren's love-life. Seriously. Enjoy *cackle*_

_Thanks to tklivory for the beta read.  
_

* * *

_**If life itself has a meaning,  
is it anything more than what we choose to call it  
Sweet words make appealing,  
but they only serve to mask the smell of what you buried  
Is it worth your while to spend on a lie,  
even though you cannot see eye to eye  
And give in to the rumor seduction,  
run by fear and all the good intentions**_

_~Poets Of The Fall – Rewind_

* * *

.

**Chapter 75: Ghosts Of The Past**

.

Their journey to Redcliffe was arduous, more difficult than they thought it would be.

In their peaceful time in the safe shelter of the Dalish camp, they had almost forgotten about the Blight raging on. Once outside those safe environs, they had to fight darkspawn at almost every turn, despite avoiding what had once had been Lothering. While they _had _solved the conflict of the Dalish and saved their alliance for the looming war, Ferelden _itself_ had lost ground. Whole areas were tainted now, withered and twisted landscapes with dead animals and slaughtered humans, soldiers and children alike. It was hard to breathe there, but even harder to _bear_.

The Wardens were even more tense and horrified than the rest of their group at the sight, Zevran noticed, and he knew _why_. They could sense the taint, feel it in their very _being_, which must be a gruesome experience in such landscapes. He might fight at their side and kill darkspawn as they did, but Zevran certainly didn't envy them for _this_ ability and for the taint in their _own_ bodies.

By the time they found an untainted area at the West Road to camp, they were all ready to drop sleeping to the ground where they stood. Normally, setting up camp was a routine that only took moments with everyone knowing what to do, but this time it took abnormally long, the exhaustion and wounds from the incessant battles of the day taking their tolls. After that was finally done, they doubled the watch during the night, just to be sure.

The first watch consisted of Shale, who already eagerly awaited another ambush of the '_stinky, squishy creatures'_ and Leliana, who cooked their sparse meal, stew like almost every evening. She was still fully armed and armored in case their fragile peace was disturbed and they had to react quickly. Wynne had vanished into Sten's tent to treat the relatively huge gash the Qunari had suffered across his sword arm.

Zevran sat among the more than provisional camp and treated his own cuts with Morrigan's herbal tincture and bandages. His wounds were fortunately no more an annoyance than his exhaustion. The stillness of the night within camp was a contrast to the ghastly events of the past few days that he greatly welcomed. Zevran was not surprised to find the Wardens missing from their usual spot in front of the bonfire, though. They had left together to gather firewood nearby and most likely for some time alone.

"Deep in thought, again?" Leliana smiled at him in spite of all.

"Ah, my dear. Don't worry about me." He shrugged her off, more out of habit than intent. "I was just thinking about our lovely Wardens. They are quite taken with each other, no?"

Her smile widened and a girly, excited expression grazed her face. Almost as if she had seen a new pair of shoes. "I think it is cute... and well deserved. They are so young and yet constantly in the eye of battle. Their love distracts them from all the abhorrent things they have seen and experienced. Also it very romantic, the last two Grey Warden of Ferelden together against all odds and cultural differences. I think it marvelous and about time that they finally managed to take this step. Makes a great story, too."

"Ah, yes..." Zevran stifled a chuckle, not surprised to see her getting so worked up about it. It was typical for her and her bardic nature to search for a story in everything. "A heroic ballad, perhaps?"

Leliana took a step away from the heavy pot of stew, but not without making sure it was bubbling. After a measuring look, she turned to him, hands intertwined in a thinking motion. "Yes, but it is more than simply heroic. It is a tale of friendship and love: these are the things you hold on to and the people want to hear about. Especially in dark times like these." She gasped, visibly engrossed by the thought. "Oh, I have already some ideas how to start. It is _perfect_. I... I need to get my lute." With the cooking spoon still in hands, Leliana turned to go. For a moment, she seemed to be like a butterfly uncertain where to fly first. "But the stew..."

Grinning, Zevran pulled her close, ignoring her indignant huff at his action. "Are you sure you don't want me to help, my dear?"

Leliana arched an eyebrow at him, yet made no move to wriggle out of his embrace. He would have hated to let her go now, anyway. With a suggestive smile that was not unlike his own, she signaled that she was willing to play along. "And with _what_ do you want to help, Zev? The stew or the story?"

"Both could use a bit of spice, no?" To emphasize his words, his finger darted out to the cooking spoon and he probed the stew's taste for show. "And while our Wardens are quite charming when they are together, they are still so innocent and hesitant. I'm sure I could embellish their sweet story of love with a bit of danger, passion... and lust. That is _also_ what the people want to hear about." He dived in to nip her neck and relished her resultant shuddering. "And you enjoy it too, yes? It had been part of your life once."

Leliana needed a moment to gather herself and against his own will he felt proud of having that effect on her. "I... admit that I took great pleasure in the intrigue back in Orlais. It was dangerous and chaotic... and _exciting_." In an instant her features hardened and the playful hint within her expression vanished. "But it destroyed my life. I think I told you about Marjolaine?" Zevran only nodded. He remembered her tragic tale of endless love, intrigues and betrayal. Like his own life, hers hadn't been the easiest one. "She is still out there, hunting me and not resting until I'm dead. That is her goal, her final game."

"So are the Crows." Zevran resisted the urge to shrug. "Life _is_ dangerous, my dear, which is why I tend to enjoy it to its fullest. _This_ here, being on the roads with the Wardens and fighting at their side, is so much more exciting than sitting in a chantry, don't you agree?"

She frowned. "I forgot my life as a bard while I was in the cloister. I felt safe. I didn't have to watch my back all the time."

He smiled and pulled her closer again, his head comfortably near to her bosom. Sometimes he just _loved_ the convenience of the height difference. "Ah and still I have trouble imagining that it was fun."

"Fun?" The frowning increased. "Zev, I wasn't there to ha –" Leliana was silenced by his head leaning in to the offered temptation and the firm grip of his hands on her backside.

"I understand your reasons, my dear," he said, his voice only a low murmur. "And yet it is such a waste for a beautiful and invigorating woman such as yourself. Doesn't the Chantry frown on fun? Of all kinds, especially the _best_ kinds?" The elf _tsk_ed, his tone playful and suggestive. "As I said, a terrible, _terrible_ waste."

Leliana made a face and freed herself from his embrace, returning to the stew. Stirring its delicious-smelling content, the bard was quiet for a long moment, and so was the camp. The slight howling of wind in between the trees, Shale's heavy steps and the cracking of the bonfire were the only sounds audible. Zevran took a deep breath in, the odd mixture of mud, wet dog and the spice of food nothing like the salt of the sea and scent of flowers back in Antiva.

Though, he admitted, it had developed its own crude and quirky charm. This country might cherish _dogs_, of all things, and was not even close to Antiva's beauty, but its people were proud and strong. He smiled. Like their lovely leader.

"You know..." Her quiet, hesitant voice made him look up, her back still turned to him. "I had a lot of time to think while I was... sick. About my life, my choices and all the wrong turns I took. It is true, I searched for answers and peace in my time within the Chantry, but if I'm honest..." She paused and shifted in her place as if the words were uncomfortable to say. "...I never found it."

"Oh?" Zevran tilted his head, surprised by her admission, yet refrained from saying more.

She still didn't move and stared into the stew, her voice tiny. "In the nights where I felt my blood boiling and I could hear their call, I thought I would die or... _worse_. This was the time where I thought about all those months and years I have been hiding myself in fear of... _her_, of everything that happened. Maybe the time was indeed a bit wasted, because here, with you... knowing the freedom of the road and the uncertainty of tomorrow... I have never felt _more_ alive." Zevran felt an impossible, confusing thrill at these words that had nothing to do with arousal and everything with pride. Not of himself, but of the unexpected but long-needed honesty with herself. "The Maker made the world beautiful, but He also made it dangerous. To really experience it, I have to embrace this, not... not hide away in some nunnery."

He smiled to her in all honesty, without the usual added layers of casualness, knowing she watched him in the corner of her eye. "As said before, it would be such a terrible waste. Good to know you agree, my dear."

She sighed, and he saw a faint blush spread across her cheeks. "It is just... there's so much out here - adventures to be had and stories to be told. And I want to be a part of all of it."

He stood up from his place, as if being helplessly drawn to her presence. He gently squeezed her armored shoulders and kissed the nape of her neck. "As do I, my dear." Zevran remained still for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the offered fragment of peace within the chaos, before drawing back from her, still smiling. "Ah, I just noticed that our Wardens have been gone quite some time now, yes? I bet it must be very difficult to find wood with all those... trees around them. Such an ungrateful and _hard_ task for them, _tsk_." Leliana giggled at that, an amused sound within her throat that appeared to have banished the prior lingering melancholy. "And I _also_ bet that neither of them will bring back a stick of firewood, as they are certainly too busy with _other_ things."

"Oh? Not even your precious Lenya?" Finally, she turned to him, grinning deviously. "Hmm... but if you truly want to bet, I'm in. What are the stakes?"

"Let's stick to the classics." Zevran mirrored her grin. "Hard and unyielding money. One sovereign for you if there is wood, one for me if there is not. First Warden to reappear in camp counts."

With a grimace, Leliana shrugged. "Oh, how very _boring_. I thought about something... _different_ as a wager."

He chuckled, amused by her suggestive and naughty trail of thoughts. "I assure you, my dear, you don't have to bet to get _that_." To give his words credit, he let his fingers flutter over her face and down the line of her throat until it met with the leather of her armor.

Her eyes followed his movements, seemingly transfixed by his caress. Shaking herself, Leliana gave another uncaring shrug and turned away from him. "If you want. I certainly could use the money once we arrive in Redcliffe. These boots I have to wear are monstrosities." She frowned. "_Necessary_ ones, perhaps, but monstrosities nonetheless."

It was not much later when the templar made his return to camp, surprisingly alone and unsurprisingly disheveled. His hair was mussed and his cheeks flushed dark red, but his armor disappointingly remained in its proper place. It seemed as if Lenya needed yet another lecture about the stress relieving side effects of sex. "Ah, I see you are back." Zevran stifled a laugh at the distraught expression as Alistair became aware of his presence. Yet he couldn't stop the smile that played on his features at the templar's obviously empty hands. "And you have brought back enough firewood for the night as well. Marvelous."

"F-firewood?" Amusing, how the templar nearly stumbled over the single word, his panic palpable. "Oh." Alistair's eyes grew bigger and bigger with each passing second and he rubbed the back of his head, visibly embarrassed. "I... uh, forgot that."

Leliana beside him grinned despite her loss of the bet. "You look as if you got attacked by a darkspawn. Are you all right, Alistair?"

"Ah, I'm sure it was the lovely blond darkspawn of Dalish descent, no?"

"I... uhh," The Warden pointed behind himself. "...better go and get it. Lenya will be...uhh. I should go." Red-faced and without looking back, he marched toward the row of trees again.

Zevran burst into a fit of laughter, even before the Warden had vanished into the darkness of night. Gasping for air, he turned to the bard and saw her laughing, too. "You are a devious, _devious_ woman, my dear, to tease him so."

She chuckled. "Ah, and the dear assassin is all innocent in this, no? I might be a bard, but even I don't believe the spin of your tale."

"Tsk, even if you spin the better tales, I think you owe me, now, _querida_." Zevran held his hand open and grinned triumphantly at her. He simply loved to win their little games.

With a huff, Leliana rummaged in the pocket in her pants. "You might have won this round, Zev," her voice lowered to a mischievous hum, "but I will make you pay for it _later_."

"Oh, I look forward to it." The loud clattering of wood behind him was only a footnote in his mind during the kiss. Only the annoyed clearing of Alistair's throat made him back away from this bardic goddess.

Leliana smiled sweetly at the Warden, as if nothing had happened. "Good to see you back, Alistair. The stew should be ready soon. I'm sure you are hungry, yes?"

His growling stomach answered on his behalf as he settled down at the fire. "A... bit?"

Flipping the golden coin in his hands, Zevran's gaze fell on the pressed countenance of Ferelden's late King Cailan. Being in Ferelden for the first time ever, he never saw the king in person, but somehow he had a stunning resemblance with – _Oh_. His eyes flicked up to the Warden and back to the coin, baffled to have missed such a blatant and obvious fact. He rested his head in his hands, not wanting the Warden to notice his interesting discovery. "Say, my dear Alistair, now that we are so close and all friends and such, can you indulge my curiosity?"

Alistair arched an eyebrow at him. "Friends? You and me? Have I missed something? Or do you simply mistake me for Lenya? I know she's a Warden too, but actually we _are _pretty easy to tell apart."

"Yes, I know. She is the pretty and witty one of you both." Zevran waved his protestations away, not wanting to linger on this topic while the other one was _much_ more interesting. "So tell me, do you have any relatives, perhaps?"

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Why... do you want to assassinate them?"

Walking over to him, he put the coin into his gauntleted palm and patted him on the armored shoulder. "I think this isn't needed anymore, no?"

Before Zevran left, he enjoyed how all the color escaped the Warden's face as he finally made the connection between the coin and his words.

.

.

* * *

.

"How are you?"

Sten lifted his head at the voice, only to look down again. The elven woman was still an impossibly small creature. He let out a snort. "Are you sure you are in the correct tent?"

The Warden inched closer and blinked, a reaction that made no sense to him. "Why do you ask?"

"Obviously because I don't need to be pampered. I'm alive, am I not? Hence I am fit to fight."

Instead of being offended at his tone like all the humans would, she flashed him a smile. "Somehow I missed talking to you, Sten. You are so refreshingly no-nonsense."

"I'm glad I can amuse you, Warden," Sten answered, dryly. "Is there something else?" The old _bas-saarebas _had healed his wound sufficiently and yet he felt an odd tiredness swarming him. He needed to return to his meditations and therefore had no time for meaningless conversation. Even if she was a _Basalit-an_.

"Well, if you take a blade that was destined for me, I do have at least the right to see if you are okay." She tilted her head, a curious looking motion with her being so small. "And I wanted to give you this."

The Warden handed him a neatly rolled vellum. With some reluctance, he took it, staring at it a moment as if unsure what to do with it. She continued speaking, "Remember the painted battle scene we saw in Orzammar? In the Warden's quarters?" Sten nodded in spite of being confused about her intent. "Well... this is _nothing_ like it. But... you told me to continue drawing and so I did. Every time since Orzammar when I couldn't sleep or had been ripped out of it through the incessant nightmares, I drew. And it helped to get the pictures out of my head, to calm down again."

Finally, Sten unfolded the paper and recognized a picture of a furious and dangerous looking _atashi_ on it. The lines of it were flowing, detailed and yet ragged in some places. The edges of the parchment were smudged with black, the coal used to draw it having left traces elsewhere on the picture. While she didn't work as neatly and organized as an artist should, Sten indeed liked the way the lines flowed. It was recognizable even within the picture that she was a wielder of swords and thus deserved respect. "It is..._decent_."

"_Ma serannas."_ She laughed at his comment, again an unexpected reaction. Then the Warden seemed to shrink in size, her voice so quiet that it was frustratingly hard to catch her words. "It is the Archdemon. At least how I have seen it in my head, night after night. Again and again."

"And you are giving me this because?"

"Because I wanted to show that even if we don't talk as much, we still have a common goal. To kill this creature, no matter the cost. The picture is more a symbol for it, I guess."

He snorted. "That doesn't make any sense. If there was no common goal, I wouldn't be here."

The Warden shrugged. "I'm aware of that, Sten. And I am all the more thankful that you _are_, and not only because you have taken a wound that was supposed to be mine." Standing, she looked up to him and he noticed that her elven eyes glowed faintly in the darkness of the tent. "We will reach Redcliffe tomorrow, if there aren't any more ambushes. Don't think I have forgotten about my promise. A Dalish never would. We will find your sword, even if I have to turn over every stone in that _shemlen_ village." She bowed to him before leaving. "Good night, Sten."

He looked after her little frame until she vanished in between the other tents. The Warden was an odd creature, full of illogical contradictions. She was a woman, yet she fought. She led them, yet she sought the advice of others. She was an elf, yet proud and strong and not a miserable creature like the ones he had seen in the cities. She was irrational, irresponsible and still followed her duty as a Warden and kept the promises she made.

She deserved his respect.

Even more, Sten remembered again _why_ he had started to call her _kadan_.

.

.

* * *

.

"Ugh, by the Creators, what is that smell? It reeks as if Arai has rolled himself into something dead. After it festered for _weeks_."

Lenya resisted the urge to gag as she visited Oghren at his tent. Fortunately it was distant from her own, but she did not envy Wynne for this experience.

The dwarf stuffed _something_ in his pack before turning to her. "Heh, sensible are we? I was just trying a sodding recipe I still know from Orzammar. The fish should be ready for the lye in a few days."

"I think the fish is overdue for _anything_. You really plan to eat _that_?" She made a face. "Ugh. You _durgen'len_ are disgusting at times."

He snorted. "And you elves are all so delicate with your whining like a sodding tea kettle. Heh."

"All right, whatever." Lenya waved him off, rolling her eyes. "Let's drop this. I'm actually here to inform you that you have the second watch tonight, together with me. As much as I dread the thought of hearing you go on about cheap farting and sexual jokes for hours, I figured it would be more sensible if one of us Wardens is always up to keep watch. It is easier too, since Alistair or I are able to sense approaching danger. We are near a blighted area heavily flooded with darkspawn at the moment, after all."

"Sure, Missy." Oghren shrugged with a chortle. "I look forward to some bonding time with you. Heh, get it?"

"Yes, I'm _Dalish_, remember?" She let out an exasperated groan. "The term has another meaning for my people than it has for humans or _durgen'len_." Crossing her arms, she glared at him, yet the corner of her mouth threatened to quirk upward. "But before I would bond with you, I would rather marry Arai and live in the Anderfels with Alistair's parents, the flying dogs."

"Heh, your loss, Missy. No Oghren love caravan for you _and _you have to continue to bear the boy's whiny presence."

Hands on hips, her grin widened. "Oh, I think I can live with that. Very well, even."

"Well, aren't you both a sodding happy pair together?" Oghren let out a disgruntled noise. "Having the sodding, rounded surface sky thing – _whaddyacallit_ –?

"Sun?" Lenya offered, still amused.

"Yeah, _that_ shining out of your bum?"

"The last time I looked, no I haven't. Sounds pretty painful, though." The Dalish arched an eyebrow at him. "Is there any point to your rambling or are you just being Oghren again?"

"Being Oghren?" For a moment it looked as if the dwarf was angered by her comment. His dark eyes narrowed and the thick, unkempt beard bristled under his stale breath. Then the moment passed and he fell into a bellowing fit of deep laughter. "Sodding right I _am_, Missy. You know what? You have been good to me, _most_ the time. And that is more time than all the sodding, nug-licking stoneheads in Orzammar combined. The sky still makes me queasy at times with its openness, but overall I sodding like to be _here_." The mirth faded from his weathered features, replaced by unusual hesitance. Oghren shifted on his feet and a moment passed before he continued. "Which reminds me. You and I , we've... You know how sometimes, you spend time with... people, and things... Hm."

Lenya's eyebrows shot higher, in sync with the corner of her mouth. "I thought we already decided that our love has no future, Oghren."

"Ha! Well, I'll be shaved, skinned, and hung up to dry! Well played, Missy. But I just wanted to ask... a favor."

She looked at the dirt under her nails, voice even. "Well if the stinking fish vanishes, I might listen to it. And by vanish I _don't_ mean throw it in a tent or feed it to Arai, because he has the habit of sleeping with me." Lenya looked up, her voice still without inflection or emotion, but the intent was clear. "And then _you_ have a sodding problem, _sulevin_!"

Oghren groaned and rolled his eyes, yet seemed ready to agree. "Ugh, sodding party-pooper. Fine, fine, then I'll eat it _now_. Have it your way, Miss Squeamish."

"That's not what I... no, never mind. Just... get it over with. Quickly." Lenya watched with fascinated disgust how Oghren took the reeking thing out of his pack and actually _consumed_ it whole. Grimacing, she took a step back from the dwarf and struggled to calm her troubled stomach. It was not that she hadn't wolfed down food in an unhealthy speed and huge portions since becoming a Warden, but that was beyond _gross _to watch.

Oghren let out a burp after he was finished. "So I hope you're satisfied now, Missy."

"Ugh. As long you keep a meter distance between you and me, yes."

"Heh. So a deal's a deal, right? Well, there's a girl I knew in Orzammar - before I left, obviously, and-"

"A girl?" Lenya blinked. "Do I really want to know more?"

"What? You mean were we rutting?" Oghren showed her a toothy grin. "Oh, _aye_. After Branka left for the Deep Roads. Name's Felsi, and she was a fiery one."

"Too. Much. Information."

"Eh, so the boy and you still haven't coiled the ol' rope?" He snorted. "Explains why your tent is all quiet at night."

"I don't even..." Lenya shook her head, bewildered. "Get to the point or I'm gone."

"Fine." Oghren sighed. "Basically there was not enough magnificent Oghren for two women and Felsi was jealous. So she and her mother left for the surface a year ago. Heard about her working in a tavern in Redcliffe, so since we're heading there anyway, I wanted to check up on her and see how she's doing. Heh."

"And you are telling me this because...?"

"We, err, haven't exactly parted on _good_ terms. So I could use some help with that, Missy."

"From... _me_?" Lenya stared. And blinked. Then stared some more. "Well, okay. This should be the part where I slowly back away, considering your bad taste in women."

"Huh? Oh, you mean Branka? Don't worry, Felsi is a brand between the sheets, but is missing far less pebbles than my sodding, cheating ex-wife. Like a sea of pebbles, if you catch my stone. Also there's no Anvil-obsession." He laughed, his gaze distant. "Oh aye, we had a good time. Would love to relive that if we are on a pause to save Ferelden from a thousand years of darkness or something."

"How... interesting." Lenya pinched the bridge of her nose as she breathed out. Apparently the Blight was the time where all of her companions decided it would be a great idea to chase after trivialities. "Right, I know I will regret saying this, but I will see what I can do." She turned to go. "Are we done now?"

"Eager to return to your boy, aren't you?" Taking a gulp from his flask, Oghren snorted. "Aye, go on, Missy. See ya later. ...And thanks for everything. You are a true pal, Warden."

Lenya stopped to smile. _"Na'nehn, durgen'len."_

.

.

* * *

.

By the time Lenya appeared at the central fire, everyone was gathered around it to catch the long-awaited portion of food. She smiled at Zevran as she passed him by, but no one smiled wider than Alistair. Of course. "Where have you been so long, love?"

Without preamble, Lenya walked up to where he sat and sat on his lap, as if it were the most natural thing to do. Alistair gasped, making it apparent to her that it was perhaps _not_ as natural as thought. Yet she ignored his silent protest and the curious glances Zevran and Leliana were giving her. There was no place she would rather be now. "I, uhh, think I promised Oghren to help him hook up with a dwarven girl in Redcliffe."

"What? _Why?_" Alistair chuckled, his stupid hard armor clattered at the motion. "Actually, I don't know who to pity more, the girl or you." He reached behind him and handed her a bowl of stew, smiling. "Here, I saved you some from the good stuff before there is only broth left. And no, it has been Leliana cooking, not me."

"Good," She breathed out and felt herself relaxing, as she nestled herself further within his lap. Sometimes she just loved the difference in size and height. Sitting like this and being sheltered by him was... comfortable, in spite of the armor. "I would hate to have my last piece of food today be stinking fish. And no,_ don't_ ask." Lenya leaned herself back with a sigh and started to eat.

"Ugh." The displeased noise came from Morrigan's direction, catching her attention somewhere in the midst of _inhaling_ the food. "Must you be so public with your disgusting displays of affection? You are both making me ill." Lenya looked up, only to see how Morrigan scowl at her and leave for her separate fire, food forgotten. She heard Alistair's laugh and dismissive comment, but all she could do was watch after the witch with a frown.

She just seemed so... _lonely_?

Since Lenya had admitted her love to Alistair, he had been the sole center of her attention, with the rare exception of talking to Zevran from time to time. But the conversation they had after she awoke in Aneirin's clearing had been the last with Morrigan, _weeks_ ago. Lenya made a mental note to rectify that deficiency as soon as possible. Hopefully they would have a moment to breathe in Redcliffe, a moment she intended to use for her friendship with Morrigan.

.

~V~

.

Thankfully it remained a quiet night without darkspawn so far, giving Alistair the chance to relax after what had been a horrid day. Stretching his limbs, he basked in the glowing heat of the fire and enjoyed the quiet moments with Lenya still nestled in his arms. He had discarded the gloves at least and yet he wondered why she kept leaning against all the hard plate of his armor. Not that he minded, but it could hardly be comfortable for her.

Kissing her hair, he raised his voice after what felt like an eternity, "You should get some rest, Len. It's my turn to watch."

She had fallen silent after finishing the meal and even now it took her a moment to answer, voice thick with sleep. "Hmm... you are right."

He chuckled. "Then you should get to your tent, love."

"Don't want to, I'd rather stay with you." Lenya wriggled in his lap to make herself somewhat comfortable, a motion that made him both glad and regretful to wear armor. "Just wake me when it is time for my shift."

And while Alistair still couldn't believe that she really intended to rest like that, she already was fast asleep and quietly snoring in his arms. Shaking his head, he smiled at her sleeping form and brushed a sooted strand of her hair aside. A stain of dirt still clung to her cheek, baring a white line underneath as he wiped the grime away. Alistair frowned at the scar, recognizing it as the one that Flemeth inflicted upon her in that terrible battle months ago. The remembrance of her being hurt unsettled him more than his own injuries at that time, and he resisted the urge to embrace her tighter. The want to protect her was illogical, since Lenya was well-versed in defending herself – in _surviving_ – and yet was deeply rooted within him. Hands entwined, stomach aflutter with the knowledge of natural trust she placed in him, he wanted to keep her safe from the bad in this world like his shield kept away the enemies in battle.

"She deserves to know the truth."

Blinking up, Alistair saw Zevran standing in front of him, surrounded by the glow of firelight, his hands holding layers of fur and blankets. The elf was watching him, unmoving and without any emotion in his expression, yet the intended meaning came across loud and clear. He felt at a loss for words at the situation and the fact that Zevran, of all people, was the one who _knew_. Their eyes locked and only when he gave the slightest of nodding motions did the assassin relent. With a faint rustle, he dropped the blankets and turned to leave for his tent.

Alistair watched after him for a moment, the crackling and hissing of the dying wood within the flames unbelievably loud. Shaking himself, he tucked the layers of fabric like a cocoon around her form, always afraid to wake her, to let her lose this frail fragment of peace. But no matter how many blankets he wrapped around her, no matter how many enemies he felled to protect her, he couldn't shield her from the ghosts of his past which still haunted him. Something that still stood between them, the secret of it unspoken, the burden heavy.

Kissing the bridge of her nose – just where the flickering light reflected the trail of her _Vallaslin_ and freckles – Alistair recognized that he couldn't protect Lenya from hurt caused by _himself _- especially when the words inflicting the damage came from _his_ lips. This knowledge stung, its aftertaste bitter on his tongue. Swallowing, he blinked up, his gaze lost within the track of heat.

Never had he hated himself more.

.

.

* * *

.

For weeks he had tried to tell her the truth.

For weeks he had _delayed_ telling her the truth, because he was too afraid of her reaction. A part of him even enjoyed that Lenya didn't know about his heritage, for it was something he wanted to forget himself. He would love to stash it in the deepest corner of his mind, lock the door and throw away the key, so it would never resurface again.

The reality, however, was less easy.

In a few hours, they would reach Redcliffe, the place he thought he would never see– not to mention _enter_ – again. His past was catching up to him all too quickly, the time for the truth slipping through his hands like the delicate sand of the sea. Watching how Lenya stuffed the rest of her belongings into her pack, he fell into a myriad of long suppressed memories.

_Bastard! You think you're better than us, huh? But your father never wanted you!_

Alistair could still hear the scorn and derision of the other boys in the chantry's dormitory. The words cut a lot deeper than the beatings and bullying of the elder boys, and they still hurt even today. He had been small for his age when he was sent to the chantry, an easy target to pick on. Unwanted by the peasants and not good enough to fit in to the nobles, he had no place to belong as a boy. He hated–

"Alistair..."

His head jolted up to the voice, his heart fluttered at the familiarity of its tone and the face it belonged to. Lenya tilted her head, a critical frown creasing the area between of her brows. "Are you ready? We are about to leave, which you'd failed to notice."

"I'm armed and armored, so I think the answer is obvious." Alistair forced himself to smile. "I mean, yes. Let's go." He stood up from the place he had occupied since he had finished putting away his tent and donning his armor, the time having passed in a blur. Above him, the sun was covered by thick clouds, shrouding its light, though it was barely past morning. They had broken camp as soon they finished breakfast: stale, cold stew from last night. He wasn't particularly hungry, nor looking forward to arriving at their destination.

_Coward._

Biting his lip, he trudged behind her and back to the others of their group who impatiently waited for their return.

"Lenya..." She turned to him and flashed him a brilliant smile.

"Yes?"

"I..." he started, but didn't get any further when she used his diversion to steal a kiss. His eyes widened in surprise, though he quickly gave in to the warmth and feeling of belonging she offered. Carefully his armored arms came around her, only sensing, _remembering_ the heat of her body as it crashed against his, clad in metal and steel. Alistair wanted time to stop, to get lost in the moment where she was the center of his world forever, but she had already drawn away, breathless.

"Wow. I'll... never get tired of this. As opposed to our companions, I guess." Lenya grinned at him, the mischief visible on her features. The grin faded as she looked up to him, eyes wide and bottom lip pursing. "Can I ask you something, _Atish'an?"_

His breath hitched for a second, but he managed to stay calm. "Anything for you."

"...It is just," she hesitated, "I want to sleep with you."

The color in his face instantly deepened to beet-red and the sudden inability to breathe caused him to cough. "Easy, silly." She laughed and patted him on the back of his head. "I meant, in one tent, not more. I feel... more safe when you are around and..." Looking down, she fiddled with the buckles of her armor. "...I like it when you embrace me, to know you are close."

There she stood, embarrassed and yet so lovable, opening her heart to him when he could not. Leaning in, Alistair's words were not more than a whisper, ignoring the indignant comments that came from the others. "I love you, you know that, right?" He frowned, his mouth suddenly so dry, the throat almost too tight to speak. "But I need to tell you something."

"Let me guess..." Lenya sighed upon his expression and somber tone. "I won't like it?"

"No, I think... you won't."

Lenya's eyebrows pulled together, etching sharp lines between her eyes, and she put her hands on her hips. "Can't it wait a bit? We want to reach that human village today."

"No." Slowly he shook his head, mouth pursed into a sullen scowl as he looked up. The taste of his following words were hard and heavy upon his tongue. "Actually, I need to tell you _all_ something. And it is better you know _before_ we reach... Redcliffe."

"Oh?" He heard Zevran's all too amused voice under the exasperated groan of the witch. "This should be good. Go on, my dear Alistair, I'm sure we have these minutes still to spare, no?"

Alistair braced himself, his back straightening as if getting ready for a fight. But there were no enemies, no danger other than the words falling from his lips, the unspeakable truth and the howling of the ghosts of the pasts. "I don't know how to start, except that I should have told you a long time ago." He flinched as her frown deepened, her posture tensing like a cat ready to pounce. "Well, you know the story of Arl Eamon taking me in after my mother died, right? It wasn't only a favor done to a servant, but because... my father is – _was _– King Maric. That made Cailan my half-brother, I guess."

Around him, everything was quiet, a shocked silence that added uneasily to the already unnaturally tranquil surroundings. No bird carried their tune from tree to tree, and only the wind howled in between creaking branches, a haunting sound that emphasized the lack of life near the tainted area. Lenya didn't move or react more than just _staring_, something that made him want to dissolve into thin air. Yet he forced himself to continue. He couldn't run away from it any more, not even if he wanted to. The damage was already done.

"How? I mean _when_ would I tell you that, Lenya? '_Oh, by the way, King Maric had sex with a servant and she produced a bastard son. That's me.'" _He shook his head. Although he spoke to everyone in their group, his focus lay on the woman he loved. "I would – _should _– have told you, but... it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone."

Lenya blinked, the first sign of movement after a long moment. Her hands rummaged in the pouch at her belt, drawing a coin forth. She held it up next to him, possibly to compare him to Cailan's portrait stamped on it. Then her face scrunched into a scowl, and she hauled back to slap him square into the face. The force of it momentarily made his vision swim and the cheek where she hit him flared like fire, as if it burned with the shame he felt for lying to her.

As his vision cleared he saw how tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, voice thick with disappointment. "I _trusted_ you."

Those three words plowed deep into his heart, causing wreckage like the steel of a sword. Alistair gasped, the attempt of drawing breath so futile and hopeless that at first he couldn't respond with words. Lenya turned to leave, but his hand snapped after her arm, keeping her with him. He was well aware that he would lose her if she left now. He couldn't bear the thought of _that_. "I think I just didn't want you to know, as long as possible, because everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me... Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I'm... sorry."

"_Alasbora!_" She yanked her arm away from him, her glare furious. Their companions became spectators of a scene he would have gladly avoided. "I don't care whose son you are, Alistair! You could be the son of the king of all of fucking Thedas and human lands and I wouldn't give a damn because I love _you_." She shook her head, her teeth grinding together as her eyes pierced him with her _hurt_. "But that you didn't trust me enough to tell me this – _lied to me_ – even waited until we almost reached Redcliffe, until I told you I love you... this is something I _cannot_ forgive."

"You – " He reached out for her in utter desperation, his mind refused to accept what her words implied. But she evaded his hand, as if it were made out of fire and stung her skin.

"Don't touch me!"

Lenya motioned the companions to walk and they complied, watching silently as she stormed forward to the head of the group in apparent wrath. Alistair had no other choice but to follow, lest he be left behind. A fate to be favored, considering how the hurt razed his innards and burned him alive.

For a long while, no one dared comment about what had happened - except for the damn assassin, of course. "Well, it seems as if your ballad has gotten its dramatic turn, my dear Leliana." Alistair felt Zevran's gaze burning into his back and half expected a dagger to follow.

He didn't care.

Once more his past, his heritage, had destroyed _everything_, the looming curse of it everlasting - though what stung more was his own stupid cowardice in failing to trust the woman he _loved_ with the truth.

It seemed as if he would pay for this inability with a high price.

.

.

.


	82. King Of Fools

_**A/N:**__Angry Dalish is __**angry**__. Means with that chapter you get a bit of ol' Lenya with all the glaring and impatience due to bad temper/mood and added passive aggressiveness. Not completely, of course, but if I were Alistair...I would run. __**Fast**__. *giggle* Enjoy._

_Also thanks to all still reading after frikkin two and a half years of me writing this thing, really. And tklivory for the beta, as always. You all rock.  
_

* * *

_**[...]And if they had a king for fools would you wear the crown?**_

_~Poets Of The Fall – King of fools_

* * *

_.  
_

**Chapter 76: King Of Fools**

.

By the time Alistair sighted the reddened stone and the village's windmill in the distance, the sun stood high in the sky.

And despite the fact that they had managed to avoid more enemies on the way, the travel had been even more horrid than yesterday.

At least for him.

Lenya hadn't spared him a single glance, nor had talked to anyone in their group for _hours_. Together with Arai, she marched steadily forward, the silent wrath oozing from her dangerous enough that everyone was keeping their distance. Maybe her anger would wear off when they had the chance to rest and a meal within Redcliffe castle. Considering her reaction to his heritage confession, Alistair didn't really believe it. He just knew that he didn't want to lo–

"Fix it!"

He looked up from observing his boots moving forward, to see Morrigan glaring at him. "Are you talking to me?" Alistair was bewildered that the witch had let herself fall back and was suddenly right beside him.

"No, 'tis the other utter incompetent idiot I'm talking to." She groaned, exasperated. "But he is _invisible_."

"Oh ho, ho. Funny," he answered, but his bleak expression belied his words. "I see you went to clown academy at Flemeth's Finishing School of the Wilds." Her presence always had made him uncomfortable, even more so now where she seemed to want something of him. An appalling thought in itself.

Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, the coldness of their color fixing him. "You are a fool. 'Tis somehow fitting you are the son of a king, as this makes you king of all fools."

"May all the other fools bow down to me," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "Is there a point or do you just like to insult my intelligence? It's getting old, you know?"

"I don't understand _why _or how she even is remotely – _ugh_." Morrigan made a face. "And your love-addled antics together are sickening to watch, but–" She stopped herself, mouth scrunched in a disgusted scowl, as if the words were too _impossible_ to set free. Maybe they _were_ if one considered it was Morrigan forming them.

Alistair stared at her as if she had grown a second head. "You... _care_ for her!"

She ignored his comment, instead taking his surprised gaze as an invitation to glare at him again. "Fix it. Or else I will make you wish you were never born, templar. Son of a fool-king or not."

With that, Morrigan left him standing where he was, her steps accelerating to the haughty stride he knew of her. Everything else, however, was new and utterly baffling. He blinked, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that Morrigan threatened him on Lenya's behalf. Had she just told him to make up with her? A tiny voice in his head wanted to scoff at the witch and tell her to mind her own, _creepy_ business, but instead he ended up uttering a disbelieving grunt. As if he _needed_ someone to tell him to fix the things which went askew due to his lack of... _everything_.

_Damn..._

"Get out of my way. I have no time for slack-jawed fools!"

He heard Lenya's angered voice in the distance, making it apparent how far he had fallen behind the others. The light of the sun blinded him as he hurried to catch up and see what was going on.

The ground was split in two by a great rush of raging white water, pouring down from the top of the cliff and flowing down into the village and, eventually, the lake. The young man who stood on the bridge leading over it was meager and more than a bit intimidated by Lenya's brash demeanor. Messy red-brown hair framed his pale, pudgy face, looking sweaty and frightened. "Uhh... I'm not stopping you or anything, but... have you even heard what's happened here? Has _anyone_?"

The young man wore no armor, but had a bow of questionable quality slung across his back. Alistair frowned. It was by no means a good sign if even a simple villager like him was armed. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"We're under attack. Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting... and dying. We've no army to defend us, no arl and no king to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are terrified they're next." A collective groan rippled through the rows of their group, obviously more than fed up to walk from one disaster into the next.

Zevran let out a sigh. "Well, that is just _typical_, yes?"

Beside him, Morrigan was eager to agree. "Apparently everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really."

Even Alistair caught himself rolling his eyes, before the fear for Eamon settled in. "No Arl? What's wrong with Arl Eamon?"

The lad lowered his gaze, rough lips pressed together to a thin line. "He's deathly ill... and we don't even know if he's still alive. We haven't heard from the castle in _days_." His eyes widened and he shook his head, his face a skull-like picture of hopeless fear. "I... I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's all that's holding us together. He'll want to see you."

Again he found himself raising his voice, while the others only stared holes in the air, visibly annoyed at the turn of events. "Bann Teagan is here? The Arl's brother?"

"Y-yes." He looked at him and him _only_ for guidance, like a puppy hoping to get a treat after all. "Please come with me - it's not far from here."

Alistair was confused by the notion of being addressed as the leader, but seeing as Lenya didn't react, he agreed. He never would question her leadership and yet it was about time he made decisions on his own. "I guess there's no harm in talking with him." Shrugging, he passed his fellow Warden and mentally winced at the furious glare she was giving him. It reminded him all too much of the first weeks of travel after Ostagar.

_Back to square one_, he thought bitterly as he followed the man's trail down towards the village, his steps disturbing the reddened dust on the ground.

.

.

* * *

.

"We are not here to defend a village."

Lenya's mood had dropped from bad to _worse_ as soon she heard about the human's request in front of her. Apparently he was a Bann, or something. Not that she cared. Especially not about the fact that he knew Alistair from a young age, being that Arl's brother. Stupid Arl. Stupid village. Stupid Alistair and his damn lies.

It still hurt her to think about his lack of trust, and the impossible demand of this stupid human added insult to the injury. Once more she should fix other people's problems?

Fuck, _no_.

All she wanted in Redcliffe was to get Sten's sword, the Arl's support for the landsmeet (whatever that was) ...and possibly throttle the man she loved. Alas, the Arl was ruled out due to a strange sickness – which was not that much of a loss in her eyes– yet it didn't give her much of a reason to _stay_.

"I agree." Sten nodded, standing beside her. "There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to gain. It is a fool's errand."

"A fool's errand like finding your sword here?" Alistair stepped up to the giant man, ready to confront him. "We can't just leave. We _need_ the Arl's support."

The Qunari just stared at him, without a flicker of emotion and eerily calm. "It seems you have found your backbone. Pity it is for a wasted cause."

Zevran looked around and frowned at the women, children, and old folk all clustered on the floor and on any available seat within the chantry. Many of them were crying, their expressions hollow masks of despair and fear. "As much I dislike the thought of fighting what seems a useless battle, it would be cruel to simply leave, my dear leader."

Oghren let out what sounded like a grunting noise of approval. "Heh, sodding right. As long as there's a bloody battle, I say let's wade into the middle of it!"

Lenya was quiet a beat or two, her arms crossed, the posture stiff. "Then we should go to the castle directly for this Arl, if he is so damn important."

Teagan sighed and shook his head. "I fear this isn't possible. The castle has been closed off for days. Nobody is coming in or out and no one has responded to my shouts." He sought Alistair's attention and completely ignored her, which only made her even more furious. "Each night the undead creatures return, their ranks bolstered with our recently dead, and I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. Alistair, I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends."

Her fellow Warden shifted on his feet, apparently feeling uneasy to be addressed with such a request. "It isn't just up to me. Though we don't stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon, I think." His gaze fell upon her and she gathered all her strength to stand still and _not_ launch herself at him as he raised his voice to her. "Please, Lenya, be reasonable. Don't let these people here suffer due to your anger at me. We _need _Eamon's support and you know that."

Lenya refused to meet his eyes, not caring if it came off as petty and childish. She exhaled deeply and it came off as a long sigh. "Fine. Whatever. If it is so damn important to save that Arl to get your damn throne, then we stay and fight a battle that isn't ours. Like always."

"I don't want to –" Alistair began, but was cut off by Morrigan.

"'Tis foolish. The plan was never to come and defend this village." The witch gave her a haughtily disparaging glare. "One would think we had enough to contend with _elsewhere_."

"The plan was never to become a Grey Warden and to fight the Blight _either_." Lenya looked at Morrigan, her eyebrow raised. "Funny how things go sometimes, right?"

"Y-you are a Grey Warden?"

"_What_?" She glowered up to the Bann, her tone sardonic and getting louder with each word. "Why are you so surprised, _human_? Did you really overlook the giant white griffon on my chest? Do you think I wear it for _fun_? Or that I run around Ferelden gathering troops to fight the Blight because I'm _bored_? _Elgar'nan_, if I weren't a Grey Warden, I wouldn't even _be_ in a Creators-forsaken place like this!"

At the end of her rant, she was positively red-faced, huffing and ready to kill someone. Maybe the invasion of undead was just what she needed to vent the pent-up wrath inside. If she didn't stomp the stupid village and its ignorant inhabitants into the ground _before_ nightfall, anyway. She had only met two humans here so far and both of them had looked to Alistair for guidance, seemingly incapable of wrapping their minds around the fact that _she_ was the one leading.

An elf and a woman.

Both seemed to be traits that made it impossible to be of worth in their eyes, although she couldn't say which one was more grave.

_Stupid humans..._

"I...err..." Teagan stopped to blink, gasping for air. "I didn't mean to offend, my lady. I just wasn't aware of the fact –"

"Halla shit! Yo– " Lenya started, but a placating hand was laid upon her shoulder, stopping her rant even before it began. She whirled round, ready to bite the head off of the person to whom it belonged. Zevran only shook his head and smiled at her, telling her with this gesture to calm down. Which she oddly did. She sighed anew. "Right. What are the odds?"

Bann Teagan clapped his hands together, trying to inject a brisk, busy brightness into his words. "I've put two men in charge of the defence outside. Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the chantry. Ser Perth, one of Eamon's knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. You should speak with each of them." For all his braveness the human showed, he still looked anxious to her. "After the night is through I want to try to get into the castle and find the source of the evil. _If_ we survive."

"Oh, I've survived _worse_." Lenya waved him off, tired of talking and being in the Chantry of their human god. She had been eager to leave this place as soon they had entered. Looking around, she noticed that Morrigan and Sten probably thought the same, their expression a mask of disgust. She motioned them to follow. "Well then, time to find that Murdock human. _Joy_."

"And my sword." Sten folded his arms over his massive chest, momentarily refusing to follow her.

Morrigan mirrored his notion. "I have no desire to run around for these fools."

"You can go with Alistair then, if you like that better." Lenya fixed her with a stare, lacking the patience to deal with her haughty attitude. "Or Shale would love to get support for the important mission of freeing this village of birds, I'm sure." She turned to the Qunari. "We will find your sword. I promised that, have I not?" Both of them grumbled, displeased, under their breath, yet her answer seemingly had smothered all of their protesting. Sometimes she just hated the job. Especially when she was filthy from the road, hungry and so very pissed off. The prospect of having to fix yet another problem of others didn't make it any better, either.

_Army of undead, my ass..._

"What about... me?" Alistair's voice stopped her dead in her tracks as she turned to leave.

Lenya whirled round to shoot him a look of pure venom. "You can be eaten and dragged off by the Dread Wolf for all I care."

Not waiting, nor caring for any sort of an answer, she stormed off.

.

~V~

.

Alistair watched her leave, feeling positively miserable - an emotion he reflected in a heavy sigh.

"Ah, pardon for me saying that, my dear Alistair, but asking our lovely Warden to tag along after sullying her trust was... stupid."

"Right." He glowered at the elf. "Why are you _here_, anyway?"

Zevran shrugged, a grin tucked at the edges of his lips. "Ah, I just want to spend time with my bardish lady, as well with our handsome Warden prince."

"Oh, I see, you just want to –"

Teagan cleared his throat, causing him to stop his bickering with Zevran. "She is quite a fiery one, your fellow Warden. However, maybe you should speak with Ser Perth then?"

"Yes. We should use the daylight as long it last," Leliana agreed. "There is much to be done, after all."

"I would like to stay here in the chantry and see if I can help the wounded," Wynne said and leaned herself on her staff, chuckling. "Also my old legs need a bit of a pause after the fierce tempo of marching Lenya dictated to reach Redcliffe."

He nodded his consent toward his companions, before turning to Teagan again. "I had no chance to ask before. What is this sickness you spoke of?"

The Bann pitched the bridge of his nose, looking weary and old. "We were never certain. Eamon thirsted for water, and then grew weaker and weaker. We brought in a mage but even that did nothing. Isolde believed he was cursed and that we needed the power of Andraste herself, or he would surely perish. So she sent the Arl's men out on the search for the Urn of the Sacred Ashes." He looked faintly embarrassed. "It _is_ said to have miraculous powers, but… I am a practical man, while Lady Isolde is a woman of great faith. That she had sent many of the Arl's knights off to search for a relic that will probably never be found did not help our situation."

"I see." Alistair stiffened involuntarily at the name of the Arlessa. Too many bad memories rushed through his mind, a pang of anger at her treatment of him resurfacing as well. He shook the feeling away, not allowing himself to indulge in it. Leliana was right, there was no time to lose. "We should go then and see to whatever preparations we can to secure our defenses before the battle."

"Thank you, Alistair." Teagan stepped forward and patted him on his armored shoulder. "I wish your return would have been under better circumstances, but I'm glad you are here and are helping us in our darkest hour."

_Can't say I think the same... _"I'll do my best." Forcing himself to smile, he turned to leave, only to bump into a young woman in a thoughtless moment.

"S-sorry!" She stared at him, her eyes wide and red-rimmed from crying. Remnants of tears still marked her cheeks, the long brown hair disheveled and straggly. "I didn't want to – ... Excuse me!"

"Wait!" Alistair reflexively reached out to her, stopping her motion. "What happened to you?"

Behind him, he heard Leliana rummaging in her pack stored at the side of the Chantry's wall. Returning to the group, she handed the girl a handkerchief. "Here, take this."

She hesitated a moment to take it, as if distrusting the gesture. "I... thank you."

"You are welcome." The bard smiled. "You know...we can help you, if you tell us what is wrong."

"Aside from the undead attacking your village, of course," Zevran added, in all his unhelpful glory. That sent the girl into another bout of hiccuping and sniveling in the attempt to avoid to start crying again.

Alistair gave the elf a pointed look. "Why don't you kick her in the face while you're at it?"

"Those… those _things _dragged my mother away." Calming herself down, she glanced blearily up at him, and made a thick, wet snort into the handkerchief. "I just… I can hear her screaming all the time, everywhere! And now my brother ran off too," she continued after a beat, her voice rising to a quiet, querulous tremor. "He's all I have."

Alistair frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there a chance to find your brother in the village? Maybe we can bring him here."

"You would do that?" Her face lit up for the first time, brushing the pained and hopeless expression from her face, even if only for a little moment. "Thank you! I... I went to our house… it's by the square, b-but Bevin wasn't there. I searched all over. I called and I called but he never answered. He could have run off into the woods, or—" The happiness vanished as soon as it came, replaced by endless sorrow again. "I hope Bevin didn't run off to find her. He is too young to understand what happened with mother."

Leliana squeezed the girl's shoulder. "We will find him, don't worry."

.

~V~

.

"There are many great tales of lost kings who return to their lands to reign in glory..."

Outside the chantry, Alistair halted and groaned in annoyance at Leliana's words. "I'm not lost, nor am I a king. As a matter of fact, I am just the product of a star-struck maid and an indiscreet man who just happened to _be_ king. Nothing more." He turned to her, head shaking. "And that is fine by me. I have no ambition to sit on a throne, dealing with nobles day after day. This isn't me. I'm a Grey Warden, not a politician."

"Ah, but such things can be learned, my dear Alistair."

"What an utter relief."

"...Or you simply assassinate your political enemies. Such is the way we do it in Antiva. It is more efficient than an election. As we say: 'Politics and death go together like kisses and love-making.'"

"And one might wonder _why_ I kept my heritage a secret for so long."

He heard Leliana giggle beside him. "Yet, there is truth in Zev's words. I know that from my time in Orlais and as a bard."

"I'm thrilled beyond words, really," Alistair deadpanned and felt his mood drop to a new low level. "...Look, there is an invasion of _undead_ soon, so this is probably not the _best_ time to discuss the escapades of the father I never knew, nor the prospect of a horrible future. Not to mention that this has brought me nothing but trouble, as is obvious for anyone to see with Lenya now."

Leliana hummed in agreement. "You should make up with her."

"Thanks for yet another _gratuitous_ suggestion!" He was startled by the force he put behind those words, but even more by Leliana's shocked expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you." He sighed, his gloved hand raised in a placating gesture. "It is just... the thing with Lenya and then I return here for the first time after years, only to discover the Arl gravely ill and the village I grew up in threatened by undead creatures. I really thought that we could just walk up to Eamon for once, _without_ encountering a ton of problems first. Stupid me, huh?"

For a moment he was undecided whether to sink down and scream in frustration or to search for something to smash and kill. He felt as if he needed to do _both_. Leliana patted him a bit awkwardly on his armored back. "No harm done, Alistair. We didn't exactly expect _this_ when we finally got here. So let's make the best of it, no?"

"Right." He nodded. "We'd better get started, lest we still be standing here when the attack begins."

Alistair looked around, taking in the worrying picture of men in ill-fitting odds and ends of armor. Some of them were practicing what little archery skills they had. Their arrows made a sound like a flock of birds taking wing as they hit the wooden targets standing at the side. Nevertheless their training couldn't hide the fact that they were not warriors, but simple men trying to defend what was left of their village. Around them, the dirt-packed expanse of the square was bustling with a hectic and desperate activity. People were shoring up barricades and carrying out what looked to be futile preparation for the night to come.

"The more I look at the desolate armor and weapons of these untrained men, the more wise I think the decision of our leader to _leave_." Before Alistair had the chance to protest, the elf had already moved forward, waving the issue away. "Ah well. I think the house of the young lady is this way, yes?"

.

~V~

.

Inside the house, everything was still.

Looking around, Alistair didn't see anything out of place. The rooms were tastefully decorated with dark wooden furniture and finished with neat, little details that told of the family living here. It made him a bit uncomfortable to be there, because he felt like an intruder in a place where he didn't belong. More bothersome was the fact that there was no sign of the child, no matter how often Leliana and Alistair called for him.

The door slammed open, and for a moment Alistair thought the child had run off in fear - but it was only the damned elf returning from looking outside the house for him. Why he chose to follow him and not Lenya, as usual, was still baffling him. Maybe it had more to do with the _other _person accompanying him. He was well aware of Leliana's and Zevran's liaison and considering their boisterous... _activity_ at night that was no surprise. Alistair was perhaps inexperienced, but certainly not _that_ stupid.

"I take it, you haven't found the boy yet?" Zevran's dark eyes swept through the room before he walked purposefully up to a massive-sized wooden closet at the side. Without hesitation, he pulled the doors open and gave him a pointed look. The child cowered on the ground, shaking in fear. "Frightened children always hide somewhere, my dear friend. Preferably in closets. I did the same when I was young and new to the Crows, but they quickly beat that out of me. _Literally_."

He was oddly cheerful about _that_, making Alistair wonder once more _who_ this elf really was. Even to him it was obvious that Zevran was playing a role he was comfortable with. Like Lenya he chose to be guarded and only be open with the people he trusted, which would explain _why_ they got along so well after all.

At the same time, it made it hard for Alistair to be at ease whenever Lenya was spending time with him, because he couldn't fathom his motives, nor did he trust him... _much_. Though he trusted Lenya's judgment and... why, by the Maker, was he even _thinking_ about that assassin? Shaking his head, Alistair focused his attention back on the still-frightened boy.

"You can come out," he said, voice soft. "No one is going to hurt you."

Bevin stopped trembling, even if only to peer up through his hands. Then, curiosity seemed to win over fear and he scrutinized Alistair's huge form openly. "A-are you a warrior?"

His wondering tone caused Alistair to smile. "I guess I am." He knelt down next to the boy, his massive armor creaking with the motion. "Your name is Bevin, right?" The child nodded, still observing him with wide eyes, but the fear in his gaze changing into ..._admiration_? "Your sister is searching for you. She's worried sick that something happened to you."

The boy frowned. "I didn't want that. I just... didn't want to be in the chantry anymore. Everyone's scared, and I want to be brave."

"And I'm sure you are. How old are you, Bevin?"

"Eight, warrior-ser." Bevin glanced past his shoulder where his weapon was sheathed. "Wow, is that a real, _true_ sword?" Alistair nodded with a smile, not wanting to scare him. The boy reminded him of himself when dreams about being a warrior, fighting and slaying monsters had been an idle fantasy of a child and not hard, cold _reality_. When life had been peaceful, _easy_ – far away from the obedience the Chantry dictated of him later on. He suddenly felt _old_, especially in the presence of an eight year old boy.

"We have a real true sword, too. Father said I could have _his_ when I grew up. It was Grandfather's, and Grandfather was a great dragon-slayer." The enthusiasm vanished from his voice, it grew quieter, more sad. "I thought... if I was brave like Grandfather, I could use his sword and... kill the bad people who took Mother." The boy paused, looking down. "But...the sword was too heavy for me. I wish...I were as strong as you, ser."

Cautiously, Alistair patted his tiny shoulder. "You will be, Bevin. In time, when you have grown up."

The boy frowned. "But that isn't helping me _now_. My sister Kaitlyn says we all going to die tonight."

"Where is the sword now?" Zevran piped up, which earned him a dirty look of the Warden.

"In the chest in Mother's room. Father gave me a key, but I'm not supposed to give it to anyone."

"Ah, but you should know that we are fighting the bad people tonight. The sword could help us, my dear boy." Alistair's glare at him intensified.

"You will?" Bevin beamed, then glanced over to Alistair, unsure. "Are you going to fight, too?"

"Of course. But _you_ should return to your sister. She needs you now. So be brave for her, okay?" Alistair looked up to Leliana. "Could you ensure that he returns safely to his sister? Meet us up at the windmill after that."

Leliana nodded and turned to Bevin. "Come on. I'm sure your sister will be happy to see you."

"W-wait." The boy stepped forward, rummaged in his pocket and put a key into Alistair's gloved hand. "I hope you use it to kill a lot of those bad people."

Alistair frowned. Such a jaded, cold thing to say for an eight year old. Despite Eamon's negligence and Isolde's resentment, he'd had a far more carefree childhood than this boy in the time of a Blight... at least until he was sent off to the Chantry. "I'll save this village, don't worry," he said to calm him down and watched the child leave with Leliana.

For a long moment, everything went still again until Zevran stepped forward and claimed the key to get the sword upstairs. The elf could be so quiet and soundless that one could easily forget he was actually _there_. He was like a shadow melting in with its surroundings and that fact gave Alistair the creeps. He waited for the assassin to return, in his hands the desired weapon. The elf freed its from his plain sheath and the blade sang in approval, as if glad to be used again. The well balanced blade shimmered faintly green, causing Zevran to give a low whistle.

"Ah, now that is a sexy sword. Do you mind if I keep it?"

"No, I guess not." Alistair bit his lip, hesitate to ask. "Why did you confront us openly back then when your chance of success had been so much higher if you would have used your stealth abilities? Not that I'm sad about it, of course."

Zevran glanced up from the blade with what seemed to be undisguised shock. The moment passed and Alistair could literally see the mask of casualness being set back in place. He shrugged. "Maybe I was too certain of my victory and underestimated the abilities of the deadly sex goddess that our dear Warden is." Alistair threw him a vexed look and the elf chuckled, though the amusement faded quickly. "Or maybe I didn't expect to survive. Take your pick." Zevran turned away from him and examined the weapon, while Alistair stared at him in bewilderment.

"I am slowly coming to realize why Lenya chose you, though," the elf said after a bout of silence, as if it were nothing special. "Although I still want to deck you for the hurt you inflicted upon her with your tardy admission."

"Hmm..." Alistair hummed in agreement and sighed. "I should have told her earlier about my heritage, but it was never important to me. Why is it so for her?"

Zevran's gaze hardened in an instant, his tone bearing a hint of cold efficiency. "You still don't get it? Ah, my dear Alistair, you have much left to learn, it seems. It wasn't your heritage, but the fact that you kept it from her for so long. You should know by now how much our lovely leader hates to be lied to."

"Right, I get it. I screwed up. It seems I'm good at that, at least." Cynical, he added, "Yay."

"Give her time to cool down, then apologize." Zevran sheathed the sword again and shrugged. "Unless you want to be hacked to pieces, of course."

"Maker, she is so damned _scary _when she is angry." _But very hot, too._ Alistair blinked, wondering where this added thought came from. Now was certainly not the time to indulge in idle fantasies about Lenya being pressed against his body while her soft lips... – he mentally shook himself. _Focus!_

"Ah, yes. I do not envy the army of undead upon which she gets unleashed tonight."

Walking toward the exit, Alistair chuckled. "True, that."

.

.


	83. Maybe Tomorrow Is A Better Day

_**Save me  
I'm my own worst enemy  
Running headlong to the wall cos I want my freebie  
Save me  
You're the only out I see  
And I need your love the most when I least deserve it  
**_

_~ Poets Of The Fall – Save Me_

* * *

.

**Chapter 77: Maybe Tomorrow Is A Better Day**

.

"Are you Murdock?"

Lenya stopped before a gritty human with the oddest facial hair she had ever seen. Standing in front of the barricade, he issued orders to a group, but as soon he turned his attention toward the Dalish his face fell. "Why do _you _want to know? Shouldn't you be in the Chantry with the other women, _elf_?"

The last straw of patience she somehow held on to snapped like a dry, dead twig. "Do I look like–" she started to yell, but Sten was quicker. As if he were a puppet made out of paper he heaved the human at his collar up, uncaring for his strangled gasps and desperate attempt to free himself.

"This is their leader?" He scrutinized him and snorted derisively. "Pathetic."

Lenya's ears twitched, noticing the all too familiar sound of arrows within taunt bowstrings. Most likely they were pointing in their direction, but she wouldn't turn around to find out. "Sten, he might be an ass, but he is no ass I can't handle _myself_. Put him down, please."

"I don't understand your wish to save these humans."

She shrugged. "That makes two of us."

The Qunari let the man fall abruptly, landing him unceremoniously on his ass. Sten leaned forward, looming over the human like a tall, threatening statue. "You will address her properly. Unlike you, she _is_ a leader and deserves respect!"

Lenya raised her eyebrow at him in surprise. "I am? ..._Wow_."

It almost looked as if a hint of humor hushed over his stoic face. "Mostly."

Murdock still crouched on the ground and didn't dare move, other than to stare at her with wide eyes. Perhaps this unwillingness was due to Arai, who growled and bared his fangs ferociously at the human, ready to jump at his throat any minute.

"Maybe we should start over," Lenya said coolly and started to pace without letting the human out of her sight. "I don't think I had the chance to introduce myself. I'm the one who has decided to save the stinking remnants of the village you are the Mayor of. Whatever that is." Murdock wanted to raise his voice, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Just to be clear: I had a very, very _bad_ day and thus my patience is severely limited - especially since I should be out there fighting the Blight or strangling my fellow Warden. Instead I'm here and solving petty problems that aren't mine. _Again_. So _do _go on, but know that if you are incapable of cooperating with me or accepting that I'm the one in charge – Dalish and a woman as I am – I will gladly walk out of here and watch the village _burn_."

Smirking, Lenya watched how her words sank in and whistled briefly to call Arai back. With a distrusting huff, the Mabari complied and nudged her leg as if wanting a treat. She reached down to ruffle his ear and heard Morrigan's snort behind her.

"A very amusing display, my friend, but how is _this_ getting us further, exactly?"

The human stood up and warily eyed the Mabari's and Lenya's next move. As nothing happened, he let out a bone-weary sigh. "My apologies, err, lady. Not much used to your kind, that's all. Some elven folks serve in the castle, but they don't come down to the village." Lenya made a step forward, causing him to back away. "Which doesn't mean _you_ should serve because you _are_ an elf, but – _urgh_. Can we just discuss business? I have a _lot_ more to worry about then getting mauled by a giant or a dog. An impending army of undead, for example."

Morrigan's lips twitched into that familiar smirk of triumph, like a cat who's just pinned something under one paw. "A most excellent decision."

"Well, now, that's just great." Murdock's gaze flung over to the witch and her staff strapped on her back. "As if we weren't nervous enough as it was, now we get _magic_ too. Anyway, we won't turn aside anyone who wants to help."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Who said I _want_ to help, fool?"

"Enough!" Lenya was weary of the bickering; she already felt a headache forming behind her eyes. This would be a long day... and an even a longer night. "Is there actually something to do, or are we just waiting for sunset to see your people slaughtered?"

"I think, it is obvious, _Warden_ –" he lay extra emphasis on her title, but it sounded a lot like mocking, "–that the armor and weapons of my men need repair. Owen is the blacksmith here and the only one who could do it, yet the old stubborn fool refuses to even talk and has locked himself in the smithy. I can't force him to do repairs... He says he'd rather die first."

"Oh, _wonderful_." Lenya clasped her hands together, overly sarcastic. "It is great to see how _supportive_ humans are to each other in a time of crisis."

"I reckon this has less to do with race, Lenya, and all the more with idiocy," Morrigan remarked.

"You have a point there." She turned back to Murdock. "So let me guess, you want me to be persuasive and convince him to change his mind? Is there _anything_ you actually can do for _yourself_?"

The human snorted, still not taking her wholly seriously. "I guess I should be thankful that you dropped by and graced us with your magnificence, then. If we're to be ready for tonight, however, we'll need that crotchety bastard's help."

"Where is _my_ sword?" Sten asked so suddenly and out of place, that even Lenya's head snapped into his direction.

Murdock blinked. "Your – _what_?"

"Are you deaf in addition to _dumb_, human?"

"I think what my giant and very angry friend is trying to ask is: If a dwarf lives in this village. I can't recall his name, something with 'D', I think. And he has an item that belongs rightfully my companion."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "You mean Dwyn? Lives near the lake. Locked himself up in his home with some of his workers, he has, says he doesn't need any of us."

_"Parshaara!"_ With an angry growl and a speed that belied his seize, the Qunari stormed off into the direction of the houses nearby.

Murdock watched him leave, bemused. "Seems like _he_ would need help soon, however. If you can, Warden, convince your giant to leave the dwarf in one piece. We could use some extra bodies out here. Especially veterans like Dwyn."

Lenya didn't care to answer, as she was already too busy trying to catch up with her furious companion.

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya quickly found her rogue Qunari.

Then again, the smashed pieces of a wooden door were a telltale sign of his destination _and_ wrath. The other was that Dwyn, face tattooed with a fierce-looking brand, dangled in the air. She arched an eyebrow. Sten seemed to have a thing today for heaving people up to strangle them.

_Curious_.

"Where is my sword?" His growled words rolled like a tidal wave through the stuffed cottage, keeping the two other thugs at bay with ease.

"Gnaargh."

Lenya rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Sten, I don't think you can get an answer out of a person while _strangling_ them. Kill him _after_ you get your answer. Even better, let him fight outside with the villagers tonight. It's not fair if we have all the fun for ourselves, don't you think?"

"You talk too much, _kadan_." Despite his words, Sten let the dwarf fall, which his henchmen took as an invitation to step forward, hands on the hilts of their weapons. Their half-baked idea quickly fell apart as Arai sprang snarling in front of his mistress in a protective manner, and Sten freed his own weapon. Lenya knew she could kill them quickly, if needed. Though she'd prefer _not_ to, since their gear looked a lot better than anything the villagers had and they were actually _trained_ fighters.

Dwyn, still on the ground, coughed and swore creatively while gasping for air. "Sodding Ancestors tits, get that giant away from me!" He scrambled back to his feet.

"Depends on how cooperative you are, _durgen'len_," Lenya replied, sauntering closer like a predator targeting its prey. "I believe you have something that belongs to my angry friend?"

For a moment, it looked as if Dwyn pondered battle as his gaze swept over the Qunari, the still growling Arai and back to Lenya, annoyed. "Now I even have to take orders from a little elven girl? Stone-ass, there's a _reason_ I left Orzammar, but _this_ is none of them." His hand fell away from his weapon belt with a sigh. "Faryn never mentioned he took it from a_ live_ giant."

"My sword!" Sten's massive figure tensed even further in an obvious attempt to stay calm. "Before I lose my patience!"

"You barge into my house by breaking my door and threaten me for _this_?" He groaned, displeased, as he handed Sten the key. "Fine, it's in the chest back there. Take it and leave, sodding surfacers." With a speed that surprised Lenya, the Qunari rushed toward the chest to open it. The two hired humans had the sense to step aside before they were pummeled down by him in his haste.

"Heh, broken door, trail of chaos and destruction... yup, thought I would find you here, Missy." Oghren flashed her a toothy grin, apparently amused by the situation he found her in.

Dwyn glared at Lenya_."More_ lunatics of yours? I swear we might as well leave the door open if people are going to keep coming in and out." A pause. "Oh, wait, it _is_ open. All the boarding up and barricading my house I've been doing for a week is for naught now. Thanks to _your_ fine work."

Lenya ignored his gratuitous complaint, instead watching with a smile as Sten freed his sword – his soul – from the confined space of the chest. His reverence and sudden calm would have been nearly poetic, were it not a deadly weapon as long as the blades of both her swords _combined_.

"What? Oghren blinked before his eyes fixed on his fellow dwarf, disgust laced in his gaze and voice. "You sodding Cloud-Gazers are hiding in _here_ while the whole village burns? Bah, bloody duster."

"Now aren't you special?" Dwyn arched a thick, bushy eyebrow at the dwarf, his tone sardonic. "Well, you look more than competent for this job. With you out there, they don't really need me, do they?"

"Actually, _yes_ they do," Lenya piped up. "Those humans seem to have problems distinguishing the hilt of a sword from the pointy end."

He glared up to her. "Who are _you,_ anyway, to strut around here as if you own this place? The last elven girl I saw cleaned the floor of my house."

"I'm a Grey Warden." Lenya straightened her posture and smirked instead of feeling offended. "And _I_ clean the floor with my enemies. Care to see the difference?"

A quick glance flickered over to her companions before his dark eyes landed back on her form. "You know what? In the interest of keeping my limbs _where_ they are, I think I won't." He groaned, annoyed. "Fine... you win. I'll fight. But I better see you out there in the square when those creatures come."

Her smirk widened. "Oh, _thank _you. You are _most_ kind."

"Don't thank me. I'm not doing this _for_ you. I'm doing this _because_ of you. My door's ruined anyway." Dwyn turned to go outside, his two henchmen following and grumbling, their displeasure as evident as that of their boss.

.

.

* * *

.

After shamelessly looting various bits of Dwyn's food and stashing it into her bag, Lenya followed her companions out of the house.

The point of her staff resting on the ground beside her, Morrigan leaned against a nearby wall, waiting. Even that casual posture looked graceful with her. "I see you got what you desired. Good for you."

Lenya mirrored her annoyed expression, the mask of being leader tossed aside for a moment. "No, what I _want _is time. Time to clean myself, time to rest, time to eat. Seeing as I don't get that, I better get the job done quickly so that I can move on to the things I want."

"Ah, I deduce from the order of your list that the the fool is not on it? Amusing."

Annoyance shifted into anger, ever so slightly. Whether it was Alistair's fault or Morrigan's for mentioning him, she couldn't even say. "We should move on, there is much to be done before nightfall."

"Oh, 'tis so _lovely_ to run errands. Shall we next begin rescuing kittens from trees?"

Lenya shook herself at the mentioning of cats and threw Morrigan a sour look. "You are doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"No, my inquiring mind rather wants to know _why_ you step so low to do _their_ dirty work? Even more so, why I have you to accompany for that?"

"Because I wanted to spend time with –" Stopping herself, she glared at her, simultaneously fed up and hurt by her antics. "You know what? _Go_. Simply leave and do whatever you like until nightfall, if it is so unbearable to walk around with me." For a moment Morrigan looked positively stricken by her words, _shocked, _even. Shaking her head, the witch turned away in a huff, the sound of her steps quickly changing into the caw of an elegant raven.

"Heh, let's just hope she doesn't go near Shale, then. Sodding stone is running amok at the birds here. Not that I've seen her, but some of the humans ran screaming away from her direction. Bloody amusing."

Lenya let out a long, weary sigh and frowned at the dwarf. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"Well, thought you could use some company, Warden. That and Felsi is still... you know –" He stopped, his brows creasing together at her tired expression. "You okay, Missy?"

She laughed, mirthlessly. "No. ...But I'll cope."

"Here. I know _this_ will help you with that." Oghren handed her his flask, which she eyed critically for a moment or two, before taking it. Not caring for its content, she swallowed down a few gulps of the brew. It ran down her throat like liquid fire, robbing her of the ability to breathe.

"That was foolish," rumbled Sten's voice from behind, while she coughed. "Fitting."

As soon as Lenya had recovered, she turned to glower at the giant and was startled to see the faintest of smiles on Sten's face. "I had almost forgotten it. Completion." He looked _serene_, of all things, and patted his blade like others would caress their beloved. "This is my soul. It was made for my hand alone, given to me on the day I took my place in the _Beresaad_. I thought I had lost it. You must be an _ashkaari_ to find a single lost blade in a country at war."

Lenya blinked to refrain from staring at him in bewilderment. "You... are welcome. As I said, a Dalish always keeps their word."

"I know. I would thank you for this, if I knew _how_." Sten nodded and oddly hesitated for a moment. "And... I have been mistaken. You are a soldier worthy to stand among the _Beresaad_. I did not think so when we first met."

"I'm not really a soldier, you know?" She swallowed and blinked some more, if only to cover up how very moved she was by his words. Knowing Sten, it was the highest praise one could get from the Qunari.

"Yes, indeed. You missed your destiny." Again one side of his lips quirked dangerously up. "But it is not an entirely bad thing."

"No." Slowly, she shook her head, eyes momentarily closed. If she'd have never become a Grey Warden, she would have never met these odd band of misfits that was steadily growing to become a clan of their own. "It isn't." As she opened them again, her lips wore a smile. "Thank you, Sten. I guess I needed to hear that now."

"You are welcome, _kadan_." Sten fell silent and tilted his massive head thoughtfully. "Now that I have my soul, my duty is to return to my lands and report to the _arishok_." Lenya frowned, not liking the thought of him leaving now, amidst the Blight. "...But I am one of the _Beresaad_. I have never abandoned the field with the battle unmet. And I could deliver a much more satisfying answer to the _arishok's_ question if the Blight were ended, don't you agree?"

As if he could read her mind. Her face lit up instantly, smiling in earnest as he waited for an answer. "I'm very glad to have you here, Sten."

"Yes, it isn't every Grey Warden who has her own _beresaad_." The Qunari inclined his head, the gesture respectful. "I will see you reach the Archdemon. Lead the way, _kadan_. " With a snort, he added in a typical dry note, "In spite of the fact that the _current_ way is a senseless fight for incompetent humans."

She laughed. "Noted."

"Sodding great." Oghren rolled his eyes with a groan. "Fuzzy feelings all around. Can we go now? There is still a woman in this village who isn't aware of her fortune today. Time to change that. Heh."

.

~V~

.

To Oghren's disappointment, Lenya didn't immediately take the way up to the tavern.

Instead she stood in front of the solid, wooden door of the blacksmith and _glared_ at it. "Open up."

"I already told you that the smithy is closed," slurred a voice through the door, a sigh of exasperation followed. "Now go _away_!"

"This is useless." Sten growled. "Step aside, _kadan_." Before Lenya had time to react, the Qunari shoved her aside and hauled back to smash the door. The hinges gave away with a loud creak, causing the door to land in one piece at its owner's feet. Even before the dust had settled, a gross stench of stale, foul sweat and alcohol wafted to her nostrils and penetrated them.

"Ugh." Lenya made a face and quickly covered her nose, though it did little against the reek.

In opposite of the Dalish, Oghren inhaled deeply with a grin. "Aaah. Misery, vomit, and malt liquor. Reminds me of home. Heh."

The old man within frowned thunderously at them. "If you're here to beat on a sad old man, then all I ask is you get on with it. I don't have much to live for as it is."

Sten looked equally disgusted. "Beating? I would prefer to throw him in a river."

"I concur." Lenya nodded in agreement, wrinkling her nose. She was by all means no pretty flower right now, with her skin and hair _itching_ from all the dirt and dust clinging to it, but that human's condition was _offensive._ "Sadly we aren't here for correcting his lack of hygiene." She looked at the man, suppressing the urge to snort in disgust. What little was left of his grey hair clung to his dirtied head in a greasy mess. His clothes didn't look any better, stained with old dirt and sweat, greasy like himself. He swayed on his feet, obviously drunk. _This_ was the blacksmith to whom the humans wanted to trust the repair of their weapons and armor?

Redcliffe was _doomed_.

Her gaze sweeping through the shady room, she discovered a wooden bucket with water beside the forge. Not trusting its quality, she took it and vanished with it to the river behind his house. Only moments later, Lenya reappeared in the door frame, walked straight up to the human and poured the bucket full of fresh, ice-cold water over his head.

Sten snorted, his approval apparent. "That is... better."

The old man sputtered and cursed, throwing racial insults at her she would have killed others for. Now, though, she simply waited until he was finished ranting and glared at him in a calm and cold way.

"_Now_ we talk."

"If you think you can intimidate me more than Murdock, then you're free to _try_."

"No," Lenya observed her hands as if not caring at all. "I just needed to get rid of your _stench_. Though maybe you can enlighten me as to why you locked yourself in here, while out there people are _dying_. Is that a human's twisted way of showing support? I'm confused."

Owen stared at her, caught between annoyance and bafflement. "Who _are_ you?"

She shrugged. "Name is Lenya. Grey Warden. Here to save your sorry ass."

He snorted, obviously not believing her. "Grey Warden, huh? It takes all kinds. Well, nice to meet you,_ Queen of Antiva_, but if you aren't going to bring my daughter back, I'll say the same to you that I did to Murdock. Bugger off! ...Or stay and drink, I don't care. We'll all be dead in a couple of hours, anyway."

"Drink, huh?" Lenya threw Oghren a sour look and the dwarf faltered. "Well, err, got my own, thanks." He sighed in her direction. "You are _no_ fun, Missy."

She didn't want to ask, but in favor of the task did it _anyway_. "What is wrong with your daughter, _ashin'bellar?"_

"My girl, Valena, is one of the arlessa's maids and she's trapped up there in the castle, but the mayor won't send anyone for her," he slurred, misery pouring from his every being. "She's been my life since my wife passed on two years ago. Now she's dead or soon to be. I don't care what happens to me, or the village, or anyone."

"Fantastic." Sten's violet eyes narrowed at her. "And you wonder why this village is in _this_ state?"

"Actually, I do not. " She sighed, annoyed. "But I do wonder if anything will survive the night."

"It was _your_ decision to fight for these insufferable humans, _kadan_."

"Exactly, which is why we are here now. Because we need to get to this damn Arl, as I don't have any idea about _shemlen_ politics." Then quieter, "Nor does Alistair."

The Qunari snorted. "_That_ is a surprise."

Lenya bit back a retort and turned her attention to the blacksmith again. "So, human, considering my patience is running thin and I have a long night of battle up in front, I suggest you get back to work. The militia is desperate enough to need your repairs, it seems."

He gazed at her, defiant. "Only when you _promise_ to find my Valena."

"This won't happen before we get to the massive stone pile uphills." She fixed him with a stare. "That means not before this night is over... and Creators know, I wish it _were_."

"Not good enough." Owen crossed his arms. The water still dripped from him, but he didn't seem to care. "I want a promise. You should know the value of a deal. You want something, _I_ want something."

Oh, how she _hated_ that human right now. Apparently, he wasn't as dumb as he seemed and had Lenya lured into a loop she couldn't escape without doing what _he_ wanted. "Fine," she snapped after a moment of consideration, "I'll _promise_ to look for your daughter. Happy now?"

The old sly smirked in all his drunken state. "Yes. Even more when we survive the night. I won't sober up until it is morning, but tell Murdock to send his men in here for the needed repairs. I still can do that much before it gets dark."

Lenya only nodded and turned around to go, the sound of flames being ignited sounding behind her.

"Wait," the smith called after. "I just remembered something Valena told me. Obviously, something wicked corrupts the castle. My daughter used to tell me the Arlessa was up to something, hiding things from her husband. I told Valena she was imagining things, but maybe the Arlessa _was_ involved in something. Blood magic, perhaps. I never listened much to her talk about it, though now I wish I had."

"Whatever" was all she said before leaving, unsure how much credit to give the rambling of a _drunken_ human.

.

.

* * *

.

Ser Perth had been a pleasant person to talk to, especially because Alistair got more information about Eamon's sickness and the Urn of the Sacred Ashes. It worried him to see so many capable men sent out and away from Redcliffe, especially now when the village direly needed the protection itself. And all sent out to search for a myth, something that might not even exist? He didn't want to think about how gravely ill Eamon must be for Iso...- the Arlessa to act like that.

They threaded the way back downhill, to visit the chantry once more and retrieve some holy symbols for Perth's men, a task that left Leliana disgruntled. "Must we do this? The faith that will protect these men must come from their heart, surely."

"Well, yes," he answered, turning to her while concentrating on not stumbling on the uneven ground. "But you shouldn't forget that faith can be a potent weapon and motivation - something these men will need tonight."

"And those amulets might look pretty in the night, my dear. Like a beacon for the undead. Ah, it will be easier to kill them if they all head straight for the shiny amulets, after all," Zevran added with a chuckle, ever so unhelpful.

"Or we simply use the oil you discovered and make these creatures into a flaming beacon," Leliana retorted, eyes narrowing slightly.

The elf shrugged, the grin in her direction not abating. "Works for me."

"What is going on there in the tavern?" Frowning, Alistair pointed toward the rough collection of planks that formed the local pub. It seemed to have suffered an attack the nights before and only got partially repaired. More odd than this, however, was that a couple of people ran from the place as if a darkspawn horde were on their heels. Alistair managed to stop one of the men – a lank fellow with sandy hair – and repeated his question.

"'Tis the knife-ear. She's about to kill everyone in the tavern. Knew it was no good of our Bann to trust a crazy elven wench."

"Ah," Zevran glowered at the man, which belied his casual tone. "Nothing more fun than a good racial slur, no?"

In an instant, Alistair gripped the lank man by his collar and jerked him forward, a surge of wrath rushing through him. "Be careful," he warned his startled captive, the words rolling in a furious growl from his lips, "_how_ you describe my fellow Grey Warden." _And the woman I love._

"Y-yes," came the meek reply, wincing as Alistair raised his fist. "C-can I g-go now, Warden-ser?"

"Come on, Alistair, Lenya might be in trouble," Leliana urged.

Reluctantly, he let go of the man, but not without giving him a good shove that toppled him into the dust, ass first.

.

~V~

.

As it turned out, it wasn't _exactly_ his fellow Warden who was in trouble.

It was rather _another_ elf, who lay sprawled on one table, Lenya's blade at his throat. The remaining guests seemed to watch the scene with an odd mixture of horror and fascination, particularly the dwarven woman serving the drinks. She watched, face amused, as the Dalish woman pressed the other elf to the table, while the obese human behind the bar seemed to be frozen in fear.

"Lenya," Alistair swallowed to keep his voice from trembling. It had been some time since he had addressed her directly. He wanted nothing more than to make up, to return to where things were, but it would be foolish to do so while she held a weapon in her hand. "Leave him." He made a tentative step toward her, yet she did not yield, nor regard his presence.

"He is a spy. From Loghain."

"_W-what?_"

Not taking her eyes from the elf, Lenya threw a crumbled note to his feet. Confused, Alistair bent down and picked it up to read:

_Berwick,_

_We need your eyes and ears in Redcliffe. Stay in the village, keep your head down, and watch the castle. Report any changes, and you'll be well paid._

"I just... thought I was serving the king and... making a bit of coin on the side." Berwick managed, gasping and desperate. "You _have_ to believe me!"

"Shut up, flat-ear!" She increased the pressure on his throat in her anger, drawing a few drops of blood.

"Bah. I say kill him." Oghren suggested, then grinned. "Heh, would be a good show for my lady, she likes stuff like that. Gets the blood flowing, and not just outside the skin, if you catch my stone."

"She said she doesn't want to mate with you." Sten muttered at the dwarf with a snort. "Understandable."

"Whadda you know, sodding giant? Keep fondling your sword. I'll get myself some _real_ dwarven rump in the meanwhile." After a pause, he chortled. "Heh, _fondling_ your sword, get it?"

Sten let out a long suffering sigh and turned to Lenya. "To kill him now isn't honorable, _kadan_. Let him fight in the night like the other fools."

"Ah, that would be us, _too_, yes?"

"Your grasp of the obvious is astonishing, elf. ...I will return to my meditations now." With that, the Qunari walked out of the tavern, uncaring for the ominous looks following him.

"Hmm," Zevran mused, grinning. "Is he aware that he inadvertently insulted himself by that?"

Leliana groaned. "I don't think Sten _cares_, Zev."

"You are awfully moody today, my dear. _Tsk_."

"Sten is right, Lenya. He is Redcliffe's charge, not ours." Alistair suppressed the sudden anger at the letter and the meaning behind it, as he took another step forward. "Let's bring him to Bann Teagan and let him decide what to do."

For a long moment nothing happened; even the elf stopped struggling as if accepting his grim fate. Then abruptly Lenya heaved him off the table and shoved him in Alistair's direction. "Fine, take him. I don't care."

He watched her move to a table in the corner and frowned at her obvious erratic and tired state. The wish to take her into his arms became almost unbearable. "Lenya–"

"Don't. Just _don't_."

He sighed, frustrated. "Right. I better leave then."

"Maker bless you! Bless you! Thank you for your mercy. I thought I would d – "

"Shut up!" he snapped at the elven man, gripping his arm so tightly it was sure to leave bruises. "You are _not_ off the hook! Leliana, if you would be so kind as to accompany me? We still need to get the amulets, after all."

Confused by his demanding tone, she jumped up from her place. "A-all right."

The hardness subsided from his features as he glanced at Lenya once more, voice soft. "Get some rest before nightfall, yeah?"

.

.

* * *

.

As soon the door snapped closed, Lenya let her head sink down onto the table with a sigh.

"Why, by the Creators, must I fall for the damn son of a damn human king?" she asked, mumbling to no one in particular.

"Ah, but I had the impression you _love_ complicated things, my dear." She started as Zevran seemed to materialize beside her.

"Actually, its thrill is sorely overrated."

He chuckled. "And yet, you make your life more complicated than it has to be. I understand your anger at our Warden-prince, but I can see that you want to –"

"No," she interrupted him, glowering. "What I want now is actually to clean myself, to eat something and get some rest. Thanks to that damn spy and Oghren's unsolved wooing issue, I haven't really had time for it yet."

"No offense, but I think Oghren's wooing will be remained unsolved for some time." Another chuckle, which quickly faded again. "But you are right, my lovely leader, as always. The night will be long enough as it is. So we all should get some rest - especially you, enhanced Grey Warden stamina or not."

"My... _what?_"

"Aww, don't tell me you haven't heard the stories of Grey Wardens and their prowess in battle... and _other_ territories? What did they teach you there?" He tilted his head at her, smirking. "Why do you think you can march on when the rest of us are long tired, hmm? It is certainly an ability I envy you Grey Wardens for and one you will hopefully soon come to enjoy yourself with our dear Alistair. Once he has lost the... _eagerness_ of a virgin, of course."

Her face fell. "We are _not_ talking about what I think we are talking..."

"Sex?" He beamed. "Why, yes. If there is anything you want to know, I'm your man."

Groaning, her head hit the table with an audible '_thunk_'.

"Ah, we better get you a bit of sleep, no?" Zevran turned to the owner of the tavern. "Do you have a free room here?"

Lloyd, apparently sensing another business, smiled at the elf. "There is one room still intact and clean upstairs, but it w–"

Zevran's voice sunk several degrees, hitting a frosty and dangerous tone. "Don't you _dare_ charge for it, human, or I will see you fighting outside like the Warden beside me." Then, casual again, "And we don't want that, do we?"

The man frantically shook his head and handed the key to the elf, albeit reluctantly.

Zevran grinned. "Ah then, are you ready to leave, my dear?" From the table came only a tired, if non-committal grunt. "Or I can use the room. I wonder if Leliana – "

"Ugh." With one fluent movement of her hand, the key was snatched from him. "No thanks." Standing up and slinging the bag of food over her shoulder, Lenya hesitated for a moment, eyebrow raised. "You will make that human fight outside tonight, right?"

He grinned up from his tankard of cheap ale. "That goes without saying, my dear."

"Thought so." She shook her head, amused, before yawning thoroughly. "Well then, before the apocalypse comes, _wake_ me."

.

.

* * *

.

"Alistair, what are you doing here?"

He didn't answer Bann Teagan's confusion at seeing him here, instead shoving Berwick roughly in front of the man. It was normally _not_ his way to treat someone, but he was sorely lacking the patience for niceties at the moment. Especially not after Lenya had dismissed him anew, not to mention the implications of the orders given to the elf. It all reeked too much after Loghain's schemes at Ostagar and this angered him additionally.

"Talk!" Alistair snapped at his captive, his tone making clear that he wasn't tolerating anything _but_ the truth.

The fear was written on Berwick's face and he stammered his way through his words. "I... I'm not here to hurt anyone. It is just...I got paid to watch the castle and send word if anything should change. That's all… but they never said anything about monsters! I haven't even been able to report anything since this started, I swear!"

The confusion subsided from Teagan's expression, a hint of anger was in his voice, even though he kept his features even. "_Who_ hired you?"

"A tall fellow, I forget his name. He, uhh, said he was working for Howe. Arl Rendon Howe. He's an important man, Teyrn Loghain's right hand! So I didn't do anything wrong!"

Alistair exchanged a grim look with Teagan. "The timing is _awfully_ convenient, somehow."

The Bann frowned, leaning over to the Warden to whisper, "Are you suggesting what's happened here is related to Cailan's death and Eamon's illness?"

"You tell me, Teagan. My expertise isn't political scheming, but to stab things until they're dead."

The Bann sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Whatever it is, it will have to wait until after tonight." He looked at the elf. "I'm not sure if he has knowingly done the wrong thing... yet it was wrong nonetheless. You'll fight outside tonight for the sake of this village. If you survive, we speak again. If not, well, then the Maker has dispensed His judgment."

"I have to _fight_? Against these _monsters_?" Berwick was aghast. "That is more than I bargained for. I've never hurt anyone, I just had the order to observe and report any changes. Maybe they knew the Arl would get sick?"

Teagan glared at him."This _wasn't_ an offer!" He waved a young, armored man closer. "Dalton, take him to Ser Perth. Make sure he doesn't escape, not on the way up to Perth, nor before the battle. Is that clear?" The man nodded, took Berwick into his custody and walked with him towards the exit.

The Bann looked at Alistair again, this time with a frown. "When did you last rest or eat a bit, Alistair?"

"I...uhh... –" His thoughts strayed to the night at camp with Lenya in his arms and he unconsciously grimaced. "I'm okay."

"The night will be long and it has been reported to me that everything is running on schedule. Even Owen has started doing the long-awaited weapon and armor repairs, no doubt due to the efforts of your fellow Warden and yourself. So get some rest while you can. I need you at full strength tonight, and I wouldn't want to report to Eamon that you had fallen. He would be devastated."

_The Eamon card. Great_. Alistair groaned. The defiant part asked him why the Arl should even _care_ what happened with him. Then again, it was hard to deny that he indeed _was_ exhausted. The emotional stress, as well the adamant marching in heavy armor all day had worn him down. Every fiber in his body ached for a bit of relief and the gross feeling of swimming in his own sweat underneath the padding wasn't making it any better. "Right, a pause. Maybe not the worst thing now. Is there a place where I can – " He lapsed into silence, as he looked around into the mass of desperate people, sitting _everywhere _on the ground. Women were cradling their children in their arms, trying to calm their crying while they looked as if they would do nothing more than do the _same_.

"Okay, stupid question. Guess I need to keep my armor on." With a sigh, he trudged over to their packs on the side and searched for the bit of trail bread and dried fruits he knew they still had. It wouldn't be enough to still his ravenous hunger by a long shot, yet it would perhaps help to keep his stomach from _hurting_.

"Kaitlyn, this is the warrior who will save as all! He is strong and has a sword and will kill all the bad people that took mother away."

Alistair jerked up from the packs and nearly let the precious bit of food fall to the ground. He smiled uneasily at the boy standing in front of him in a fit of incomprehensible hero worshiping. Not only did he feel he was no one special, but he was also not exactly presentable at the moment with the hunger nagging on his nerves and patience.

"I take it you are the one who found my brother?" The girl smiled at him, oblivious to his distress. Alistair belatedly remembered to nod. "Thank you. Thank you! I can't say what it means to me to have Bevin back. I thought I'd lost him and was all alone." Distracted by a fierce itch in his face, he still managed another nod and forced a smile. Knowing that he would only hurt himself with the gloves on, he quickly discarded them to rub his face. Which, considering his hands were drenched in sweat, wasn't exactly the best idea he'd ever had. Alistair frowned at his now dirtied hands, stained by the dirt and dust previously clinging to his face. He felt like a pig; a sweaty, miserable, _hungry_ one.

"I know I have no right to say this and it may not be that important now in our situation, Ser, but maybe you want to clean y – "

"Yes, please." Alistair winced at how plaintive that sounded. He was aware that they weren't exactly traveling in the lap of luxury while fighting darkspawn and the Blight, but it _would_ be nice to be out of the armor for a bit and feel less scruffy.

Bevin beamed. "You can go to our house, warrior-ser! There is the lake nearby for water and we even have some food – "

"Call me Alistair, please. And no, I really can't take you up on the offer." Oh void, sometimes he _hated_ that he was unable to get out of his humble skin. It was only temporary, after all.

"Good, Alistair." Kaitlyn crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised. "Then _I_ insist on it. You have helped us so much and are fighting for all the people of this village tonight. So 'tis really just a small deed when we offer you a bed and some food for the rest of the day."

"Oh... okay." _Wait_. Did that really come out of his mouth right now? Blinking, he added,"I can give you a bit of silver... err... later, as my fellow Warden has the pouch and–"

"Don't worry about it." Kaitlyn shook her head, smiling. "Let's survive the night first. May the Maker smile on you and guide your blade against these monsters."

"And you. Err...the smiling part, obviously."

Before heading to the exit, he had the presence of mind to look over his shoulder and toward Leliana. The bard held the leather straps of some amulets in her folded hands while kneeling in front of the Reverend Mother, receiving a blessing. Glad to see the last errand resolved, he briefly pondered joining her. Maker knew he would need it for later. Then again, he had done enough kneeling and praying for a lifetime, so Alistair opted for the exit and a bit of sleep instead.

He knew he needed rest more than any prayers in Thedas.

.

.

* * *

.

As if the Archdemon didn't want him to miss the big grim party of undead, it ripped him out of sleep with fire and pain in his veins.

Due to his meditations, Alistair had become good at blocking out the nightmares. Sometimes, however, when he was too exhausted to prepare and steel himself against it, the archdemon intruded upon his dreams nonetheless.

Today had been such a day.

_Ugh_.

Gasping and sweaty, Alistair got up, anxiously noting the faint light in Kaitlyn's house. Clad only in his breeches, he walked over to one window to observe the sky. Relief flooded him as he saw how the sky had adapted a deeper color, but it was an hour or more distant from growing dark.

Alistair turned to frown at the filthy armor parts piled neatly on the ground. It was time to get back in that thing. Time to prepare himself for a long fight, time for – _I need to make up with her._

Blinking, he bent down to pick up his tunic and gambeson, wondering where _that_ thought had come from all of a sudden. His muscles still felt a bit stiff from sleep and exhaustion, but that was nothing compared to getting back in his sweat-soaked padding. While he was clean – _cleaner_ – after a thorough use of soap and water, his armor was _not_. Then again, he didn't think the undead would care if his armor was shiny or not. It was there to protect him from being stabbed and so far it had done a good job.

Everything else could wait until sunrise.

One thought in his mind stopped him dead in his well-practiced routine of donning armor parts and fastening buckles and clips:

_Except for _one_ thing._

.

.

* * *

.

For Lenya, the waiting was the worst part of a battle.

Not only had she never been the most patient person to begin with, but the tense atmosphere - anticipation and apprehension alike of what would come - stretched her nerves. Beside her were murmurs, quiet sighs and foreign prayers of frightened humans that were anything but warriors. Owen had kept his promise and patched their weapons and armor, yet it was still far below any standard Lenya would deem adequate. The crackling flames wound around the torches the humans held to light the oil-drained barricades and the eerie whisper of wind was unbearably loud.

She shifted from one foot to the other, fed up with staring out into a sky burning alight with bright red and golden patches. The sunset up the hill was beautiful and serene, despite its heralding the arrival of the unearthly event of walking dead. The thought chilled her bones and settled with unease into her stomach. Not that _anyone_ would revel in the sight of undead, but for Lenya it meant also a suppression of unwanted memories every time she faced them. Memories of the elven ruin and Tamlen, where she'd fought them for the first time.

Where it had all began.

Ironically, it had led her into a human village where she fought alongside humans to protect what was left of their homes. If Tamlen could see her now, he would be uncertain whether to be floored in disbelief or caught in a hysterical fit of laughter at the irony of it. Probably both. It would be an accurate reaction, because sometimes she couldn't believe _herself_ just how much she had changed in the last few months. Had Alistair asked her any earlier than _now_ to help to protect a human village, she'd have declared him insane and left. Without blinking twice.

_Alistair_...

Exasperation added itself to the lingering impatience. She loved the damn human fool but – _Andruil's blasted tits_ – why must he be so infuriating and things _always_ so complicated? She hated it, _hated_ his lack of trust, hated that it got so much her under her skin. Huffing, Lenya kicked a pebble away, which caused Arai to flinch and Zevran to chuckle beside her.

"Ah, your palpable anger makes me glad to be on _this_ side of the battlefield. Even more glad, I mean."

"What do you mean by that?" she groused towards her friend without turning to him.

"Nothing," he answered, casually. "Just that I don't envy the undead meeting you in your current mood, my fearsome leader."

Her answer was an unladylike snort. Maybe Zevran was right, like he was so frustratingly often in the past. Perhaps a fight was what she needed to get rid of this sullen mood. She only wished it wouldn't last the whole night.

They waited. The air stank of oil and fear. With every passing minute the horizon darkened in color. It wouldn't be much longer now.

Behind her, the sails of the old windmill creaked in tune with the howling of a sudden gust. Torch-fire flickered in the desperate attempt to stay lit in the darkness, threatened as it was to be smothered before the barricades could be set aflame. Lenya didn't care much for their sudden fit of anxiety at that, knowing Morrigan was close by and Wynne was down with Murdock. The witch easily stood out in the tangle of humans with her dress of leather rags and feathers, an aura of powerful magic enveloping her. While Lenya was still peeved about her antics earlier, she knew she could count on her during the battle. Knew that–

Her thoughts scattered as a kiss was softly pressed on her cheek and his breath tickled her skin amidst the wind behind his whisper. "I love you. Nothing can change that."

Before she could wonder how she had failed to notice his approach, or form a coherent retort, Alistair had vanished into the horde again.

Lenya hated when he did that, but especially _loathed_ how it turned her knees into a mass of goo. She threw a glare toward the mixed group of knights and militia nearby, even though he wasn't visible within.

_Dread Wolf take him!_

Her cheek burned with his kiss, matching the barricades flaring alight as the attack started.

.

.


	84. Dawn

_Aside the undead battle, it focuses on a lot of character interaction and relationships. You know a typical Meri is verbose chapter xD Thanks once more to all reading, reviewing, lurking and especially to tklivory for the beta *hugs*  
_

_.  
_

* * *

_**You see everything, you see every part  
You see all my light and you love my dark  
You dig everything of which I'm ashamed  
There's not anything to which you can't relate  
And you're still here**_

_Everything - Alanis Morissette_

* * *

.

**Chapter 78: Dawn**

.

They kept coming.

There seemed no end to the masses of undead stumbling their way down into the village, slow but unstoppable. Arms outstretched, they mindlessly pushed on, climbing even over fallen bodies in the single intent of spreading destruction and death. Overhead, the sky was still painted in a pitch black, but Lenya had lost all sense of time in the chaos of battle, anyway. She didn't know how long they still had to hold on or how many creatures she had felled in her haze. Fighting wasn't thinking, fighting was _reacting_, being quicker than the enemy. If one let their mind dominate during a battle instead of instincts, it meant as good as certain death.

Whirling around, Lenya parried a thrust and buried her blade into the rotted face of a charging creature, splitting its skull in two. For a fraction of a moment she became aware of her surroundings, saw the ground covered by the dead and militia alike, heard the screams of falling men and the moans of the undead. Sweat dripped off her brows as she made another thrust toward rotten flesh, threatening to blind her sight. Knowing she had to endure, she shook it off like the burning in her muscles, like her scratches and scrapes, and continued.

There was no other way.

The air smelled of death. It wasn't only the foul stench of burnt flesh and the lingering coppery tang of blood: the very soil seemed to reek with its stink, as if the whole village was suffering from a disease, a sickness slowly pulling it into the ground. Lenya was barely aware _where_ in the village she was now, her world narrowed down to the mechanical pattern of parry, thrusts and severing rotten body parts.

"Hold the line!" Someone screamed and she didn't recognize the voice in the tangle of clattering steel and the crackling fire of burning buildings. "They can't get through to the Chantry!"

_The Chantry. Right._

Regretting the luxury of a thought, she spun to slash across a foul abdomen, the creature at her back missing her head by mere inch inches. Despite their intentions, they had fallen back once the barricades stopped burning, the oil for it having run out some time ago. Yet the undead kept coming: heedlessly pushing, moaning, _biting_ into living flesh, constantly advancing without a second of pause. And they were no longer slowed down by the fire, the mass of charred corpses a telltale sign for its prior efficiency.

It was hard to imagine that the creatures had lived once, their decayed faces twisted and hollow. Nothing remained in these creatures that even hinted at their past as humans and elves from the castle and village. Disturbed in their eternal rest, they were compelled to claim the remainder of the living here in their mindless frenzy to destroy and kill. Lenya could feel the tendrils of dark magic in the air. Someone in the distance was holding the reins of this mad force, probably _amused_ at the gruesome spectacle taking place. It made her sick to her stomach to think about it, even more than the acrid stench lingering on the battlefield.

Their number had greatly diminished over the course of the night: half of the militia was either dead or wounded, the fat innkeeper had been speared on one of the many barricades, and the two thugs of Dwyn had fallen as well, though the dwarf himself held out fairly well. Lenya didn't know anything about the state of her companions, having lost sight of them in the midst of the havoc - all except for Arai, who never left her side in the first place. Ears flattened, the Mabari kept snarling, snapping and tearing the flesh of all that moved in too close to her, despite his wounded flank. Like herself, he kept going, driven by the basic will to survive. Morrigan had retreated on the top of a house nearby, her fire and lightning flaring and crashing into the next pressing wave of undead, illuminated the steep darkness of night in a ghastly light. Her magic seemed to be weakening, the spell-weaving more cumbersome. She was on the brink of exhaustion – maybe even past it – but had no other choice than to go on.

Lenya then made the mistake of looking for Alistair, her eyes sweeping over the battlefield in the need to find him, but to no avail. Being distracted for an instant was enough for one creature to break through her defense, the side-step too late as it launched itself at her, hissing. It ripped her off her feet, its stink of death so intense she became dizzy from nausea for a moment. Fighting against her own senses, Lenya scrambled back and rolled to the side before the creature could sink its fangs and weapons into her. Arai lunged, ripping and tearing at it with a ferocious anger for _daring_ to threaten his mistress. Out of breath, she tried to stand until a fierce pain made her cry out and fall down a second time. The agony she felt was as if glass shards had exploded in her body, ripping her apart.

Lenya looked down and panicked. A stray arrow, indeterminate in origin, stuck out of her thigh, all the way through. She tried to stand up – knowing she _had_ to– but it was hopeless. She was robbed of her mobility and quickness by the injury, her biggest and most dangerous weapon in battle shattered by a _single_ _arrow_.

It was a _pathetic_ way to go down.

She clutched her weapons still, as if her life depended on them - and in more than one way, it _did_. Crouching and dizzy with pain, she still managed to take the next one down and speared its half-decayed guts with her sword. The Mabari launched himself at the creature behind her back, but they kept coming, pressing in, and she couldn't hold out much longer. The wound couldn't get healed until the arrow was out, which required time _and_ caution so as not to risk nerve damage. Both were things Lenya sorely _lacked_.

_Because I helped _humans_..._

With sort of detached irony, she laughed at the thought of dying here.

_The gods must be cackling with gl... – What is that sound?_

The familiar sound of clashing steel deflected by a shield permeated through her haze of pain and made her look up.

He seemed unreal, the possibility of him being _here_ all of a sudden like a wishful illusion conjured by her brain. And yet, the creatures trying to attack the easy pray that she momentarily was, kept falling and _failing_ in their many attempts. Like an unstoppable force of nature he plowed through their rows, a brutal clarity and desperate wrath guiding his blade. He smashed brittle bones and severed filthy limbs in an accurate poetry of death to protect her, to keep her alive.

_I love you. Nothing can change that..._

Alistair stayed true to this promise. His actions spoke louder than words or apologies _ever_ could.

He screamed out something, but never left her side. Suddenly they came running, her companions, and enclosed her in a protective circle. Together, they shielded her from the harm she couldn't fend off any longer in her exhaustion and pain.

_Sten looks nearly happy,_ Lenya thought in a detached fashion, as if only _watching_ the battle from a high-placed seat. Asala gleamed in the dim moonlight, a true extension of himself that brought death to all who stood against him. Each move spoke of it. She heard the lewd cursing of Oghren as he rammed his axe in a skull, saw the fluent weaving play of the sword and dagger of Zevran. Arai snarled and snapped at every movement, black blood staining his ragged fur. They had built a unit amidst the chaos of battle in their common goal to survive the night and keep her alive. She must have done something right in the past, since each of them was ready to fight and to die for her.

_A clan of my own... Curious._

Barely conscious, Lenya didn't know how long the battle still went on, or when it stopped. She only noticed that at some point, it _did_. For a long while the surviving knights and men of the militia stared into the direction of the castle and the wide horizon of the approaching sunrise before daring to erupt into a worn but joyous cheering. Face turned up to the sky, Lenya watched the tentative veins of pink thread through the bruised, purple-blue underbelly of clouds. She laughed as relief swept over her, the interplay of colors above easily the most beautiful thing to witness after the bleak darkness.

_Alive. Still alive._

Gasping, he fell to his knees, armor, shield and sword clattering in synch on the ground. Alistair was drenched in sweat and black blood, shaking with the effort to keep his bearings and yet... _laughing_ with her. She looked at him in wonder, the sunrise behind him bathing him in a red golden light. He was beautiful, even amidst the mess and destruction. It was her last thought before she felt herself slipping, but he was at her side in an instant and taking her in his arms.

"Let's find – " She didn't let Alistair go any further with his words as her lips crushed against his, ignoring everything else for the moment. Unfortunately, her injury wormed its way back into her consciousness again with a ripping pain, forcing her to cry out.

Alistair scowled down at her wound and she knew why. The arrow had stopped the bleeding, but her leg was swollen, numb. Lenya had seen such a wound often – _even experienced it _– before, so she knew its treatment. Yanking the missile out without precaution would only cause the stuck blood to run free, leading to severe blood loss.

The village was still in chaos. Humans staggered in between a horrid blanket of rotten corpses, searching for survivors despite their exhaustion. "I'll go and find Wynne!" Alistair looked anxiously around, but the mage was nowhere to be seen.

"N-n-no, stay!" Lenya managed. She didn't want to be left alone here, amidst their fallen enemies.

"Ah, but you shouldn't stay here, either." Visibly drained, Zevran sighed and turned to Alistair. "I'll go. Carry her away from the dirt and death, the wound must be cleaned soon or we'll risk an infection."

Alistair nodded. "Send Wynne to Kaitlyn's house. We'll wait there."

.

.

* * *

.

The templar fool was as predictable as ever.

As soon as Morrigan had opened the door to the house the smarmy elf had directed her to, she was greeted with a scowl.

"What do _you_ want?"

She stepped closer, unfazed by his reaction. The room was narrow, but sun-drenched through its big window. "The old bat is knocked out and hasn't woken yet. Thus the person you love to see as your darling grandmother is unavailable as healer."

He sat beside Lenya, his armor obviously shed in a hasty fashion since his greaves and shoulder pauldrons were still in place. As expected, this news didn't sit well with him. "What? Is she –"

"No, she is not badly harmed. Just unconscious." Morrigan put her pack down and meticulously prepared the poultices, herbs and salves she would need. Lenya lay on the wooden floor, head and body turned sideways so that her injured thigh wouldn't be strained or the arrow allowed to move. It hardly looked comfortable to linger this way. "However," the witch continued, tone sardonic, "I'd like to focus on more important things, but if you feel the need to run and check up on the old Circle hag, I won't stop you."

"No, I'll stay," he answered firmly, despite the hint of conflicting emotion in his face. Carefully, he scooted Lenya's head into his lap and brushed her hair. The Dalish was silent but conscious. "If only to see that you don't poison her..." He made a gesture towards the laid out herbs, "...with _that_."

"Oh, I'm sure you are _very _capable of distinguishing the poisonous from the non-poisonous herbs. Fool."

An extended sigh came from Lenya's direction, her following words weary and yet dripping with sarcasm. "Somehow I wish I were unconscious from the pain. Don't know _why_, really."

As infuriating as the idiot's presence was, this was the necessary cue for Morrigan to focus. She bent over the injury and frowned at the arrow. "The tip is barbed, so we can't pull it out in one piece. 'Twould only cause more damage. We need to cleanly cut off the tip and remove the arrow - _after _we disinfect the area around it." Already, she turned to the herbs, but the movement too hasty and sudden and made her sway on her feet. She felt the exhaustion in every fiber of her being, her magic long spent, but she wouldn't leave the treatment of Lenya to the hands of these incompetent fools. She knew such wounds well enough. Back in the Wilds, the Chasinds always were quicker with the bow than with words, after all.

"Are you –"

"I'm _fine_!" she snapped at him before Alistair could end his sentence. "Spend your unwanted concern where it is needed."

He scoffed. "Don't worry, it won't happen again." Lenya groaned, and Morrigan assumed not from pain, but annoyance. "Right. Sorry, love. I'd better go and fetch some clean water." Slowly, he stood up and frowned at the cold fireplace. "We'll need to boil the water, though."

Busy with finding the right mixture of herbs, she didn't look up at him. "Is there still firewood left within?"

"Yes, but – whoa!" Startled, Alistair jumped back as the fire within flared to life, singing his eyebrows a bit. "How about warning me when you do that? I like to keep my face where it is, thank you very much."

"Oh, I'm so _very_ sorry." Her tone and expression easily gave away that she wasn't, before growing serious again. "'Tis all I can do with my magic right now, however. So don't ask me to heal her wounds with magic afterward. You need to wait until your darling grandmother has recovered for that."

"I'm awake and can hear you too, you know?" Lenya sounded quite peeved at being ignored.

Morrigan decided not to comment upon that and instead directed her next words to her friend, handing her a bit of elfroot. "Chew on that, Lenya. As you know it tastes awful, but it will dull the pain."

"Th-thanks." The door snapped closed, indicating the templar had finally left for the water. "My dagger, on my belt... take it to cut off the point. It is sharp enough." She inexplicably smiled as her hand reached for it. "Sharp _again_."

Morrigan nodded and took it, momentarily marveling at its odd shape and the intricate elven carvings within. "'Tis a finely crafted weapon."

"Old family heirloom. It was my father's, and is all I have left of the life before..." she pointed at her injury, half-joking, half-serious, "..._this_." The smile returned in spite of all. "Alistair gave it to me before we left the Dalish."

"Don't move." The witch severed the tip in one smooth stroke and turned around to get the disinfecting salve she had mixed. "Why did that fool have your dagger, of all things?"

"I don't know." She laughed. "I just know that he had it repaired while we were with my people, so it is usable again."

"That is strangely – " The sound of the door saved her from speaking the word out loud, one she would never have before thought in connection with Alistair. .._.thoughtful. _Frowning, Morrigan scowled into the Warden's direction and the noise he made while searching for a pot to heat the water. He stomped, rummaged, grunted and huffed in apparent exhaustion, being every part the dimwitted bronto that he was.

"It should be steaming any moment," he said more to Lenya than her and knelt next to the elf, voice soft. "Hold on. ...I'm sorry. So very sorry, for everything." Completely ignoring Morrigan's presence, he bent over to place a kiss on Lenya's temple and the Dalish visibly relaxed at the gesture.

She couldn't endure watching their idiotic, affectionate antics any longer. Exasperated, she jolted up and went to the fire to look at the water, noticing a clean pile of folded linen next to it. That was why he had made so much noise: he had searched for some cloths for her wound as well.

_Thoughtful. ...Foolish._

Seeing him pining after Lenya for months had been... amusing, in its own way. Yet it was never planned that he _succeed, _nor that both Wardens shared such a deep, _mutual_ bond now.

_You could use it to your advantage_, whispered a little voice in the back of her head, but she quickly smothered it.

And this was bothersome, too. That she _cared_. Not for the buffoon, but for Lenya. It was never planned to call her a friend – _a sister _– and _mean_ it. Morrigan knew it wouldn't hinder her in her ultimate plan, but it did make it _harder_. She just couldn't fathom how much, nor did she _want _to.

_Fool. Focus._

Shaking her head as if it would help to cast the thoughts away, she poured the steaming water into a bucket, taking care not to burn herself. Returning with it and some linen, she gave Lenya a piece of wood. "You might want to bite on that. This is bound to hurt." _How ironic._

The Dalish nodded and did as she was bid. After cleaning the wound, then disinfecting and numbing it with her salve, Morrigan counted to three before she pulled the now tip-less arrow out. Despite all good intentions, Lenya writhed and screamed in pain, the fool-templar looking as if he had been struck down with a sword. She ignored all the murmured words and gestures of comfort and love while pressing down to stop the blood from flowing. Lenya panted and pressed herself close to his form. Her grip on his hands was tight, her fingernails buried in his flesh so deeply, it started to bleed. Yet he endured it patiently, his encouragement and soft words never waning.

It was sickening to watch, and thus Morrigan was glad when he decided to leave after all. The mere mentioning of pulling her armored leggings further apart with the dagger to dress her wound properly apparently was enough. Sputtering and red-faced he excused himself, not wanting to see Lenya in her smalls. Or, perhaps, wanting to see it _too much_. Morrigan didn't care which was accurate, just that he was _gone_. She continued to work, ignoring her own exhaustion until the poultice was wrapped tightly around Lenya's bare thigh and the blood showed no sign of seeping through.

"You are tired."

It wasn't even a question, just a pure observation.

The witch snorted. "He is an idiot." There. ..._Another_ observation.

"True." Chuckling, Lenya slowly sat up, yet she didn't dare to move her leg. "But he is _my_ idiot."

"Lucky for him that someone is willing to claim him, then."

She was surprised how quickly the humor in her friend's expression was replaced by a frown. "Look, I know you don't like each other, because seriously even a blind, deaf halla would notice _that_. Hence I'm aware we won't ever agree on anything that concerns Alistair. Nor do I expect that we'll sit down as you braid my hair while I complain about how mean he was." She made a face. "Which would be _so_ weird, by the way."

Morrigan shrugged, the corner of her lip quirking up against her will. "I can offer to shoot lightning at the fool, should the situation ever require it."

"Oh, I have no doubt that you would enjoy _that_." She laughed for a moment, before it faded. "...What I wanted to say is... I _love_ him. You don't have to understand it, or like it, but to tolerate and respect... Yes, I _do_ ask at least for that. As a friend."

"I will make no promises then, since 'tis a bit sickening to watch you two. Yet I imagine it at least takes your mind from our... situation." She shrugged again. "Have it your way."

"I'm sorry." Morrigan raised an eyebrow. This was not the answer she had expected, but remained silent. "For yelling at you yesterday. I know you didn't approve of helping these people... obviously. Still, you didn't abandon me in battle and fought through till the morning, like everyone else there. Thank you. Also for patching me up despite your exhaustion. That is a perfect poultice."

"Stop babbling so much flattery my way. I did what I must." Morrigan waved her off, then halted. Had she? The truth was she could have easily avoided to fight through the night, yet _chose_ not to. "'Tis true, 'twas foolish of you to fight for these incompetent villagers and almost lose your life doing so. However, twas useless to talk you out of it before, frustratingly stubborn as you are, so I lingered for the battle, at least." She hesitated, and couldn't believe herself that she actually formed these words. "Perhaps I shouldn't have left in the first place."

"Aww, look at us." Lenya snorted, taking the weight out of the conversation with her tone, for which Morrigan was thankful. "Being all understanding and mutually sorry. Maybe we should catch some sleep, before we _really_ start braiding our hair."

Morrigan stood up, chuckling. "You are right. ...Are we making our way to the castle later? The source of the magic comes from there and the village has no chance of prolonging its pitiful existence should it not be stopped."

"I noticed that too, so yes. That human seems to want to go there anyway for the Arl." She sighed, running a hand over her face. "Raising the dead... what kind of magic do we speak of here? Blood magic, like in Ostagar?"

"Most likely. Other types of magic aren't powerful enough."

"Ooo, fancy," Lenya remarked, dryly. "Sleep well, Morrigan."

"And you, my friend."

.

.

* * *

.

Lenya always took pride in being one of the most dexterous and agile hunters of her clan.

Now the slow-acting sedative herbs and her injury reduced her to feeling as old as Marethari was and rendered her unable to even get into the bed. In fact, she was stuck in quite a compromising position in between the floor and the bed, crouching on one knee while trying to not put weight on her injured thigh. If the door opened now, they would have quite the vie–

"I went back to the Chantry and got you some food. And then I – ...I – " Of course, he _had _to come back _before_ she was in that damn bed. Why was it so high up there anyway?

S_tupid tall humans and their stupid tall beds._

In her haste to correct her hanging position, Lenya made the mistake of trying to stand and fell down again."Ow. Ow. Could yooou ssstop ssstaring at my ass aaaand help me? Ssstupid beeed, doesn't ssstop ssspinning."

Her head and tongue felt like fuzzy cotton, but the anger and resolve to get up fueled her resistance against the herbs' effects. At least for a moment longer. There was a distinctive sound of swallowing and the plopping of food meeting the ground, which Lenya suddenly found totally funny.

And the colors... had they always been here? Because... _pretty_.

Then there were some strong hands heaving her up and into the bed. Or she had learned flying now? It _felt_ like it. _Woohoo_. "You are wet. Weeet." She poked at what seemed to be his nose as he leaned over her, water dripping down on her. Or his eye. Whatever.

"Yes, well... I made a little detour into Lake Calenhad, since the scent of death is _so _not me. I figured my clothes could use a cleaning, too, so I left them on. Two birds with one stone." He made that funny scrunching motion with his face and Lenya grinned at him. "What by the Maker did Morrigan give you?"

"Heeerbs." She giggled again as he threw the mountain of sheets and blankets over her, as she had skillfully ripped them all down to the ground in her previous attempts to mount the bed.

"Well that narrows it down, indeed." She heard him sigh and that made her giggle, too. "You'd better sleep for a while to get it out of your system, love. This day will be a long one, I fear."

Lenya snatched at his hand, pouting. "You sssleep, too."

"I..uhh," He fell silent for a moment. "...completely lost my train of thought. ...Oh there it is: In _one_ bed?"

"S'big enough. Juusst watch it s'eeevil and tall aaand doesn't stop ssspinning."

"Right. Can't trust beds these days. Insidious things. Why don't I stay here close by the fireplace and get dry while I watch the bed? Make sure it doesn't get the wrong idea and run away with you sleeping in it."

"Mmmkay." The idea sounded good to her. She could sleep well when he was protecting her from evil bed monster. And she was too drowsy to protest, anyway. "Looove youuu."

The soft press of his lips on her cheek was the last thing Lenya noticed before she drifted into a dreamless, deep slumber.

.

~V~

.

As quietly as possible, Alistair slipped back into Kaitlyn's house, put the tray of food down and closed the door behind him.

He had been up for an hour or two, but had not yet had the heart to disturb Lenya's unusually calm slumber. Whatever it was that Morrigan had given her as a pain killer had also managed to free her from the Archdemon's lure for the duration of her sleep. Given the drugging effect it had had on her, he wasn't much surprised by that fact.

Alistair hated to have to wake her now. Not only because good sleep was really rare for a Warden, but also because Lenya was always ready to bite the head off of the person who dared to disturb her. She might have changed a lot during the months of their travel, yet her utter grumpiness right after waking up still remained. She was not really a morning person, completely the opposite of him.

Alas, he couldn't wait any longer. The sunlight breaking through the cracks of curtains had the faint hue of red, indicating the coming of afternoon. They still needed to get into the Castle and find the magical source responsible for the gruesome events before dusk.

"Wake up, sunshine." He bowed over her sleeping form and kissed her forehead.

"Go away!" Lenya muttered, pressing her face into the pillow and turning over, away from him. She didn't even seem to notice that the blanket slipped away through the motion and bared her backside.

_I'm not staring. I'm not staring._

Against his own will, his head tilted to the side for a better view. _Oh damn, I'm totally staring._ He cleared his throat and tried to fix his eyes on a point that was not Lenya's...hindquarter. With his cheeks flaring, Alistair corrected the position of the blanket and urged her awake again. "I'm sorry, love, but we _have_ to go. It is already afternoon and it seems as if Bann Teagan is sorely missing us. He wants to advance to the castle and find the source of the evil magic."

"Stupid Arl can wait. Especially this one."

Her tone left little room for discussion, causing him to shake his head in defeat. "So you want to battle _another_ army of undead tonight? Did I hear that right?"

Lenya went completely still before jolting up into a sitting position, grimacing. "Okay, I'm awake. Still hate you, though."

He chuckled and dived in to steal a peck from her lips. "No, you don't. I'm too charming and handsome for that."

"And the king's son."

Alistair winced at her words and quickly turned to get the tray with the food. "I... uh... brought breakfast. Can you imagine? There's even real ham."

She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing. "Are we going to talk about it or are you enjoying deceiving me too much for that? In that case – out!"

"Look, I never meant to keep it from you and least of all to deceive you –"

The scowl deepened. She crossed her arms, hurt and angry at the same time. "And still you didn't trust me enough to tell me. I thought we –"

Alistair stopped her words as he crushed her against his chest, her warmth and scent enclosing him quickly. He lingered in the comfortable feeling of closeness for a moment before softly raising his voice, "I love you, more than anything in Thedas, Lenya. Never doubt that. It was stupid of me, I know, and I should have told you about this. I guess," he hesitated. "...I was too afraid."

Much to his dismay, she distanced herself from his embrace to look up at him inquiringly. "Why?"

"I'm used to not telling anyone who doesn't already know. Even during my time with the Grey Wardens, Duncan was the only one who knew about it. Maybe he never really meant it, but I'm sure now that he kept me out of the fighting due to it." He sighed. "And that is the point, actually. People who know about my heritage tend to treat me... differently. Suddenly I'm not just Alistair anymore, but the king's bastard son, a lost heir to the throne. I don't want that to happen, least of all with you."

"Stupid, frustrating human." A low growl broke free from her throat and she swatted him on the arm. "You should have let _me_ decide how I'd handle this information. I fight for my life every day and am no dainty flower, so I'm certain I could have dealt with it, somehow. I _hate _to be lied to and you... hurt me. Especially because you are so important to me."

"You're right, of course." He brushed a loose strand of her hair aside, fingers threading softly over the pointed tip of her ear. "I'm sorry. I hope this doesn't change anything between us, though. It was never important to me and I hope it isn't –" Lenya silenced him with a kiss and he felt all tension leaving his body as he tilted his head to completely give in to her demand.

"Silly," she breathed after drawing away, her eyes twinkling with amusement and genuine affection. "I couldn't care less about human lords or whose son you are. You are _you_ and that is what is important to me."

_Acceptance._ Without any doubts or strings attached. Such a strange, alien notion, yet he couldn't help but bask in its warm feeling. He was utterly floored by her reaction, his amazement tainted by more than a hint of guilt for keeping it from her. "Now I feel even worse about not telling you."

"As you _should_." Her face hardened into a thoughtful expression, eyes straying away from his face. "But I can somewhat understand your reasons." Alistair noticed as her posture tensed, her hands clawing at the sides of his tunic, but he waited for her to continue. "All those expectations can be... suffocating."

Lenya fell silent after that and he decided not to press the issue, even if he wanted to. There was clearly something more to it than just her concern for him. Suppressing a sigh, he stood up to get the tray, knowing she hadn't even eaten yet. She smiled gratefully at him for this considerate gesture and started to wolf down whatever food was first in reach, everything else around her receding in importance.

It still amazed and amused him to see her eat like that, a trait they undoubtedly shared as Grey Wardens. And while his stomach protested with a growl at the notion that he simply _watch_, he refrained from taking anything from the moderately full plate. Maker knew she needed it more than he did.

"My father was the Keeper of my clan," Lenya said all the sudden, swallowing the remains of the bread down. "I never knew him, since he died before I was born - which you might already know - but that doesn't change the fact that I was - _am _- the daughter of a Keeper." She put the now empty plate aside and took a deep swig from the water skin he had also brought. "Since I was born it was expected of me to become the next Keeper. Marethari, our Keeper after my father died, put me under her care as soon I was able to walk, teaching me the old ways and what it meant to be Dalish."

His eyebrows drew together. "You were a First?"

She didn't look at him, trying to shrug it off. "Sort of. My father was a great Keeper from what I heard, so the people of my clan held... certain expectations of me, right from the beginning."

"That hardly seems fair."

"Hmm." She nodded with a hum, her hand touching his cheek, which led him to lean into her touch. "But then I grew older and never showed any signs of developing magic, so eventually - when I was ten - Marethari was forced to look for another... student. She told me it wasn't my fault and that no one could influence the gift of magic, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes. And not only in hers, but in _every_ face of every elder and everyone who put those... _expectations_ on me. I didn't live up to my father's legend and couldn't continue his work as a keeper, not like everyone hoped. I hated it and myself for my lack of magic, even blamed myself for a time." Alistair moved closer, giving in to the instinctive need to take her into his arms. She leaned on his shoulder with a sigh. "Fueled by defiance and anger I started then to go against every rule, testing and stretching the tight boundaries that were suffocating me. I thought I was a disappointment anyway, so why not give in to _those_ expectations, at least."

Alistair was silent, needing a moment to process what she had told him. It seemed very personal, and his heart warmed at the fact of how much trust she placed in him. He kissed her hair, wanting to reassure her. "You are anything _but_ a disappointment, love. I hope you know that."

"Thanks. My older self is aware of that now, but I was unable to see it as a child. I became more and more withdrawn through the years, solely focused on my weapons training, even more as Merrill took my place as First. Which was ironic, since I never wanted it anyway. I hated the burden of responsibility and expectations placed upon me, and broke free of it whenever I could. And yet I ...resented her."

"Merrill?"

"Right. You can't know that magic is a rare gift among my people, and the da'len few, so it sometimes happens that one clan doesn't have a _Len'enasal_. I was supposed to be the one to learn, and given my father's strong magic it was a bit of a shock to all that I hadn't inherited his gift, I guess." She shrugged. "And since there wasn't another da'len with magical ability, Merrill got adopted from another clan and became the First. We never got along. I thought her an arrogant brat who enjoyed rubbing my nose in how utterly perfect she was. And while she advanced quickly to become Keeper's darling within a few years, I went the other way, rebelling against every rule. Naturally, she used every opportunity to tell me I should behave more like a Keeper's daughter, instead of roaming the woods with Tamlen or other shenanigans." Lenya paused to breathe out in annoyance. "Yeah... she was – and still is – a self-righteous bitch."

"So..." He chuckled, his tone teasing. "That is where your issues with authority come from? Interesting."

She pouted, but her glare at him wasn't fully serious. "I have no issues with authority. ...Much."

"Right." He laughed and nudged her side in good humor. "Anyway, thanks for telling me this, yet another piece to the fascinating puzzle that is you."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Creators, that cheesy sentence deserves an awkward pause."

"Sorry? I just meant I love–"

"I know. Noted and appreciated, even if I strayed too much from what I initially wanted to say."

There was a knock on the door, but he ignored it, unable to tear himself away from her closeness and trust which warmed his very being. "And that was?"

Lenya smiled. "We have more in common than I thought."

The door sprang open, interrupting every intention of a kiss. Alistair stiffened and reluctantly disentangled himself from her. Purposefully, Wynne strutted through its frame and headed directly toward Lenya. "What are you still doing in bed? You should have been long up and meeting with Bann Teagan. We must reach the castle today, or all our efforts will have been in vain."

Another roll of her eyes, but she didn't move one bit. "Wow, thanks for pointing out the obvious. And I would stand up, but I'm severely lacking breeches here - not to mention the injury still hampers my movement. "

"Which is why I'm here."

"Good to know."

Alistair couldn't understand why Lenya reacted so peeved towards Wynne or why the mage was unusually impatient herself. Granted, they _had_ taken too long and were still not ready to meet Teagan, but it was _needed_ time to clear the air and he regretted it not one bit. "I... uhh, better armor up and get my gear then. I have the feeling it is required, somehow." He turned to Lenya. "I wasn't sure what you'd need, so I brought your whole backpack here earlier."

"Thanks, _Atish'an_." Her face lit up for him before fixing Wynne with a stare again.

He nodded and turned around. Considering the mood in the room, he thought that leaving was the wisest decision he had made in a long time.

.

.

* * *

.

Human or not, Lenya knew the sort of body language Wynne showed by heart.

It reeked of disapproval, of the typical _how-could-you-be-so-irresponsible_ scolding attitude she had seen more often in her life than she wanted. The mage was silent as she inspected the bandage made by Morrigan. She still didn't speak as she unwrapped it to take a closer look at the flesh wound underneath.

The mage's hands were still that of an experienced healer, but today her grip was harder, more rough than usual. "If you are having a problem, Wynne, talk. I prefer that to having my injured leg being torn apart by apparent passive-aggressiveness." Funny, normally she was the expert in that. Or maybe _that_ was the reason it was so easy for Lenya to recognize the lingering anger within the elder woman.

"We should be in the castle to end this horror and not be forced to wait until your dalliance with Alistair is finished."

"Oh, is that what this is all about? Alistair and me?" Lenya let out a scoffing laugh. _Of course._ Even though she had brought her to Aneirin and given her the chance to reconcile mistakes made in the past, Lenya hadn't heard a single thanks from her lips. Not that she demanded it, but then again it wasn't her purpose of life to run around and fix other people's problems. _Initially_. Thedas seemed to have another opinion of what being a Grey Warden entailed, however. For her it meant stabbing things until they were dead and ending a Blight by killing a huge, fucking, _immortal_ dragon. Simple, somehow. The world around her thought it meant that their purpose was to throw every problem of the last decade at her feet and wait until she, and she _alone,_ had sorted out the big stinking pile of intricate mess. No help attached, of course, because she was the leader, after all.

At times and more often than she wanted, this fact was more than frustrating. The only thing that made the burden and the ensuing responsibility remotely bearable was the thought of not being alone in this. Alistair was there, _always_ have been. His support and love was the only constant element in her life that made sense in all of this complicated mess. If Wynne would start to question _that_ now, she wasn't sure if she could refrain from launching herself at the mage and strangling her until her eyes popped out.

Blue light flared and enclosed her leg without an answer to her lingering question. Lenya gritted her teeth as muscles and flesh magically knitted to a whole again, the pain it caused leaving her panting.

"You two have become close."

_Breathe, Lenya, breathe, _she told herself as the pain was dulled by an overwhelming feeling of anger. It was as she had surmised and was not at all surprising, yet very much infuriating. Ever since Lenya had became open and accepting of her love toward a human - of all things - the mage had gotten more and more withdrawn. Lenya hadn't spoken more than three sentences with her in the past few weeks, although she was aware of the occasional disapproving stares in her – and Alistair's – direction.

"Oh wow, good eye."

The protecting layers of sarcasm were all what kept her from lashing out at the mage for sticking her nose into things that were fucking _none_ of her business.

"Indeed." Humor flickered on her face, but it didn't reside for long. "It's actually hard _not_ to notice the doe-eyed looks he gives you, especially when he thinks no one's watching. But you are both Grey Wardens, and he is the son of a king. You have responsibilities which supersede your personal desires."

If one thing brought her thin patience to snap in no time, it was a lecture about responsibilities. Lenya glared up at the human, her voice a warning growl. "Wynne... I don't give a fucking damn whether you approve or disapprove of my relationship with Alistair, which is none of your business in the first place. Neither do I give a flying shit about whose son he is, because I love and accept him for _who_ he is, not what. You should try it sometime: it can be a relief to see beyond the whole responsibility, burden and Grey Warden crap." She took a deep breath, shaking in anger. "Besides, I still get my job done, as I don't remember the village in ruins, overrun by undead or burning."

Wynne stayed irritatingly calm, despite the narrowing of her eyes and the faint snort escaping her. "That might be true, but there is great potential for tragedy here, for one or both of you. Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else." Lenya resisted the sudden urge to yank her leg away as the mage applied a fresh bandage to the now closed wound. It was still raw and stiff and hurt to move, which could be a problem as it reduced her mobility and thus her ability to fight.

_Brilliant._

And to add insult to the literal injury, Wynne didn't stop talking. "A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?"

"Which part of _none_ of your business did you not understand, exactly?"

Wynne backed away at the sheer force of her words and blinked. "I apologize if I've offended, I was just trying to point out why this affair may be a bad idea."

The room went eerily quiet as Lenya stared at her, momentarily struggling to stay put. "Out!" she yelled and pointed at the door with a calmness that surprised herself. Especially regarding the fact that she inwardly seethed. "I said OUT!" Lenya repeated as Wynne didn't react at first.

She was _not_ going to go through all this shit, through all the doubts and fears to love him only to have it called an 'affair' by a nosy old _hag. _Trembling with the sheer effort of self-control, her furious glare followed the mage until she finally vanished as she wished - though not without a huff and the sputtered words of '_childish_' and '_greater_ _responsibilities_', of course.

.

.

* * *

.

He found her still sitting on the bed, now fully armed and armored, but sulking.

Alistair was aware that approaching Lenya in such a mood was a dangerous action, but he hadn't much of a choice. Not when they wanted to reach the castle and dispel the evil magic before sundown.

"Hey... you okay?" He tentatively stepped closer to her. "We need to go, because –"

"Stupid old hag!" Lenya blurted out, her lips pursed into an adorable pout. "Who does she think she is?"

Alistair knelt beside her to be at one level with her. "Okay, I think the thought is not far-fetched that this is about Wynne? What happened, love? Didn't she heal you as she was supposed to?"

"She did, but she also put her wrinkly nose into something that is none of her fucking business."

"Do you want to talk –"

She glared up to him, seeming to not be in the mood for talking at all. "No."

He was torn between pressing the subject, since he _really_ wanted to know, and falling in line for his duties. But the others were waiting and so he decided to leave it at that. "Fine." He sighed, not wholly comfortable with this solution. "I'm, err, here if you want to talk, though."

The hardness in her features subsided and she reached out for his gloved hand. "I know."

"So you are, ah, good? I mean your injury?" Alistair gave her hand a light squeeze. "You really scared me there, Len. Maybe you should... – "

"I'm good," Lenya interrupted him again, her tone brisk. "A bit stiff, still, but if you want to suggest now that I fall behind and you go without me because I was injured, then– " She paused to let the threat sink in. " – I'll have to stab you into your face."

"Ouch." Alistair grimaced, not only due the visual picture of it within his mind, but also because he was actually planning to propose that. " And here I thought I'm doing my lady a favor. Being all princely and all that, you know?"

His intended joke fell somehow flat as Lenya scowled at him.

"I don't need a man to protect me, idiot." Her eyes narrowed further. "Nor to feel whole. I'm no dainty flower and you should know this by now."

"Right." The sigh escaped him unwanted as his hand let go of her. It was ridiculous. _He_ was being ridiculous. Alistair knew that she loved him, and rationally he didn't need the assurance. And yet he acted like a little Mabari puppy vying for her attention, and couldn't even say why. Maybe it was this place full of unpleasant memories, or the prior events and their fight that let him act like this.

She seemed to have noticed, like she did so often. "You _add_ to my completeness, _Atish'an_. Thanks to you, I recognize where I belong, and know that who I am now is... not really that bad."

Alistair smiled as he pulled her to him and into his arms. He pressed a soft kiss onto her forehead and allowed himself to enjoy her closeness before drawing away again. "As much as I wish to stay here with you, we need to go, you know? Lest we want to fight another night of undead. And Maker help me, if we don't leave now, I might _never_ be able to."

"Oh?" Lenya arched an eyebrow at him, a smug smile curved around her lips. "Can't have that, huh?" She stood up from the bed and turned to him, still grinning. "So lead the way, my prince."

"Oh, lovely." With a groan, he rolled his eyes, the corner of his lips suspiciously quirking upwards. "Somehow I just _knew_ I was going to regret this."

He didn't. His heritage was a frustrating, unwanted fact in his life, but it had led him to where he was now.

And being with Lenya was worth every struggle.

.

.


	85. Smoke And Mirrors

_**A/N:**__ I'm quite prejudiced against Isolde, and not in a good way. So while I try to not write her like the utter shrew I see in her, I will most likely not always completely succeed with the "being a fair-author" intention. Just so you know. __Thanks once more to all reading; lurking or reviewing, and especially my magic beta tklivory. I owe you tons for all the additional work you always do for me *hugs*_

* * *

.

**Chapter 79: Smoke And Mirrors**

.

"Teagan, you must come with me back to the castle! Alone!"

Bann Teagan only stared at her, struck either by her unexpected appearance or by the wailing that human called her voice. Since Lenya had to suppress the urge to wince at the sound of it, she surmised it to be the latter.

The woman was dressed in finery oddly unbesmirched by even a single stain. She wore her long hair neatly bound in a bun, only the lines of her face giving away hints of sorrow and age. Lenya's eyes narrowed as she continued to observe the human who was completely ignoring her existence. There was something about her, something she couldn't pinpoint exactly, that instantly raised her hackles. The woman radiated an aura of arrogance, her words to Teagan more a despaired command than a plea.

Rolling her eyes, Lenya took a step forward. "Oh sure, what a great idea. That doesn't sound like a trap at all."

Immediately, the human turned to her, expression scrunched into a mask of disdain as she deigned to notice her. "Who is zis _elf_, Teagan?"

Before Lenya had the chance to decide whether to answer or to do something different, Alistair raised his voice. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since they had arrived at the windmill to meet up with the Bann and their companions - even more so since that shemlen had made her unexpected appearance. He sighed in defeat, maybe even annoyance, his posture tense. "But you _do _remember _me_, don't you, Lady Isolde?"

"Alistair?" Her gaze flickered over to him, the eyebrows furrowed to a disbelieving frown. "Of all the... why are _you_ here?"

"Yeah, so nice to see you, too," Alistair retorted in a sarcastic manner that was meant more to deflect than attack. His whole stance gave away that the lack of enthusiasm during this re-encounter was mutual. It took Lenya only a moment longer to recognize _why_ he reacted like that, or the human for that matter. _This_ was the shrew he had told her about before: the one who had made his life into a living void as a child, and the reason _why_ he had been as packed off to the monastery at the age of ten. And now, years later, the _same_ woman stood in front of them and needed their help to fix the mess created in the village Alistair had gotten chased out of years ago.

Fate was indeed a bitch.

"It likes to be rude, doesn't It?" Shale piped up, her white lava eyes gleaming disapproval at Isolde. "Maybe It should also know that we crush the heads of rude women when we feel like it." Lenya turned her head sideways to conceal her grin, not only at the golem's words, but also at the odd notion of Shale speaking up on their behalf.

"He is a Grey Warden, just like the lady beside him. Without their help, we wouldn't have survived the night," Teagan explained, if only to take out the harshness of the situation.

"I see." Isolde inclined her head, yet the hardness never left her gaze. "I would exchange pleasantries, but... considering the circumstances..." she trailed off, her attention returning to the Bann again. "Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead awaken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues. And I think... Connor is going mad. We have survived but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death! You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle. You could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!"

_Well, you could shut up for a start._

Lenya glared at Isolde, trying not to let the ill-fated connection of that human with Alistair cloud her judgment, even if she was failing spectacularly. Every bit of her person grated on her nerves and yet was she the only source of information they had. Alas.

"A mage, you say?" Wynne asked, and the unwanted sound of her voice only angered Lenya more. "Can you tell us more about him... or her?"

"H-he was one of the castle staff. We discovered that he was responsible for the poisoning of my husband. He claims an agent of Teyrn Loghain's hired him. He may be lying, however; I cannot say."

"_Another_ one of Loghain's men?" Alistair frowned and didn't even try to hide the anger that was written across his face at this new piece of information. "We found an elf who was told to observe and report changes within the castle. Too bad he didn't survive the night, or else we could have pressed him for more details."

"We are running out of time, Teagan!" Isolde wailed again, completely ignoring what Alistair said. "Eamon is still allowed to live by the _thing _the mage unleashed, but alas the others were not so fortunate. It seems as if it wants _us_ to live, but I do not know why. And it allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I _begged_, because I said Connor needed help."

Zevran leaned in to Lenya, his eyes narrowing. "Didn't she said she _escaped_ before that? Is it just me? Or is that woman not really telling us _everything_?"

"No, definitely not only you, Zev. I don't trust her one bit," Lenya answered, keeping her voice low. "Her appearance is too convenient for that."

"Shall I crush Its head?" Shale looked over to Lenya for approval and was far less subtle in her distaste than the two elves. "Its screeching voice is almost as bad as the wailing of the feathered fiends of the sky. Bah."

Isolde blinked up at the golem, momentarily shocked by Shale's words. "Excuse me? How could you dare to say something like that in such a dire situation, creature? An evil I cannot fathom holds my son and husband hostage! I came for help! What more do you want from me?"

Lenya crossed her arms, glowering up to her. "The truth, perhaps?"

"Or your head squished between my fingers," Shale offered casually and shrugged as the others, including Teagan, turned toward her.

Isolde sounded genuinely scandalized. "This... is a rather impertinent accusation of yours, claiming that I lie."

Lenya held the human's venomous gaze with ease, but felt her anger raising further. She was obviously hiding something._"Din'dar inan, shemlen!"_

She heard Alistair sigh, followed by the weight of his gauntleted hand on her shoulder. "Lenya, to argue isn't getting us any further now. We must think about what to do about it, instead." The momentarily softness of his tone subsided in an instant, and it sounded as if he ground out the next words between gnashed teeth. "The evil you spoke of, Lady Isolde... is this a demon? Blood magic?"

"I… I do not know." Isolde shook her head, her eyes slowly filling with tears. "But I can't let it hurt my Connor! You must come back with me, Teagan… _please_." She was pawing at him now, tugging on his clothes like a petulant and demanding child. "You must hurry. For Connor's sake. Come back with me, and come alone. There isn't much time!"

There was a snort and it came directly from Morrigan. "Such a fool's notion. Why am I not surprised?"

"Foolish it may be..." Teagan nodded toward the witch, taking hold of Isolde's hands in a placating manner. "...but this is my family. I must try. Perhaps I can help Eamon or Connor."

"Or you could die a horrible death at the hand of the demon, which is obviously roaming free within the castle." Morrigan shrugged, not really caring. "Do as you like, but do it _now_. I'm weary of remaining here and listening to the wailing of this obnoxious woman while nothing of use is accomplished."

Zevran grinned at that. "Leave it to our dark sorceress to find the fitting words."

Teagan let out a bone-weary sigh before laying one broad palm upon the woman's shoulder. "Isolde, can you excuse us for a moment? We must confer in private before I return to the castle with you."

The Arlessa hesitated for a moment, but then accepted the offer given to her. "Please do not take too long! I will be waiting by the bridge."

Lenya waited until Isolde was out of earshot and sight. "I really hope you have a plan to counter your fit of idiocy, or this will end badly, and not _only_ for you." Like the witch, she had long ran out of the patience to wrap her words into niceties. If she stood here any longer, it would be time to watch another sundown and undead invasion - something none of them wanted, the Dalish least of all.

"The king is dead," Teagan stated with a nod, "and we need my brother now more than ever. So I must at least attempt it, and I can't let Isolde return on her own. But I will need your help, Warden." He looked at the Dalish and his jaw tightened, a dark determination shadowing his face. "There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family. It leads underway to the castle."

"And you are only mentioning it _now_?" Lenya couldn't believe it.

The Bann took a step backward at the force of her reaction. "Please, I didn't want to deceive you. But –"

"Funny, that sentence seems to be a theme here in the village."

"...But I knew you would choose to enter the castle instead of staying in the village... and we needed warriors," Teagan continued, calmly, and inclined his head to her. "I'm sorry."

"Humans," she grumbled under her breath, visibly annoyed. "Any more secrets or lost heirs of thrones I should know about?"

Teagan's gaze flicked to Alistair for a moment. "Err... no. Here, take my signet ring. It unlocks the door in the mill." Lenya hesitated before taking it and putting it into her pocket. "I will go now and hope I can distract the evil until you arrive. Please hurry."

With that, Teagan turned on his heels and went to where Lady Isolde and her guard were waiting.

"Whatever..." The Dalish did the same, though in the opposite direction, toward the mill.

"Warden!" The knight's voice made her stop in her track, albeit reluctantly.

"What?"

"I would prefer to enter the castle with you, but someone must remain to guard Redcliffe and alert the authorities should our plan go... awry."

"Yeah, try not to be _too _helpful out here."

Ser Perth blinked, confused at her overly sarcastic comment before deciding to let it slide. "At any rate, I will go to the gates now with my men, in the hope you will be open it for us, so we can aid you. May you remain in the Maker's sight, my friend."

"Keep your god, human. I don't want him in my sight."

"I just meant–" With a sigh, he trailed off. "I'd better go now."

Ignoring him, Lenya turned to her group. "Alistair, Morrigan, Zevran and Oghren: with me." She pointed at Ser Perth. "The rest go with this human here. We will meet up at the main gate to enter the castle together. This... should get interesting."

The golem looked genuinely disappointed. "I'm not coming with the painted Warden elf?"

"I'm fairly sure you won't fit through the door or passages, Shale."

"Pah, that is the reason why that old hag Wilhelm called his wife shrank me with a chisel." She paused, only to drawl the next word out in a tone of pure hatred. "_Hag_!"

"Well, I'm certain this is a fascinating story for _another_ time, but now we have other things to do. Like a demon to kill. _Again_."

Shale still seemed remained unconvinced. "There had better be lots of heads to crush."

Lenya snorted. "Oh, I _hope_ so."

"I would like to accompany you, Lenya," Wynne said, tapping her staff. "If the mage the Arlessa spoke of is from the Circle, I–"

"No!"

"Don't be so stubborn, child. You will need magical advice when it comes to the demon–"

"I said _no_!" Cutting the mage off, she whirled around and stormed off, leaving the others no choice but to follow.

.

.

* * *

.

"Are you all right?"

Alistair frowned as he looked at Lenya, who stomped ahead of their little group in obvious anger. They'd been marching through decaying, musty corridors for some time now, with Morrigan's staff providing the only source of light. The many hidden alcoves and dead ends they had already encountered didn't make finding the right way within the narrow path any easier, either. There hadn't been any sign of the undead up to this point, but Alistair was fairly certain that some still lingered in the castle, perhaps around the next corner. He snorted. _Such an enticing thought_.

His voice caused her to lower her furious tempo. "Why are you asking?"

"Well, you _are_ in an awfully cranky mood, love."

"I'm walking through dark and stinking corridors with no idea of where to go." She stopped to face him, her scowl visible even in the faint light. "How could I _not _be in a bad mood or hate this place?"

He grinned, trying to take the severity out of the situation. "More than the Deep Roads?"

"Oh, nothing ever beats the Deep Roads. _Nothing_." She sighed. "Still I've only been here for two days and already feel as antsy as if I never left my people."

"Right on you, Missy. That human really _was_ obnoxious, like the lot of 'em here. But at least the ale is good. Heh." The dwarf paused for a moment, mulling over another thought before eventually voicing it. "And you still ought to help me with Felsi. She's a stubborn bunch of pebbles and won't hear me out. Don't know why I don't just –"

"Right, Oghren..." she cut him off, glaring into his direction. "...I will write it on my 'to do' list, right after kill –" Before Alistair was aware of what he was actually doing, he leaned in and shut her up with a kiss.

"Ugh, does anyone else feel the urge to vomit or 'tis just me?"

"Ah, don't be so prickly, my bewitching sorceress. There is nothing wrong in seizing the moment, yes?"

"There is a time and a place for... _that_, elf, and here and now are _neither_ of them."

"I concur," Lenya breathed as she drew away from him, frowning. "Whatever was that for?"

Alistair felt his cheeks burn, suddenly embarrassed at his impulsive act in front of their companions. "I just thought –"

Morrigan snorted. "Thinking? _You_? That's new."

"I just thought I could calm you down a little," Alistair finished, ignoring the witch. "Sorry."

"I am calm!" Lenya snapped at him.

He merely raised an eyebrow at her.

"...Mostly." She sighed. "Look, can we simply get it over with? I would really love to leave this place."

"Right you are, love. We should move on. The corridors here are really creepy."

"I meant _Redcliffe_, actually."

He blinked. "Oh."

"Ah, hysterical humans flailing about due to several all-night attacks of undead, killing half of the militia and villagers in its wake. And now we wander through dark halls to reach a certainly demon-infested castle." Zevran chuckled, but his tone oozed with cynicism. "What is _not _to love about this village, I wonder?"

Lenya groaned, while starting to walk on. "How about _everything_?"

"It's not _all_ bad here, Len." Alistair found himself suddenly in the strange position to defend _Redcliffe_, of all things.

"Oh, _really_?"

"Yeah. There was this one time when I was a boy and locked myself in a cage for half of a day." He laughed, glad to be able to distract her from her bad mood. At least a bit. "Good times."

Now the exasperated groan came out of Morrigan's direction. "Let me take this opportunity to NOT care!"

"Heh, you just need some heads to sever and you'll feel all better, Missy. Just ya watch!"

"Hmm, can't believe I'm saying this but mayb-"

"Get away from me!" Those sudden desperate words came from the opposite corridor at the end of the hall, followed by a telltale shuffling sound of undead corpses moving forward. Arai was the first to react of the group, fangs bared as he ran down the dimly illuminated hall. It led to the dungeon area underneath the castle, a section no visitor would ever see, except perhaps _permanently_.

The man in the cell cornered by the undead certainly _looked _as if he had been there for a while. His condition was... pitiful, as far Alistair could tell in the vague light. The creatures turned at their arrival and snarled, reminding him that they needed to taken care of before they could find out _why_ the man was still down here.

The small group of undead attacked, but never stood a chance. Arai ripped the foul flesh of the first apart, while Lenya severed the limbs of the second one. Bashing his shield into a creature and leaving the rest to Oghren's axe, the last one of them was slain dead. Or _un-undead_. Whatever. After fighting an army of rotten corpses, Alistair had stopped caring about the difference, beyond the fact of them _staying_ dead, of course.

"Hello? Is there someone out there? Who _is _it?" The man asked out into the half-darkness, his voice etched with anxiety.

With a sigh, Morrigan let her staff flare up, enabling a better sight on their surroundings and the prisoner inside. His robe was tattered and torn in some places, grimed with dirt... and _blood_. The face he shielded against the sudden bright light was bruised and battered with the signs of a rather thorough beating. Unsteadily he swayed on his feet and leaned his weight against the prison bars for support.

"Are you from outside the castle?"

"He has been tortured." It was a bare statement of Zevran, not a question.

"You!" Alistair took a step forward, feeling a sudden surge of anger rushing through him. _This_ was the mage the Arlessa has spoken of. "_You_ poisoned the Arl! _You_ are the cause of all this! Of all the people dying." He advanced another step forward with his sword raised, the words coming out of his mouth impulsive and foreign to his own ears. "Tell me one good reason _why_ I shouldn't kill you."

"I... no!" The mage flinched backward. He pressed himself to the stone wall, like a beaten dog, fearful of Alistair's looming figure.

"Back off, Alistair!" It was _her_ voice that brought him back to his senses. The tension and anger subsided in an instant, albeit not fully.

"I'm sorry... it's just–" _the village I grew up in. No matter how much I don't want to remember _that_._

"I know," Lenya shared only one look with him, and _that_ was enough to see she understood. _Of course_.

The way she glowered back at the mage was less friendly, however. "The question is a good one, actually: why shouldn't we kill you?"

"I-it is true, I poisoned the Arl, but I have nothing to do with the attack of the undead. You _must _believe me."

"Oh?" She arched a brow at him. "And yet you are very much alive in a demon-infested castle..."

"Y-yes, it looks suspicious, but I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all of that began." He approached the bars of his cell again and squinted his eyes. "Who _are_ you? You are not one of the Arlessa's guards, that is for sure."

"Oh, good eye, but I'm the one asking the questions here, human. Understood?"

"Y-yes," he nodded meekly. "Might as well tell you the whole story, if you care to listen."

"Can't say I really do, though I feel like I don't have much choice in the matter."

"Right." The mage sighed and curled his hands around the bars of his cell door. "My name is Jowan and I was... instructed to poison the Arl by Teyrn Loghain."

Loghain. _That bastard._ He knew it. He–

Her hand slapped onto his armored chest and stopped him, even before he could make _that_ step forward again. "Funny, this is not actually an argument in your favor, _shem'alas_." The next words got pressed out through gritted teeth in an angry growl, expressing well how she felt. "Quite the opposite."

"I'm not proud of what I've done!" Jowan whined, pressing his face close to the bars. "I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him Loghain would settle matters with the Circle."

"That traitorous _bastard_..." Alistair let the sentence trail off before he could talk himself into a rage that would lead them nowhere. Yet it did little to abate the wrath, which still lingered inside him. Every time _that_ name fell from someone's lips he saw all the faces of his brothers – of Duncan – before his eyes and... _and_... Turning, his fist hit the nearest wall. The impact of the hit was fortunately dampened due to his gauntlet, yet still the pain bloomed in his hand, a sobering effect. "...Sorry."

Oghren snorted. "Heh, didn't know you had it in you, boy. You would make a good berserker, actually. Rage and all. I could teach ya, you know?"

He took a deep breath to calm down and shot the dwarf a glare. "I think I'll pass, Oghren."

"Your loss." The dwarf shrugged, then turned to the prisoner. "And you, mage, are not really the brightest stone that wandered about in that fancy tower, eh?"

"Why wouldn't I believe him?" Jowan shook his head. "I was desperate, and this _is _Teyrn Loghain we're talking about, for Andraste's sake! He said I was helping the country, that I could make up for my crimes. But he abandoned me here, didn't he? Everything's fallen apart. I never thought it would end like this!"

"No sympathy from me, idiot." Lenya crossed her arms and stared him down. "But do tell me: of what crimes do you speak?"

"You see, I'm..." He hung his head in apparent shame, but Alistair didn't feel very empathetic towards him. "...A blood mage."

"Now that is such a surprise," Morrigan didn't even attempt to hide the underlying scoffing tone. "Who would have thought that, I wonder?"

A bitter laugh escaped Alistair. "Oh, this is getting better and _better_."

"I'm... not a bad person. There's no reason for you to believe me, but I'm not. I just have made some terrible mistakes. I –"

"You are right, I don't believe you!" Alistair cut him off, didn't care to hear the rest of his hollow explanations. "However, this still begs the question of how a maleficar like you could get so close to the Arl's family."

"Well," Jowan looked down, didn't meet his eyes. "Lady Isolde was looking for a mage outside the Circle to tutor Connor, secretly. Teyrn Loghain found out and he... sent me. I was to use the opportunity to poison the Arl."

"Connor? Who is that?" Lenya asked, looking at Alistair.

"The Arl's son. He was just an infant when I... _left_." Alistair shook his head, bewildered. "Connor, a mage? I can't believe it!"

"Ah, I noticed from the beginning that that woman was hiding something," Zevran said with more amusement than Alistair preferred. "The plot thickens, yes?"

"And my patience does the opposite," Lenya groused, then turned to the mage again. "Care to fill me in on _why_ that womanmade such a secret about it?"

"What?" Jowan spared her a confused glance. "Well, a mage can't inherit a title. Not even when he is a powerful Arl. And she was afraid the Circle of Magi would take him away for training, after he showed... signs. So much that she didn't even want her own husband to know."

"Right." She pinched the bridge of her nose, annoyed. "I had forgotten about humans and their inane fear of magic for a moment, so thanks for reminding me." Behind her, Morrigan snorted.

"Wait..." Alistair's mouth dropped open. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "The Arl didn't know?"

"No, she never wanted him to find out. That's why I was to train him, enough that he would be able to hide his magic, of course." Jowan paused to take a breath, shaking his head. "She is a pious woman, you know. Her son having magic was _humiliating_."

"How _convenient_ she forgot to mention all these little details when we met her just a while ago." Lenya looked positively ready to kill someone. "Well, now I really look forward to seeing her again."

"It all makes sense now, actually."

"What? Me wanting to punch and strangle that lying shrew?"

Morrigan smirked at her. "That too, my friend. But I was rather speaking of the specific magic at work here." She looked over to the mage, the gaze of her amber eyes boring into him. "'Tis the boy who is to blame, I wager."

"I thought that, too." Jowan nodded in agreement. "Connor has little knowledge of magic and can't even cast a minor spell, but he may have done something to tear open the Veil. Unwanted."

"Indeed. And with the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could easily create those walking corpses. That would explain the attacks of undead on that pathetic excuse of a village, as they would naturally strive to enlarge their number and thus their power." She scoffed. "It seems as if the actions of that foolish woman have far wider consequences than suspected. How ironic."

Alistair glowered at the witch. "You find it _ironic_ when people are dying?"

"No, rather that her fear of magic was most likely the inception of all this. The child was only the final trigger. I'm sure we will be able to piece the last missing fragment of information together, when we are face to face with them."

"Oh, you can bet on that!" Lenya turned on her heels and was more than eager to reach the inner castle. Alistair didn't know if he should be glad or scared about her reaction. Probably both. The fact remained that Lady Isolde had quite a bit of explaining to do when next they met, even if he could somewhat understand her reasons.

"Wait... don't leave me here! Maker, I've made so many mistakes. I've disappointed so many people. I wish I could go back and fix it. Let me at least try to help you!"

Lenya didn't even look back. "I think you have done _enough_ already."

"I say this boy could still be of use to us." Morrigan's eyes narrowed, as she fixed Lenya's back with a stare. "But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?"

"Because he's a blood mage!" Alistair's mouth worked automatically, the words that had been ingrained for years slipping out easily. "You can't just... set a _blood mage_ free!"

The anger which had threatened to lash out at Lenya for her dismissive behavior of the mage was now directed at him. "Better to _slay_ him? Better to punish him for his choices?" Her posture tensed, her glare furious. "Is this Alistair who speaks or the _templar_?"

For a moment, Alistair couldn't do anything but stare at the witch in utter bewilderment. It was downright alien to hear her speak up on behalf of someone _not_ herself, and with such fervor as well. What made it even worse was that he had no answer to her question. It was common sense not to trust blood magic, wasn't it? He had been taught all his life–

"Enough." Lenya whirled round, effectively stopping his chain of thought. "I don't have time for this, nor to deal with this human mage. I don't feel very trusting toward him, at all. So he stays in there for the time being. Simple." Even if it were unusual times, he couldn't say he was upset with the sentiment. It was better to be safe than sorry: they already had problems aplenty, and certainly didn't need a blood mage adding to it.

"I... understand." Jowan hung his hand, resigned to his fate. "I will wait here then, should you need my assistance."

She scoffed and moved away from his cell. "I doubt that."

.

.

* * *

.

On a scale of ten for the places which sucked, Redcliffe castle would get a _twelve_ from Lenya.

And that was her being _generous_.

The castle and its very walls _reeked_ of death and decay. As opposed to the village nearby, there was no fresh air cleansing its stench. It lingered, like the undead. Corpses who played dead, ironically so, just to attack them as soon they entered another foul-smelling room. The ill feeling of dark magic grew stronger within her guts the further they advanced in the building - not only because the horde of undead was such an ordeal, but also because the sheer number of rooms made it easy to get lost. Even Alistair – who had grown up in this village– seemed a bit confused about what direction to take next.

"If you will allow me a question, my dear Lenya," Zevran said as he wiped his blade clean on a tattered garment of a corpse, a motion that somehow was a bit... creepy. Then again, they weren't exactly in the position to be picky right now. "You objected to bringing the mage with us, despite your quite obvious and admirable belief in freedom and redemption. Why? Has this to do with him being a blood mage?"

She shot him a look, allowing herself to be not fully serious for a moment. "These are _two_ questions."

He grinned, a gesture which contrasted starkly with the grim surroundings and atmosphere, though no less welcome for all that. "Ah, but of course. I apologize. Let me rephrase then." Leaving the room, they crossed through a long hall. "What is your, or rather, the _Dalish_ view on blood magic in general?"

Lenya could see Alistair perk up and suddenly pay more attention to her than the hall. Hence she decided to humor Zev's sort of displaced question. "Seeing as I am no mage, nor have ever crossed the path with a blood mage before, I haven't given it much thought until now. In my clan, and my people in general, we are a lot more... tolerant toward it. We don't make the foolish mistake of instantly fearing magic like so many shemlen, but we do respect its power - which is as it should be. The art of blood magic is not forbidden, but frowned upon by us Dalish. The reason for it should be obvious."

"Yes, because it is dangerous!"

"_Emma lath_, that _is_ the templar in you speaking." She reached out to pat his armored shoulder a bit awkwardly. "And no. Not exactly." The talk died down as Arai growled, heralding the arrival of another group of undead long before they were visible. Lenya sliced through their rows as she did before, frowning because she was also starting to feel the strain in her previously injured thigh. It still hampered her movement quite a bit, which was not such a big deal with enemies as sluggish as these, but still.. it bothered her. One creature even managed to use her distraction and haul her off her feet as it launched its rotten body at her. In its blind rage and hunger for fresh flesh, the undead snapped at her, making her momentarily dizzy with its stench. It might have been a woman once, elven like herself and yet was now so twisted and half-decayed as to be practically unrecognizable. Before Lenya could scramble free from her –_its_– grasp, a sword speared the creature from behind and hauled it away from her.

Concern made way for that little, lopsided cocky grin on his face, the one she loved and hated equally. Alistair offered his hand to help her up and for once she didn't hesitate to take it. "Thank you." The sudden surge of affection Lenya felt for him surely showed in her expression and smile, but she didn't care. In fact, it was acceptable, welcomed, even.

Gauntlet or not, her hand remained in his for a moment longer than needed. He gave it a tentative squeeze. "Always."

Indeed, that he was. Always there, always at her side, never giving up. This trait, this _loyalty_ was one of the reasons she had fallen for him in the first place. Lenya was aware of not being the easiest person in Thedas to deal with, and yet he dealt with her multitudes of mood swings and accepted her for who she _was_. Creators, she _loved_ him, even if she was angry at him, because she _cared, _even if sometimes she had the impression her feelings towards him didn't come across as such, or in the same amount he was showing her.

"Ah, a trap. And not a very clever one, at that." Already Zevran knelt beside the device to disable it. Its mechanism seemed to have an effect on the whole vast hall in front of them, so it was better not to push their luck and ignore the trap. "Give me only a moment and we can move on."

"Sure." She shrugged, her mind elsewhere, anyway. It was the least perfect moment amidst the fallen enemies and she should–_ Ah, screw it._ "Atish'an?"

His head tilted to one side with a slight frown, visibly confused why she used her... private name for him just now. Even when fully stretched, her height was just barely sufficient for a quick peck of his lips. "Love you."

Color crept into both of his cheeks at her unexpected action. "Yes?" Alistair cleared his throat. "I mean, I know."

She showed him a genuine smile. "And you _should_."

Behind her, Morrigan made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a groan, a clear sign she disapproved, as usual when it came to Alistair. Lenya decided not to give a damn. As usual. Instead she turned to her friend working on the trap. "I think we got interrupted in our conversation, _lethallin_."

"Ah, before the gruesome undead came, yes." He chuckled, his eyes fixed on the device. "I faintly remember."

"However,"she continued," it is expected that every Dalish provides their part to the clan, to ensure its prolonged existence." She smiled, wistful. "Come to think of it, in hindsight, I'm pretty sure the multitude of my shenanigans were tolerated because I was such a damn good hunter. _And_ the former Keeper's daughter. However, a single mage is capable of conjuring fire at their fingertips or to heal wounds, a deed which would take a huge amount of time or mean certain death otherwise. So naturally magic is seen as tremendously helpful to every clan. What I learned of blood magic from my Keeper, however, appeared to be the direct opposite of that. Its magic is motivated by gaining power, controlling others and hence goes against the very societal thought of the _elvhen_. We don't condemn it like the humans do, but we don't favor it either."

"There, trap disarmed and danger banned." Zevran's words followed a distinctive click and in one movement, he was back on his feet. "And thank you for such a magnificent insight into the Dalish, my dear. Your reasoning is very sound, I reckon."

"For the record, I don't think of that human as evil, but I simply don't need a mage on my heel right now who is prone to idiotic decisions." Lenya snorted. "We have already had enough problems _without_ that walking disaster following us around."

"Heh, which only means there will be more stuff left to kill for us without the pansy slitting... whatever it is blood mages do."

She rolled her eyes, tone sarcastic. "Yes, how _wonderful_, Oghren."

The dwarf grinned. "Always happy to help in trying to find the silver lining, Missy."

"How about trying to find the way into the main hall, instead?"

As if on cue, Arai sniffed the stale air and darted forward, barking loudly. In front of a closed wooden door the Mabari came to a halt and turned to his mistress with a plaintive whine. When she still didn't react, he started to scratch at the door.

"Seems as if Arai found... _something_?" Alistair was the first to walk to the hound's side and cautiously open the door that Lenya's dog was so interested in all of a sudden.

"Ahhh! Please don't hurt me!"

Lenya had expected to find more undead, traps or ..._both_, but not a cowering _shem'asha_ in a storage room. A living and breathing one even, for a change.

"Calm down," Alistair said, his movements slow to not scare her additionally. "I'm not going to hurt you. Nor will anyone else."

The young woman let out a shuddering gasp and finally dared to look up to the group. "I... I'm sorry; I'm so frightened! These monsters are everywhere! My... my name's Valena, the arlessa's maid. Is she... all right? What happened to everyone?"

"Valena?" Lenya piped up, suddenly a lot more interested in the conversation than before. "The smith's daughter?"

He turned to her with a confused frown. "You... know each other?"

"No, but I promised to look for her in the castle." With a mutter under her breath, she added, "Somewhat."

"So my father is alive?" For the first time, the anxious expression vanished from her tear-stained face, if only briefly. "Thank the Maker. I thought everyone was dead for sure. The others, they tried to run, but they – they – didn't make it. And after a while, the dead turned into those... _things_." A sob ripped through her as she buried her head into her hands again."I... I was so scared, I hid myself here from them."

"Good decision, my dear lady." Zevran nodded, his voice calm. "That probably saved your life."

Lenya was unsure how much information she would get out of this frightened mess of a human, but she needed to give it a try. "Do you know where the main hall is? Is it far from here?"

"The main hall?" Valena looked up to her, eyes wide. "No, it's nearby, actually. On the opposite of this hall and across the courtyard, past the main gate and up the stairs. The Arlessa was in the hall, with Connor, but I haven't been there in a long time."

"Are we _done_ wasting time now?" Morrigan groused, hands on her hips. "We still have a demon to deal with and I'm fairly sure it is already aware of our presence. 'Tis better to reach it _before_ it decides to attack us."

"I...just want to go home! To my father." The woman sniffled and audibly swallowed the next bout of tears down. "But there are more monsters out there!"

"Don't worry, we killed most of them," Zevran said, trying to reassure her and achieving the opposite. "Still, it might not be wise to go alone."

"Nor should she stay here." Alistair shifted a bit uneasily on his feet, looking at her pleadingly. Hence, Lenya could already foresee the direction of his proposal. "We are to meet the others at the main gate, which is nearby, right? So –"

"I know." She silenced him with a wave of her hand before turning to Zevran and Oghren. "Could you both see she returns safely to the village and her father? I hate to split up now, but since we are close to the main gate, it shouldn't be much of a problem and we are able to handle the rest."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, my dear. Sadly, I will miss our demon due to it, but you can leave it to me to make sure a beautiful woman arrives at her destination safely."

"Heh, I think there was a dirty word hidden somewhere." Oghren glanced over to her, hesitating. "You sure, Missy?"

Lenya sighed. "Just go, will you?"

"Aye, Warden. We'll drink on your safe return, and storm the castle if you shouldn't."

She smiled at him, head shaking at the notion of him being worried. "Noted. ...Just don't forget to do this with your pants on. In _both_ cases."

"Ah, I don't know, it might be an effective tactic to confuse the demon. ...And scar it for life. Or existence. Whatever." Zevran shrugged and helped Valena up, who rested her weight on the elf, visibly exhausted.

The woman smiled at her, of all things, gratitude was written all over her face. "Thank you, my lady. I will never forget this."

Lenya shrugged her off, hoping to hide her surprise at the notion. "Yeah, now get out of here, will you?" As she watched them leave, she felt Alistair's gaze on her. The Dalish turned to him. "What?"

"Nothing." His smile was warm, affectionate. "I'm simply glad to find that we were able to help and found someone alive within the castle itself."

"Hmm." Lenya nodded with a hum and a smile that resembled his own.

"If you are done making googly-eyes at each other, we'd better hurry." Morrigan whirled round with a huff and stalked ahead. "Else that foolish woman will be the last one we encounter in this state."

Lenya grimaced and started to follow the exasperated trail that was the witch. "I hate to say it, but she is right."

"Right." He sighed. "Demon. Evil. Serious now." Alistair pointed at his face, his expression straight. "See, this is my stern face."

Alistair was joking, yet she didn't miss the pensive note in his voice. "You all right, _emma lath?_"

He frowned at her. "Why are you asking?"

"Because this is the village where you grew up. To see it like this with all that's happening now must be... harsh."

"Yeah, I can't go anywhere without disaster following at my heels, can I? ...Or in this case, _waiting_ for me." He laughed, but it sounded fake to her. Like his whole flippant tone. "Really, it would be so great to go to a place and ask for help with the Blight and have them go, 'Yes, sure, no strings attached and y-"

"Alistair..." He was doing it again. Hiding himself behind a wall of words and jest to conceal his true feelings. Perhaps some habits indeed were hard to set aside. Nevertheless, it bothered her, because she knew he wasn't honest with her here.

He sighed again, the casualty quickly traded for a dull, sad quality to his voice. "No, if I'm honest, I'm _not_. But... you are here with me and I'm not... _alone_. And that is a lot more than what I can say about my... first time here."

Lenya drew her eyebrows together in a pained frown. Even if his words were those of gratitude, she felt her heart go out to him, for the way he got treated as a child by the Arl and Arlessa. The same people who now were relying on him to help, to be _there_, when they had failed to do the same for _him_. It was unfair, cruel, a sickening thought in and of itself. She couldn't stop the pang of hatred rushing through her at that.

"Come on, we've got no time to lose." Being so lost in thought, she hadn't even noticed him walking ahead until he urged her on. Shaking herself, Lenya hurried to catch up and forced herself to smile at him.

"Right at your side, Alistair."

.

.

* * *

**_Elvish notes: _**

* * *

_asha'din ina - lying woman_

_emma lath- my love_

___"Din'dar inan, shemlen!"- Not if it is the truth, human!_

___._


	86. The Weight Of The World

_**A/N:** Early update because the other/last chapter was **that** crappy and because of...reasons. Never before did I struggle more with a chapter than this one here. Since it developed in several direction without my doing and needed several rewrites to finally get the tone and direction I wanted. Tklivory was such a huge help here, listened patiently to my rambling/panic attacks and her additions/suggestions made the chapter simply so much better. Thank you so much, my dear *hugs* _

_Also never before had the PoTF lyrics fitted better than here. So yeah, get your ticket for the bus o' doom and enjoy the ride. Next stop dramaville *cackle*_

* * *

_**When you're free to choose, but the choices leave you lost  
When you feel you paid way more than it should cost **_

– _Poets Of The Fall – Signs Of Life_

* * *

.

**Chapter 80: The Weight Of the World**

.

"Oh great, a party of insanity. And we are all invited."

Lenya was the first to find her voice after blankly staring at the spectacle before their eyes. Bann Teagan was dancing in a completely inane yet dexterous fashion in front of a clapping, cheering boy she assumed was Connor. His mother, the Arlessa-shem, was standing beside him on the dais and presenting quite the pathetic picture: body hunched, eyes downcast and mouth a curve of misery. The main hall was well-lit with a great fire roaring and crackling behind them, but otherwise it was eerily still. The guards positioned on each side – eight in total – were watching the surreal spectacle with impassive, hollow faces. For a moment Lenya even struggled to distinguish if they were still alive or already... _undead_. It seemed to be something in between, a fact which was not particularly reassuring.

Alistair's mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times, before he actually managed to give voice to his reaction. "That is... _one_ way to put it." His posture was tense, thin-lipped and grim, and his eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the boy. He still held Duncan's sword in his right hand, grip tight on the hilt, the dark blood from the slain creatures splattered across his arms and armor.

They had met up with their other companions and the knights at the main gate just as they were ambushed by a horde of undead and a huge creature Morrigan called "revenant." It was apparently _not_ the last demon they would see today, though hopefully the last they had to _slay_.

Lenya frowned at the cackling and gleeful boy, who treated the Bann as if he were a personal plaything. He was much younger than she had thought he would be: barely more than ten or eleven summers, the age at which Alistair had gotten shoved off to the Chantry like an undesirable urchin. She didn't blame the boy for what was happening, but she _did_ lay the responsibility on the stupid, ignorant parents. History obviously was repeating itself through their willful obliviousness, though in a different, cruel form. Creators, she hadn't even _met_ Eamon yet, but already hated him with the burning sun of Elgar'nan.

"Shall I crush its little head?" Shale asked behind her, reminding her it was about time to do something besides stare at the demon-child's freak show.

As if on cue, Teagan did a perfect somersault, an impressive move in spite of all the air of inanity around it, and bowed down to Connor. The boy ignored him and turned towards the formidable group of new arrivals. "Quiet! You are ruining my fun." His voice had nothing of childish innocence left and roared with a raw, brutal force through the edges of the hall.

"_Quickly_?" Shale added, in the same inquiring tone, though there was now an added undertone of urgency.

Lenya suppressed a shudder: the surge of dark magic rolling off his form was nearly violent, certainly oppressive. Beside her, Morrigan laughed, but its sound was very grim, cynical. "Ah, so 'tis true. The boy _is_ our demon. What a surprise."

Connor took a few steps in the witch's direction, his face twisted with an amused, feral grin unlike any child. Lenya instinctively tensed, her hand wandering to the hilt of her sheathed blade at her side. "So _these_ are our visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?"

The Arlessa-shem, who yet remained in her hunched position as if paralyzed, did not even dare to look up. "Y-yes, Connor."

The boy looked over at Lenya, eyes like steel and colder than any winter. She felt his gaze boring into her and her very being, seeing every piece of her. She had to force herself not to look away. Noticing her struggle, he grinned smugly. "And this is the one who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?"

"Y-yes, Connor."

"Hmm, how could _it_ manage that? It is so small and has funny ears." His grin widened. "Shall I cut them off and feed them to the dogs? They chewed fo–"

"You would be dead before you try it!" Sten jolted forward with Asala drawn, his impressive stature and palpable anger even managing to momentarily shut the possessed boy up. Quite the feat. Recovering from the shock of being defended by the _Qunari_, of all people, Lenya raised her hand to calm him down, though such a simple gesture seemed not enough to smother his obvious contempt. "Step aside, Kadan. There is only one way to end this!"

Lenya, however, didn't back down: not to the Qunari, and not to the boy in front of her. It was hard to see how–

"Nooo! Don't hurt my baby!" Isolde's begging voice pierced through the silence and into her ears. "He is not responsible for what he does." For once, the woman spoke the truth. "It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon - he started all this! He summoned this demon! Connor was just trying to help his father!" And the moment was gone just as quickly. Isolde still claimed to have no fault in the situation, which made the Dalish want to forget about the demon boy and strangle the Arlessa instead.

"So he made a deal with the demon to do so?" Morrigan shook her head. "Foolish, _foolish_ child."

"It was a _fair_ deal!" Connor snapped at the witch, the anger contorting his face into a cruel mask. "Father is still alive! Just as _I_ wanted. Now it's _my_ turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer Thedas! You can't make me stop! I'm not finished playing!" He turned around to his mother. "I think it's trying to spoil my fun, Mother!"

Sitting on the stairs of the dais, Teagan grinned into the middle distance, and giggled to himself, as if he had lost his mind - or had it taken from him. "Fun. Fun. Connor wants _fun_. Hahaha."

Connor chuckled darkly as he pointed toward the Bann. "I like him _better_ this way. No more yelling - now he amuses me!"

"Please, I'm begging you, Connor," Isolde's voice was thick with tears. "Don't hurt anyone!"

"I... Mother, what is happening?" Suddenly his voice had lost the hard, hateful edges and the kid blinked, confused. It seemed as if the boy still had lucid moments. "Wh-where am I?"

"In your own personal freak-show, directed by your mother and the demon inside of you." As soon the words left Lenya's mouth, she somewhat regretted their harsh tone. But she was so fed up with all the false theater, the lies and the downright idiocy of _some_ humans in this damn village.

One of them was rushing forward, her face stained with tears, weeping. "Connor? Connor is that you? Thank the Maker! I already thought y–"

"Get away, fool-woman!" With disgust and fury, he flinched away from his mother's touch, who stared at him in shock. It almost seemed as if the demon was appalled that Connor could surface, if even for a moment. "You are beginning to bore me!"

"And here _I_ thought I was the only one," Shale commented, dryly. "So _when_ do we finally crush its little head? My stone is all itchy from standing around, listening to its drivel and the wailing of its mother."

"Such impolite guests you are." Connor scoffed, his lips pursed to a sneer. "First you kill my soldiers destined to conquer Thedas, and _now_ you come sneaking through my castle and dare to threaten me. Have you no manners?"

"–says the demon-child who attacked its own village and now controls the humans against their will..." Lenya had had enough. Glaring at the boy, it took all of her will not to slap that smug grin off of his – its – face, child or no child. She knew he was possessed, but, Creators, there was a reason _why_ she always preferred to put space between herself and children in general.

"I was only having fun!" He stomped his foot on the ground like the petulant boy he was. "And you have _ruined _it by saving that stupid village. I crave more action, I want more _excitement_. You will repay me for depriving me of it!"

The giggling of Teagan dissipated, and the lifeless guards to the side suddenly started to move in tandem, their hands mechanically reaching for their weapons, like puppets. Connor ran off, his maniacal laughter reverberating from the stone walls. "Fun. At last!"

"Finally!" Shale's massive form seemed almost bouncy at the prospect of the fight that immediately followed.

"Don't kill them, they are not themselves!" For one guard, Alistair's yelled warning came too late, as he had already been impaled by Sten's Asala. Spitting blood, he fell backward to the ground, dead.

"Knock them out!" Wynne whirled around with a grace that belied her age, and whipped her staff across the face of the guard who attacked her.

Ducking under a sword swung at her neck, Lenya rolled her eyes. "Fine." Returning to her full height, she swung around and struck the man with the pommel of her sword. As soon as that one was out cold, Teagan came into her sight, facing her.

"Marmalade, Marmalade!" He chanted over and over again in the same insane voice as before. His sword took a wide arc, making her jump back in surprise. Again, Lenya felt the strain in her thigh at this sudden movement, but had no other choice than to ignore it, and go on. Fortunately, the Bann wasn't nearly as good a fighter as he had been the night before: his movements were cumbersome, uncoordinated, and thus not testing the endurance of her newly healed wound. Teagan was giggling even as he charged her, a move she could easily avoid with a simple sidestep. Running too far, Alistair used the moment of confusion to punch the human's light out.

The sound of battle faded quickly, unlike the incessant sobbing of the Arlessa-shem coming from the furthest corner of the room. The majority of the guards were still alive afterward, at least the ones that weren't in reach of the golem. The hall itself was a chaotic mess, however. The previously neat wooden table was thrown face down, its crockery strewn all over the pale stone floor that was not stained red with the guards' blood. Wynne hurried with Leliana over to the still-living men, helping them to their feet and healing their wounds.

Lenya didn't care about any of that. It was just another addition to the steadily growing list of things that _that_ human had fucked up. Which reminded her... "YOU!" Storming over to the still trembling Arlessa, she fixed her with a furious glare. "You have lied to me. _You_ are to blame for all of this!" Behind her she heard a faint groaning, apparently coming from the Bann, who was coming back to his senses.

"Teagan, are you all right?" Isolde rushed over to help him up and hastily wiped the tears from her eyes. "Blessed Andraste! I would never have forgiven myself had you died, not after I brought you here. What a fool I was!"

Lenya gawked after the woman, giving in to the urge to blink, utterly bewildered. _What the_– Had that human just completely _ignored_ her now? Oh no, she _didn't_. She – _ugh_.

"I am... better now, I think. My mind is my own again. I–"

"Excuse me." Tapping Isolde on her shoulder, Lenya waited until she turned around. "I think we have a few things to discuss, _shem'asha'alas."_

"Ah." Like the Dalish, Morrigan had crossed her arms, though _her _expression was one of amusement, not undisguised _wrath_. "This should prove interesting."

The Arlessa frowned, determined to keep her act up. "I – I don't know what you are talking about, Warden."

"Then take a damn good look around you!" The words came through gritted teeth, akin to a growl, and she gave weight to every single one. "All this - the destruction, the death of all the humans you have sworn to protect, the horde of undead - is all your fucking fault! Not to mention what happened with your son!"

"It was the mage!" she sputtered. "H-he poisoned my husband and summoned the demons!"

Lenya snorted, anger subsiding for a grim sense of humor. "Right. _That_ again? Then tell me _who_ was the one that brought a blood mage into this house? _Who_ was so scared of magic, just because your chantry deemed it evil? _Who_ hid the fact that Connor was a mage from his father, hoping it would just _go away?_ Until that shit came back and hit you in the face, along with everything else?" She laughed, its sound mirthless and bitter. "Well, congratulations, you are officially the cause of your husband's poisoning and Connor's possession."

Morrigan laughed, delighted. "I could not have said it better myself."

Teagan turned to the Arlessa, scowling. "Isolde, is thistrue?"

Instead of answering his question, she ignored him and advanced a step towards the Dalish. "How _dare_ you talk to me like that!"

"Oh, believe you me, given enough reason I _will_ turn around this instant and get the fuck out of here, leaving you alone with the mess _you_ created. It's not as if I don't have a Blight to contend with, in case you have forgotten."

"Lenya..." Alistair raised his voice, "...we _do_ need the Arl to oppose Loghain."

Lenya appreciated his attempt to calm her down, but she was already too far gone. All the exhaustion and frustration from the past couple of days, all the lies, the sheer weight of _everything_, was pouring out of her now in the form of harsh words. "I _need_ to fight a darkspawn horde and a fucking dragon to end the Blight - nothing beyond that, Alistair. And if we don't get this Arl-shem's support, well, _screw_ that. I already told you, if needed, I will march into his city and personally drag the ass of that pesky shem'alas from the throne."

"Ooo, sounds like fun." Shale chuckled. "Why are we still standing here and talking, then?"

She paid no heed to the golem, instead opting to continue her rant. "Just don't expect me to eat shitty humble pie now, especially after what this _shem'asha'alas_ has done." She turned back to Isolde, glaring. "Those are _your_ people out there, _not _mine. And you have betrayed them all, by hiding the fact that a demon roams free in this very castle, attacking the village and killing its people to enhance its power. You _willingly_ let this happen."

"They–" Isolde swallowed. "They would have taken Connor away. I was not going to lose my son." Her face scrunched to a mask of disdain. "Not to _magic_."

"And you have made it much worse. Only your actions have made this possible." From the tone of his voice and general demeanor, Teagan was feeling equally less love for his brother's wife's decisions. "What were you thinking, Isolde?"

"Magic... runs in my family. The ones who had it were all terrible, sinful men. I didn't know what to do when I found out!"

"And so you brought doom upon us all, and death to your own son!" Teagan turned away from her, shaking with the effort to control his emotions.

"Not to interrupt your fascinating chain of accusations," Morrigan cut in, "...but I think I understand now. The child must have torn the Veil _after_ he got possessed by the demon and became an abomination."

"Don't talk about my boy that way, _mage_." Isolde downright spat this word out. "H-he is not always like this. Connor is still inside him, and sometimes he breaks through. Please, I just want to protect him!"

"Isn't that what this all started with?" Teagan glared at her and shook his head. "You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret... to protect him. Look what it caused!" Lenya was beginning to like this human, if only for such simple things like saying the ugly truth. "No, we need to think about what to do now."

"Clearly, the child is an abomination," Morrigan stated. "There is only _one_ way to stop it."

"No! Please, no!" Isolde burst into tears and grasped Teagan's arms in the vain attempt to not break down. "There must be another way! Connor is just a child, it is not his fault!"

Lenya closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Pictures of the mage tower flooded her vision, unbidden. The many cruel, twisted creatures that had once been human and elven still stood clear before her inner eyes. Abominations, lost forever to the will of a demon. _Like Connor_. "I see no way this can end happily." She hated to say it, but it was nothing but the truth.

"No! Noo!" Lady Isolde's cry was a heart-wrenching, ragged wail, broken with tears and edged with pain. She was an idiotic, obnoxious human who had brought this upon herself, but for once, Lenya couldn't help but feel sorry for her. "Please don't! It isn't his fault! He just tried to help his father - why must he pay with his life?"

Teagan bit his lip, eyes downcast. "Connor is my nephew, but... he is also possessed by a demon. Death would be... merciful."

Leliana stared at the Dalish, eyes wide open. "We can't kill a young boy, demon or no demon. _Please_ don't say we're considering that!"

Lenya looked up at Alistair, who had been awfully quiet the whole time. She hoped... she was not sure for what exactly, just _something f_rom him. Her fellow Warden _was_ the trained templar here and had the knowledge, after all, but he also remained silent, eyes distant and forehead drawn into a scowl. She didn't want to be the one making this choice, yet it seemed as if the weight of the decision was on her shoulders, and hers alone. Again. Except for Isolde crying in Teagan's arms, all eyes were directed to her, in expectation of her next words.

"If you don't have anything useful to say, or know another way to solve it without killing a possessed _da'len,_" she snapped at the bard, frustrated with just about _everything, _"...then say nothing at all!"

"Actually..." Wynne stepped forward, clearing her throat and interrupting Leliana before she even had the chance to answer. "I don't know if I should even propose it, because I don't see how we can accomplish it. But there _is_ another possibility." Lenya would never have thought she would be glad to hear the mage speak, especially after their fight. But then, she was _more_ than happy to see the attention shift away from her and towards the human. "We can confront the demon in the Fade, though not easily."

"What do you mean?" the Bann asked. He was still holding Isolde and patted her back a bit awkwardly to calm her down. "Isn't the demon within Connor?"

Wynne shook her head. "Not truly. It is complex, but the demon's true form lies in the Fade. We can use the connection between the demon and Connor to find and battle it."

Finally, the Arlessa stopped her sobbing – for which Lenya was grateful – and glanced with tearful eyes over at the mage. "Y-you could enter the fade without hurting my boy?"

"_Possible_ to, yes. _Able_ to, perhaps not," Morrigan said before Wynne could. "Entering the Fade requires lyrium as well as numerous mages to perform the ritual."

Alistair's mouth popped open and closed, visibly unsure whether to speak up or not. Another moment passed until he actually did. "W-what about the Circle of Magi? They have both, after all. And the mages still owe us for freeing the Circle."

It sounded too good to be true and in more ways than one, it _was_. Seeking the Circle for help would mean leaving Redcliffe, a notion Lenya would gladly support. _Normally_. The big drawback of this plan, however, was that it also meant leaving the demon in the castle unchecked and with enough time to rebuild its army of undead for another attack. As much as Lenya trusted the ability of the Wynne and Morrigan, it was too dangerous, too risky. She had seen firsthand what the demon was capable of and she couldn't risk losing everything she had fought for all through the night - not for the sake of one single human. As hard and cruel as it seemed, going to the Circle was not a viable option, simply because it would take too much time.

"No!" All heads turned to her, staring at her in shocked silence. She swallowed, the words heavy on her tongue. "We can't just leave the demon alone for _days_. Does anyone remember what happened in the village only yesterday? The attack in the night? I think you damn well should, since you were all there."

"Lenya..." Alistair's throat worked, trying to sound calm. He failed. "I think we should at least _try_. I know that Connor is an abomination and how this is... normally solved, but if there is another possibility then–"

"I know!" Lenya snapped at him, cutting his words off. Her fingers balled into fists, shaking at her sides. She hated it, hated the whole situation. To stand in front of this Arlessa-shem and all the others and to argue with _him_. Again. She hated the futility of a choice that was not a choice, when it came right down to it. She hated to be the one giving these ugly words voice. Why was she _always_ the one? Why didn't anyone besides her _see_ it? "But can you promise that nothing will happen to the village in the days of our absence? That more of those humans we fought to save will die or that the mages will make it back in time?" She glared up to him. "Can you?"

Alistair stared at her, at a loss for words. For her, this was answer enough.

"Thought so." Lenya scoffed, and shook her head. "Creators, these aren't even my own People out there. Doesn't it seem odd to you that I'm the only one concerned about the consequences of leaving for the Circle here? _Me_?" She struggled to fight back the tears. She was tired, so damn tired. "Life isn't a fairy tale, Alistair. Stories like this tend to lack an happy end."

"This is my _son_ you are talking about! Not a thing!" Suddenly Isolde stormed forward, screaming, her bearings hysterical. "I _order_ you to save him, elf!"

"You... _what_?" Lenya couldn't believe her ears and struggled to not do something impulsive – and therefore violent. "Listen, shem! I'm not one of those subservient flat-ears, bowing to your word and scrubbing your floors! I'm the damn reason your village is still standing and not burned to the ground. The humans you _failed_ to protect are still alive because of me. Because of _us_!"

The ground under the golem's feet shook, as she took a step forward, the stone around Shale's white lava eyes narrowing. "Can I _finally_ squish It?"

"Please, Isolde..." Teagan pulled her back, but she was still flailing. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Be reasonable."

"_Reasonable_?" she spat, pure hatred and desperation etched in her expression. "This is your _nephew_! How can you stand there grim-faced and tell me my son has to die? Please... Warden." She turned back to the Dalish, shaking and near tears. "M-my family is influential and wealthy. Save Connor and you can name your price."

Lenya scowled at her. She understood this was the last desperate attempt of the Arlessa to save her son, but he had been lost long ago. Not all the money in Thedas could rescue him from the demon, however much that human wished for it. If it were so easy to solve every problem with wealth like this _shem'alas_ was apparently used to, there would be no darkspawn, no tainted lands and no archdemons in the first place. Lenya had an inkling that the Arlessa - safe in her stone castle and eating from fine, ornamented plates with servants to answer every need - had long ago forgotten how _hard_ life could be - and now she was about to get a taste of it again. A very bitter one.

"You can't buy me, shemlen," she answered, not without disdain in her voice. "Your money can't solve everything. It certainly can't solve _this._"

"Noooo! No! I won't let you do this!" Isolde yelled and lashing out at her, but Lenya evaded her attack easily. Teagan pulled her back and held her in place while she kicked and screamed. "This isn't right! This isn't right! Filthy _murderer_! He is an innocent boy!"

"Go now and be quick," The bann said, sadness lingering in his voice. "I will make Isolde... understand."

"That's it? You're giving up? Without even–"

"Don't, Alistair. Just... _don't_." Lenya raised her hand to stop him, too disappointed to even look at him. It was easy to criticize someone for decisions one was not willing to make, because they were the ugly, hard ones - like choosing to sacrifice one life to save many others. Lenya didn't want to do that _either_, but it wasn't as if there was a choice. Creators, she _wished_ there was. "I...don't want to fight." She swallowed. "Not again."

"So you are actually going to... _kill_ Connor?"

"Please, let us rethink this!" Leliana pleaded, in duet with Alistair. "There– "

"Parshaara. It must be done!" Sten stepped in her way, blocking her further words and actions with just his massive presence.

"I don't know, Lenya," Alistair continued, frowning. "Perhaps we should split up, with only one or two heading for the tower, with the rest staying here to watch Connor. I just have the feeling we haven't tried hard enough, that we're taking the easiest route."

"The _easiest_ route? Yeah, right." Lenya laughed, tone bitter. "Would you rather wait until the demon comes out again, wreaking havoc?" Not waiting for the answer, she turned away from him, angry and emotionally exhausted. She just wanted to get _out_ of here. It was all too much at the moment. The hysterical wailing and screaming of the Arlessa reverberated through the hall, like the multitude of voices of her group suddenly caught up in arguing. It was jarring compared to the deathly silence that had loomed there before.

Waiting only a bare moment, she took advantage of the cacophony to slip away and do what had be done, and _quickly_. The sun was about to set and she didn't want to find out if the demon were capable of recreating the events of the previous night.

Arai followed her as she walked out of the hall that they had spent what felt like _hours_ in argument, towards a task she didn't want and a choice that seemed to be the only one possible.

.

.

* * *

.

_I'm not going to cry... I'm _not _going to cry..._

Lenya repeated the sentence in her head like a mantra as she stumbled forward, treacherous tears already blurring her vision. She swallowed them down, yet couldn't help but feel lost and alone, and in more than just the figurative sense. The castle was huge, cold and empty: a vast expanse of wasted space. There were too many doors here that led to nowhere in particular. The wind howled through the cracks of the stones, unadulterated by any other sound in the echoing emptiness. Lenya walked through the vacant hallway, clueless as to where to find Connor, or if she even _wanted_ to.

_The easiest route..._

His careless words still angered her, leaving more than a pang of hurt inside. He had once promised to never leave her alone again with such a hard decision. And yet he did. Just like in Lothering when _she_ had been the one to kill the tainted child.

_Nelia_. She would never forget that name. _If only–_

The Mabari whined, nudging her armored thigh, jarring her from her grim thoughts.

"Arai..."

The meager torch-light flickering on each of these pale, dead walls enveloped his canine form in shadows and yet she could clearly see how he cocked his head, woofing.

Right, _not_ alone.

Lenya stopped and knelt beside him, embracing his thick neck. "I don't want to do this, but... there is no other way, is there? I–" He stopped her words as his big tongue lapped across her cheek, his stubbed tail wagging. "Whatever happens, Arai, I'm glad I'm not alone. Thank you for being here." She took a deep breath, the hound's presence helping her to calm down. "Maybe I should–"

"I... know you!" WIth a gasp of surprise, she whirled around, only to find herself face-to-face with the boy. "But you shouldn't be here. She won't like you being here. She'll just try to hurt you."

Arai started to growl at the child, who watched the Mabari cautiously, but otherwise didn't seem to be impressed. Creators, _where_ had he come from all of a sudden? Lenya tried to calm her wildly hammering heart and took another step towards him. "Connor? The real Connor, I mean?"

The boy nodded, abruptly shy. His demeanor was so different from when the demon dominated. "I'm always me, but sometimes the scary lady takes over. I feel like I'm sleeping, but I guess I'm not."

"Who is the 'she' you are talking about?" Lenya frowned and waved at Arai to stop growling. "The demon?"

"She won't tell me. She says names have power," he said in a nearly hushed voice. "Sometimes she's nice. She says she just wants to help me. But then she gets very mean. Demons are liars." Connor looked away, his eyes downcast. "First I only heard her in my dreams, and then she was everywhere. Even now, she's not far away."

Her frown deepened. That didn't sound too promising. "What are you doing here, Connor?"

"I... wanted to go into father's study." A faint smile settled over his fair, boyish features. "I used to go there often when father was working. Before he... got sick. I wanted to help Father, I miss him. She knew I did; that's why she came to me." Connor looked up to her, his voice without inflection or emotion - in fact, it was eerily analytical. "Are you here to kill me?"

This was the second time in a brief period where Lenya needed to take a sharp intake of air. "What?"

"I heard people talking in hushed tones, servants mostly. They thought I couldn't hear them, but I could. They were afraid of me, said it was the Maker's punishment for me having magic." The boy halted his words for a moment, swallowing. "One day they stopped talking, because she... she did terrible things to many of them. And I couldn't do anything to stop it. And she laughed, was just... amused when they screamed. She likes to hurt people. She is a bad person." He shook his head. "They were right, weren't they? I'm evil, aren't I? That's why mother hid me and brought in Jowan to teach me without anyone allowed to know."

"Only stupid shem believe that magic is evil or a punishment. But you should have learned how to handle it, and not from a blood mage. With my people, a _len'enesal_ is taught from early age by the keeper. Without inducing fear or needless superstition." Lenya was aware she _shouldn't_ talk with him at this length, shouldn't see him as a person or care for reasons why, because it would make everything _more_ difficult. But she did. Lenya wanted answers, to see if the mage in the prison had been lying. If he had really been telling the truth, maybe that human could help after all. Maybe she wouldn't have to –

"You're a Dalish!" he said out of the blue, a bit too cheerfully given the circumstances. "I know about your people. I read a lot, you know, since mother doesn't allow me to go out much. She was always afraid of other people finding out." Ironically, the Arlessa hadn't even noticed how she had put him in a cage of her own fear, for all that she spoke of not wanting to see him taken to the Circle.

"What can you tell me about Jowan?"

"He's a nice person and was always patient with me." Connor looked down. "But he poisoned my father, so I wonder if he was only nice to me because of that. I heard my mother talking, how she's blaming him for everything happening with the village, but that is... not true. Jowan had strictly forbidden me to read some of the books he had, but... but I did anyway. I... I shouldn't have done that. But after father got sick, I just- I just wanted to help. One night after that, _she _started to talk to me, made me promises. That's where it all started. She likes to kill people and use them. I never wanted that to happen, but I can't stop her. I can't." The boy glanced up to her, his eyes shining with a film of tears. "Can you?"

Arai whined at that, expressing perfectly the conflicted emotions that rushed through her with that sound. "Y-yes. I guess so." She knelt down in front of him, her fingers wrapping around the hilt of the dagger on her belt, struggling to draw it.

"Good." He let out a sigh, relieved. "What's going to happen to me? When I'm dead?"

"My People," Lenya swallowed, blinking tears away, "say that you are going on a great journey guided by Falon'Din, the god of death and fortune. They say that you are never alone and lost on your way to the Beyond, and protected from Fen'harel, the dread wolf."

"Hmm, that doesn't sound so bad," the boy mused, as if he were talking about his favorite food. "Better than what I have heard of the Maker. He always seemed so... angry. Do you think they will accept a human?"

Her first impulse was to say no, but she hadn't the heart for it. He was such a clever and brave child, who had gone through so much and yet faced his fate with more maturity than his mother ever could. "I... don't know." Lenya finally managed to draw the weapon, but her hand uncharacteristically shook, making it hard to even hold onto it. Arai cocked his head and whuffed. Like her, he was _not_ happy with the situation.

Connor didn't flinch away, even as she came closer with the dagger to him. "W-will you save my father?"

The Arl. The shemlen who'd treated the man she loved like the dirt beneath his fingernails. But also Connor's father. No matter her opinion or feelings towards the human she hadn't even met, it would be cruel to deny the boy this... last wish. "Y-yes."

"Grey Wardens." He spoke in a hushed voice that trembled faintly, eyes locked on the embroidered griffon on her chest. "I always liked the stories of big battles and griffons. It seems so heroic."

It wasn't. It was ugly and bloody and _painful_ and she –

_"You know, my mommy told me stories about the Grey Wardens. How you drove the bad monsters away. You are heroes. When I'm a grown up, I want to be a Grey Warden, too."_

Suddenly Lenya was back in the hut in destroyed Lothering, the tainted girl in front of her instead of Connor. The dagger clattered to the floor before she was even aware of releasing it. "I can't. I _can't_ do this." She rose back to her feet, whirling hastily around in an attempt to control her emotions. "I will go to Jowan, maybe he can–" Her words were halted by Arai, who bared his fangs and started to growl.

"Fool!" Connor laughed, but it wasn't the child's voice anymore."You'll never take him. He's mine!" In the blink of an eye light flashed brightly and flooded the room, blinding her. With inhuman speed his now twisted form lashed out at her, as she turned - far too late. The impact of the blow hurled the Dalish like a ragdoll against the nearest stone wall.

The ferocious growling of Arai was the last sound she heard before her world went dark.

.

.

* * *

.

"Are you coming?"

The idiot blinked and gazed at her as if she had grown a second head. It was not that Morrigan _wanted_ to ask him, but considering that there was a demon loose beyond the main hall, his otherwise loathsome templar talents were needed. _Alas_. Unlike the rest of their dimwitted companions, she preferred to _do_ something rather than stand around indulging in meaningless arguments. Lenya must have used the momentary commotion to slip away, to face the demon child on her own like the stubborn, frustrating fool that she could be.

"What?"

"I'm _not_ asking again." The grip around her staff tightened, steps accelerating almost on their own. Something felt _wrong, _as if energy were shifting at a fundamental level.

He pointed towards their companions, confused. "What about them?"

She didn't stop, or wait. "There is no _time_. Unless you want the woman you claim to love to d-"

"Don't you _dare _to say it!" He rushed after her in a hurry, their still-arguing companions long forgotten._ As expected_. "I can't believe she went in there, alone."

"You are surprised?" She turned her head towards him, not slackening her pace. "Really? After all the wonderful support you showed her?"

"I –" his jaw snapped shut, forcing the words out through a clenched teeth, defiant. "We shouldn't kill an innocent child."

"No? Isn't that how the templars handle such matters? As far I know, they are normally not so concerned about the question of guilt."

"I'm _no_ templar, Morrigan," he snapped, his ire rising. "Once and for all, I'm a Warden. …I just don't understand how she could make that decision."

"Lenya did, because _you_ did _not_, fool. I thought that much was obvious even to _your _limited horizon." For a moment, she had to smother the wish to whack her staff over his head. There was no time or space for such thoughts now, however, since the ill-feeling in the pit of her stomach grew stronger with every step toward the other hall. "I cannot claim to be able to control the demon with my magic at this stage anymore. Not with it now having control over the boy at its whim. So could you, _Warden_?" She lay a mocking emphasis on his title.

"N-no. I guess... _not_." He looked away, sighing. "Look, can we just... let's just hurry. If something happens to her–" He let the sentence trail off, his expression pained and grim. The sound of his blade freed from its sheath rang loudly through the stillness, along with the resonating hollowness of their footsteps. Finally they reached the end of the long gangway, another hall straight ahead of them. The raw, dark magic oozed from its entrance, thick and viscous and tasting bitter on her lips.

Whatever lay ahead could in no wise be the innocent child that Alistair was so keen to rescue.

She practically flew through into the hall beyond, using feet only because she wished to conserve her magic as much as could be. The Veil was almost nonexistent in its thinness and she could feel the oppression of the Fade even from here. And that's where _she _was. _Alone_.

Damn it. Damn _her_.

That stubborn, _insufferable_ fool of a Dalish.

A spell to shapeshift already on her lips, Morrigan ran towards the still form of the Warden in the opposite corner of the room, towards the desire demon looming over her. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the figure with red dripping from its claws hovering over the fallen elf, savoring the imminent victory. _It was about to end her life._ Arai had done his best, delaying the inevitable for a few precious moments, but he now lay beside Lenya, a pool of dark liquid widening around his unmoving form.

Doors snapped closed in the hall, blocked by the evil power that drowned every other sound out. The creature turned, alerted to their presence but lacking sufficient time to react.

Not that _she_ had much of a warning, either.

The smite hit her like a concurrent wall of fire and stone, fueled by months of practice and strengthened with the power of pure fury. Morrigan crashed to the floor, momentarily stunned, struggling to come back to her senses. Gasping and drained of all magic, it took her a moment to recover - yet she willed herself to get up again. Though not graceful, she scrambled on all fours over to the Dalish, determined to kill the templar fool later for smiting her along with the demon.

_Later_. Right now Lenya was more important, even though she couldn't do much for her without her magic.

_You are fool _yourself_, Morrigan. For caring._

Shaking off the unwanted thought, she searched for the elf's pulse and was relieved to find one, its rhythm still strong. One side of Lenya's face was swollen and her arm hung at an odd angle, yet she was _alive_. Morrigan dared not look at the battered animal beside the Dalish, not wanting to know. Arai had saved his mistress' life, and, judging by the shallowness of his breaths, it had most likely cost his own. There was nothing she could do for him now. Not without her magic, not without herbs, trapped in this large room. The dog seemed to recognize her, his stubbed tail wagging in spite of his multiple wounds. Whining faintly, he tried to lift his head, but she gently held him down with one hand, blinking rapidly.

_Stupid mutt. _Pity her misty eyes refused to agree with her stern thought.

"You did well, boy. Len–"

The demon screeched, weakened by the smite and defeated by the ex-templar's pure wrath. Jolts of light crashed through the air, the barriers crackling. Its combination was deafening, blinding. As the dust settled and the light dissipated, the demon was gone, leaving behind the battered form of the boy. He was sprawled on the floor, almost peacefully, his little chest rising and falling with the struggle to survive. The air rang with the sound of his gasping, accompanied only by the sound of a gauntleted hand tightening its grip around the hilt of a sword.

Then, abruptly, the sound of the boy's breathing... stopped. A heartbeat later, a final little _whuff_ echoed through the room, released with the knowledge that his mistress was safe.

Sword and shield clattered to the stone floor reddened by innocent blood, and she watched as Alistair fell on his knees to stare at the small lifeless form before him. For a moment, it seemed as if _he_ had stopped breathing as well, but then his chest heaved - once, twice - before settling into a reluctant rhythm as the pounding of footsteps filled the air with a raucous clamor. Like Morrigan, he disregarded the intrusion of their other companions and the sudden noise they carried with them into the deathly stillness. They rushed over to Lenya, to Arai, the tingle of healing magic already filling the air in their haste. She was barely aware of their voices, of their questions and panic, her eyes still locked on the fool and the boy. His bloodied gauntlet hesitantly reached out to the child's lifeless form, his expression one of pure horror and powerful regret.

"I'm... sorry."

Only those two words did he whisper, simultaneously voicing guilt and apology for his deed. Two words which would have been easily lost amidst the hectic rush around them, if one didn't pay attention. But Morrigan did, making her painfully aware that he had been right.

He was no templar.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N²**__: Yes, I went there, it wasn't planned but I went there. And should you hear an odd sound now, this is me cackling in a corner, after I'm done with weeping, that is. Just ignore it. Review?_


	87. The Sound Of Guilt

_**A/N:** I do quite a bit of head-hopping this time, since there are so many emotions to cover, and each is told best from the respective character's POV. Hope it is not too confusing. As always, thanks to all reading and especially commenting, and of course to my beta awesome tklivory. Enjoy. _

* * *

**Shepard: **"There is only so much fight in a person, so much death you can take before..."

**Garrus: **"...Before your friend picks you up, dusts you off and tells you you are the best damn soldier he's ever met. We'll get through this. We always do."

– _**Mass Effect 3**_

* * *

.

**Chapter 81:** **The Sound Of Guilt**

.

"_Ouch!"_

_The wooden dagger slammed into her back for the umpteenth time. The young Dalish rubbed at the sore spot and whirled around to glare at her clan mate. Aranion was one of the best hunters in their clan, and Lenya was _usually _proud that he'd declared himself as her mentor - but not today._

"_What did I tell you, da'len?" He looked at the teen and shook his head. "Never present your back to your opponent, no matter how harmless the situation seems."_

"_But –"_

"_No, Lenya! There is no but. Argument, impatience and ignoring your defense in a fight means that you will lose. And you have done all these things, so, technically speaking, you are dead."_

_She frowned at the tall man with long hair and took a deep breath. The familiar scent of earth and wood helped her bite back the retort that lay on her tongue. More angry with herself than with him, she bent over to reclaim her pair of training daggers from the ground. He was right, of course, and _that _was what actually nagged her. She had been too impulsive, too impatient, mistakes that would be deadly in a real battle. "Very well, I want to try it again. And this time I won't fail!"_

Gasping, Lenya woke with a jerk, and instantly regretted it. Her whole body ached as if a herd of halla had stampeded over her. The blood thrummed in her ears and the right side of her face felt far too hot and simply _wrong_. With a groan she forced herself to sit up, glancing around at a room she didn't recognize.

"Ah, you awaken. I was beginning to wonder if you would."

Lenya turned to the familiar voice, the motion too hasty for her poor head. She bit her lip as her vision shifted and blurred, trying without success to blink the dizziness away. Her whole head felt as if she had been enthusiastically embraced by Shale. Lenya wasn't quite sure if a brain could hurt in a physical way, but hers certainly did. "W-where am I?" she managed, more croaking than actually speaking.

"Safe and not dead, though in a practical sense, you _should_ be," Morrigan said, harshly, her eyes narrowing. "_Again_. You have developed a troubling habit of trying to get yourself killed."

Lenya was baffled by the force behind her words. "...Sorry?"

"You don't need to apologize to _me_. Though one might wonder how you could be so reckless as to pursue the demon on your own." Leaning on the edge of a dark, wooden desk in the middle of the room, the witch crossed her arms, glowering unabated.

As her sight slowly cleared, Lenya acquired a better grasp of her surroundings. Her makeshift quarters seemed to be a study of some sorts, furnished with heavy bookshelves on each side of the room, not unlike those in the mage tower. _Mage_. Lenya started, a surge of panic filling her. _Connor_. "What happened? Where is everyone?"

"So full of questions, are you?" The witch sighed and walked around the desk, observing the various items on it without much interest. "We found the demon looming over you, about to end your life. It enraged the idiot, but instead of giving me another second to shapeshift and reach the creature, he smote me along with the demon and–" She let the sentence trail off, her eyes fixed on a book that couldn't be _that_ interesting so suddenly.

Icy fear twisted in her heart. If Alistair had been there with Morrigan, who had been drained of all mana, then... _No_. "You mean–"

"Yes, 'tis true." She nodded, still not looking at her. "'Twas _he_ who ended the boy's life and hence mended the tear in the Veil. The undead are now gone, as well as the remainder of the dark energy that lingering over the castle and village. The Arl, however, has not yet awoken, so this whole affair remains an enormous waste of our energy and time."

"W-what?" Words were coming from Morrigan's mouth, but after the bit about Alistair killing Connor they had stopped making sense to her. "Where is he? I need to see him! Now!" Lenya jolted up and a fiery pain seared through her right side. Her vision swam as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Swaying on her feet, Lenya only stopped her stumbling once she had bumped into the aged wood of the desk, knocking several items to the ground.

"I see you have discovered your dislocated shoulder? Another matter I pondered as you slept," Morrigan said, casually sauntering over to her. "It could have been a lot worse, but you have more luck than judgment at times, and alas these times seem to steadily increase. I would like you to return to think before you ac– oh never mind, you rarely do that. _Frustratingly_ so." Her voice had long lost its carefree note and adapted a sharpness that was... surprising.

"You were worried." Lenya didn't pronounce the sentence as a question, rather as a conclusion. "Is that why you are here now?"

"Don't be idiotic!" Crossing her arms, Morrigan huffed out a short sigh. She glowered at the wall before finally looking at her and shaking her head, as if giving up. "You stubborn, damn fool-woman of a Dalish! You think you can always solve everything on your own? Even facing a powerful demon, which I suspected could reappear at its will in the child? Do you think I would have taken that templ– idiotic fellow Warden of yours with me otherwise, if his loathsome templar talents hadn't been needed? You shouldn't have–" She bit her lip, swallowing the remaining words that threatened to stumble from her tongue. "Now hold still and let me fix your shoulder, idiot."

"Thank–" Lenya cried out, momentarily forgetting how to speak as Morrigan pushed her shoulder back into place. She took a deep, shaky breath and blinked tears of pain away. "Thank you. Though I thought you also supported the idea of seeking out the circle."

"Do not confuse me with the old bat," she cut her off angrily. "Contrary to her, I merely pointed out that pursuing the idea of venturing to the circle prison would most likely not be feasible, given the time and material needed. Demons are unpredictable, after all. It wouldn't have waited patiently while we arranged the necessary resources for its eventual destruction. Killing the boy was the surest, quickest resolution, yet one should not seek to perform it _alone_."

Slowly, Lenya tentatively tested the mobility of her shoulder and arm. It still felt stiff and achy, but with her right side being bruised all over – due to an unfortunate meeting with the wall – it was to be expected. "I wasn't alone!" she snapped in her own defense. "Arai was with m –" Suddenly her thoughts came to a halt, a panicked full stop. "Where is he? Is he hurt?"

Morrigan's mouth worked, but no words came out. She didn't answer, maybe couldn't. Before she glanced to the side, the gold of her eyes had already dimmed with a hint of sadness that she couldn't quite voice.

"What... happened?" Lenya refused to succumb to the feeling of dread inside. It sank lower and lower into the pit of her stomach and spread from there like a disease. Morrigan's uncommonly somber and quiet reaction chilled her down to the bones.

"'Twas just a dog!" she eventually managed, putting on a defiant sneer. "Just a stupid mutt, who died–"

The slap rang out like a thunderclap, its sound filling the stillness of the room as Lenya stared shocked into the equally stunned face of the human, her hand still raised. Slowly, like the red mark blooming across Morrigan's cheek, she curled her fingers one by one as she withdrew it from her face. As her hand tightened into a clenched fist at her side, the Dalish began trembling violently.

"You lie." _This cannot be. _"Arai can't die!" As soon as the word left her mouth, she reflexively covered it with her hand. Her eyes widened in recognition of its gruesome meaning.

_No_.

"_Whatever happens, Arai, I'm glad to be not alone. Thank you for being here."_

_No._

"-protecting you." Morrigan eventually finished the sentence, but Lenya didn't hear her anymore. "'Twas his purpose, and he fulfilled it well. He saved your life."

She remembered the growling sound of the Mabari, the last thing she had heard before blacking out, and her heart wrenched.

_It is my fault._

Realization and anguish seized her simultaneously in their whirlwind embrace, holding her frozen in steel claws. She couldn't move or blink, because blinking meant giving permission to the tears to flow free. Already they lingered behind her eyes, poised for release. And tears would make it _true_, were an acknowledgment of– of–

_No._

So she turned and fled the room.

.

.

* * *

.

Leliana was tired, but she couldn't sleep.

_Nobody_ could.

Everything that could go wrong, every worst-case scenario, had _happened_, taking their journey in an ill-fated direction. Instead of seeking out the Circle to fight the demon in the Fade, the Arl's son was dead, killed by Alistair. Bad enough that he had been but an innocent boy fallen to the power and will of a demon in the attempt to help his father. Worse that even with the sinister power cleansed from the castle and village, and the Veil was mended, the Arl still hadn't woken from his compelled sleep.

And so she combed the wet fur of Arai, the canine companion who had died saving his mistress.

It was the least and _last_ thing she could do for the Mabari, and the bucket of water next to her was already red from the blood she had washed out of his fur with utmost care. Sten had observed her for a moment or two before turning away with a snort. He had returned only once, a shovel in his hands and his lumbering frame stained with dirt and mud and smelling like the soil after a downpour of rain. Shaking his head at her doing, he'd mumbled foreign words she didn't recognize, nodded toward the lifeless animal, and left the room for good. Leliana knew it was ridiculous to wash Arai; the golem had told her so, even as she herself had packed '_some pretty stones for it who luckily cannot attempt to pee on her anymore_' on a pile next to him. She had nearly smiled as she saw how _huge_ the stones were that Shale had collected, but then remembered the reason for it and the smile faded before it was even _there_. Still, this was Shale's way of showing her appreciation for a companion that had fought at their side for many months.

The cleaning of his fur was _her_ way of showing it. It was probably useless and senseless to do, but it felt _wrong_ to bury or cremate him – their loyal and faithful companion – bloodied and stained with dirt. She would miss him, especially his slobbering antics and charming ways to get more food than was good for him. His soulful eyes had always stared back at her with an understanding that went beyond any animal. Those eyes and intelligence had finally let her comprehend why Fereldans admired Mabari as much as they did.

Yet her grief was but a dull ache compared to what Lenya would feel upon learning of Arai's death. Leliana dreaded the moment when she would wake from her unconsciousness, only to find that her canine companion had sacrificed himself so that she might live. The Mabari had been a companion to all – and the reaction within their group showed that – yet he had been much more to Lenya. A _friend_, even.

She sighed, the sound deep and sorrowful, and felt once more the exhaustion in her bones. The castle itself was so tranquil that simply being here had become discomfiting, like being in a haunted place. Only some elven servants seemed to be scurrying around, the fitting ghosts in the attic. Armed with scrubbing brushes and buckets of water, they were already attempting to clear away all evidence of the events from the bloodied ground. Bann Teagan had only resurfaced once, searching for the _other_ Warden who was nowhere to be found, and understandably so. As soon as he'd ensured Lenya was alive and in Wynne's good and capable hands, Alistair had fled from the scene, away from the dead child in his need to be alone.

That had been hours ago.

Another sigh. No matter how she might look at it, their stay in Redcliffe had been a disaster. Normally these were the stories ballads were made of, but she would have preferred one or two less tragedies. Cocking her head, Leliana examined her work and nodded, satisfied. Wounds aside, Arai's coat had regained its usual dark brown color, gleaming a bit with a sheen. And yet he remained lifeless, bedded on a white sheet colored crimson by his blood, rigid. With his tongue lolling out on the side, the Mabari looked as if he were just sleeping, but in truth he would never wake again.

Looking away, the bard blinked fast to clear her eyes from a sudden and unwanted mist. At that moment, the tangle of agitated voices permeating through the closed, wooden door caught her attention. She dried her hands with another linen and got up from the ground, just as the door slammed open.

"W-where is–" The words died on the elf's chapped lips, abandoned in shock by the sight of Arai's lifeless form. Leliana had braced herself against this moment, had known it would be horrible.

In reality, though, it was _worse_.

The Dalish looked awful. One side of her face was still visibly swollen, and bruises threaded in all colors over her features and snaked down her throat. Her usually neatly bound hair was a tangled, unkempt mess on her head.

But the worst thing of all was the look in her eyes.

Ever since she had seen Arai lying there, she hadn't moved or blinked. She simply stared, the gaze fixed on what seemed impossible, empty of any emotion.

Leliana suppressed the desire to hug her, to offer comfort in whatever form. She didn't know how the Dalish would react to such a gesture from someone she didn't exactly consider a friend. They weren't even on friendly terms, but in that moment it didn't matter. "Lenya..." She took a step toward the elf and watched for her reaction to it, was hoping for one _at all_.

Hearing her name seemed to have broken her paralysis. Her face scrunched and relaxed again with a wince, visible in the struggle to keep her bearings somehow.

She failed.

A sound not unlike a whimper wormed its way out of her throat, and suddenly her whole body trembled. Leliana advanced another step toward her, and against her better judgment took her in her arms. Lenya just stood there - rigid, silent and shaking - and just let it happen.

For a moment, at least.

Then she shoved the bard away, her narrowed eyes fixed on her bloody hands. "What did you _do_ to him?"

Leliana blinked at the force in her words as the Dalish lashed out at her, the buried anger and grief given voice. "I...just cleaned Arai, before–" Words failed her and now she was blinking for an entirely different reason. Tears pricked at the edge of her eyes, since crying was something she hadn't allowed herself to do yet - just like the Dalish. "Wynne tried, but th-there was nothing we could do for him. I'm sorry."

Lenya didn't say anything, her face frozen again, emotions hidden behind a mask she rarely let down. And never with her. For the briefest of moments it made her wonder _who_ this Dalish really was. The one who simply ignored her presence most the time and yet lashed out on her for every wrong word. Who was openly laughing, crying and speaking with the few people of their group that had her trust, and yet so closed down and hostile towards _everyone_ else.

"It is my fault..."

Leliana started. These words were sent rushing through the room, so unexpected, so very loud, in the complete silence that its volume shocked her. The Dalish knelt next to her Mabari, her fingers threading through his damp coat and kneading his ear without eliciting any reaction from the dog.

It still seemed unreal, even though she had been the one kneeling beside him for hours and washing the blood and dirt out of his fur. "He tried to protect you. And he did. Without him, we wouldn't have found you al–" the bard stopped as Lenya scoffed.

"See? Like I said. _My_ fault." She sniffed, the faintest acknowledgment of the sadness lingering inside. "Every time people die because of –"

"Is there something I can do? Leliana asked, unsure, and swallowed. "For you, I mean."

Lenya drove her healthy hand through Arai's fur one last time, before turning around. Now the deep green of her eyes was dimmed with anguish and a fine film of tears. "Wh-where is Alistair?"

Of course she preferred to seek _him _out for solace, instead of her. Leliana wasn't even offended. Well, maybe she was a bit disappointed, and didn't even know _why_. "He left... after–"

She swallowed, visibly struggling with her emotions. "...he killed Connor?"

"Yes." Leliana nodded, biting her lip. "And I don't think he wants to be found right now." _Understandably so._

"Still... I-I need to see him." The healthy hand on her side clenched, the blinking harsher with every passing moment. Their eyes met and hers momentarily widened, as if recognizing something. "Leliana... do you think we should have gone to the Circle instead?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling. She was fighting the tears, and maybe even lingering doubts.

Just hours ago, Leliana's answer would have been a clear affirmation, but after all what happened she now hesitated. "I... don't know. But it doesn't matter anymore, the demon is gone and Redcliffe saved. So don't beat yourself up about what could have been." These words were easier to say than to believe. Maybe some of the tragedies could have been averted with the mages help, or maybe the demon would have slaughtered the remaining villagers in their absence. They would never know.

"Hmm..." Fixing the ground, Lenya turned for the door, her bearings defeated, weary. "I see."

The Dalish didn't even notice Wynne until she bumped into her, as she entered. "I told you, you shouldn't go and see Arai!" The elder woman shook her head, disapproving. So it had been _her_ who had argued with Lenya at the door. "We still need to hea–" The Dalish didn't even look at her. Completely ignoring the mage's presence, she stormed out of the room.

"Wait...!"

"Let her be." Leliana sighed. "At least for now."

Wynne huffed, still upset. "Her irresponsible behavior nearly cost her life and sent all possible plans askew before they were even properly made. Without Alist– "

"I know." The bard frowned. "But what purpose does it serve to blame her _now_? And I think she feels enough guilt as it is, without you adding to it."

"Maybe you are right." The elder mage sighed, resting her weight on the wall and rubbing her face with both hands. "It's just... it shouldn't have happened. That poor boy." She started to walk up and down in a restless manner. The torchlight enveloped her face in shadows and made her appear older than she really was. "That's not the only issue," Wynne continued. "I have already looked at the Arl, and no matter what I try his comatose state remains unchanged- though that may be the best we can hope for at the moment, considering the demon was the one sustaining him. But with the demon's power now gone, I'm unsure how much time he has left. With both of the Wardens in such a troubling condition, I feel as if it is running through our hands like sand..." She looked over to where Arai lay."...and should the Arl die, everything that has happened would have been for naught."

"I understand your concern. But sometimes it is easy to overlook how young they are, both of them." Leliana took a deep breath. "And what happened tonight was and still _is_ a lot to process."

"Indeed. I guess we could all do with a bit of rest." Wynne nodded, then pointed at the corpse of the Mabari. "What about Arai? He can't remain lying here all night. It is better we cremate him as soon as possible."

"I heard the Dalish bury their dead, and he was _her_ dog, after all. I wouldn't dare to make this decision for her." Leliana walked towards the door, feeling the need for fresh air. "So we need to wait until Lenya comes back tonight, if at all. You do know some preservation spells, no?"

Wynne frowned. "Yes, but – wait, where are you going?"

"I need to go down to the village. I think it is about time that the rest of us hears about the news." Leliana forced herself to smile before leaving. "Don't worry, I'll hurry back."

.

.

* * *

.

The stables had always been his refuge, a place of peace, ever since he had been a boy. There was something about the mixed smell of hay and the musk of animals stirring in their boxes that made him feel calm, safe.

Though tonight, Alistair felt anything but serene.

He didn't exactly know how he had ended up at the entrance of the stables, out of breath and mind racing. All he knew was that he needed to get away from there, to be alone. His hasty escape hadn't helped him find that much needed peace, as the mental images were a constant reminder of today's events, haunting him wherever he went: of Lenya laying there in the corner, the demon looming over her unconscious form; of Connor, _little_, _innocent _Connor laying battered amidst his own blood, no longer the demon Alistair had vowed to destroy for nearly killing the woman he loved; of the steady rise and fall of Connor's chest, even in the end; of the sound of the last breath as Alistair's blade had driven home and ended his life.

The life of a young child, the Arl's son.

Alistair buried his face in his hands, chest heaving with dry and tearless sobs. He felt like a monster, no better than the ones he'd vowed to kill. He wasn't a hero, not at all. The line between right and wrong had suddenly become blurred and less defined somewhere in the midst of all this, and that also _hurt._ A gust of wind chilled his bare chest, reminding him that some sins couldn't be washed away with water. And Maker, he'd _tried_. Upon his arrival he'd shed his armor hastily and used many bucketfuls of water and a coarse brush reserved for the Mabari to scrub his skin until it felt raw. Yet it was all to no avail: the boy's blood was _still_ on his hands and stuck to him like sap, no matter what he tried.

Behind him, a horse in its box pawed the hay-covered stone floor and snorted, causing him to start up from his hunched position. The sky outside was black with the spell of night and yet it wasn't dark; the soft light of the moon reflecting like broken shards of glass in puddles of water. It should rain, a vicious downpour to mirror the bitter taste of remorse on his lips. But it didn't. Instead, distant stars scintillated above, making the night into a nocturnal halcyon that mocked him. Frowning, Alistair stared into the blackened firmament and felt the guilt gnawing on his innards like a parasite, dimly aware of another sensation rising now, its intensity rapidly increasing. The taint within his body was reaching out to another tainted creature nearby without his effort or consent. Normally this was a sign of darkspawn approaching, but the feeling was warmer, far less jarring and... soft.

_Lenya..._

He longed to see her and feared it all at once, and his reasoning started and ended with the gruesome events of this night. The rush of disparate emotions at the fact that she had sought him out was too intricate for him to decipher. A huge part of him was flooded with relief that she was okay and whole and _alive_. The other part, still angry and bitter, wanted to scream at her and hurl all the '_How could you-' _accusations his mind could think of at her.

"Alistair...?"

His name hung in the air for a moment, was no more than a brittle whisper from her lips. He panicked slightly, not wanting her to see him here - not now, not in his utter state of disarray. Maybe if he simply remained silent she would–

"Alistair!" He could see her now from his corner of self-chosen solitude. Her small frame was draped in shadows created by the silver light of the moon. Its soft shine reflected in her eyes, not unlike a cat.

_She would hate that comparison..._

He almost laughed out loud at his scattered thoughts before the gloom captured his heart again, reminding him there was absolutely _no_ reason to laugh.

"Why are you hiding from me?" Lenya sounded hurt, her voice layered with such a sadness that it was too much for him to bear.

"I–" Alistair trailed off, his words overruled by a deep, shaking sigh. "Are you okay?"

Lenya sniffed, and it took her a moment to answer, voice trembling with emotion. "Physically? My arm is still stiff and I'm bruised all over, but yes." She didn't approach him, instead lingering in the middle of the stables, the gleam of her elven eyes fixed on him.

"Good," he breathed and felt some of the tension of concern fade away, letting the ire rise in his mind. His mouth worked before he could stop himself. "What were you _thinking_? How could you do this?"

"What?" If her stance was any indication, she was confused by his reaction.

That, however, didn't stop him from venting. He was yelling now and Lenya was the unfortunate recipient of his frustration. "How could you go after Connor by yourself? Did you really think the demon would sit back and wait until this was all over? That was beyond any scale of recklessness, even for you. Why didn't you–" Alistair faltered with a sigh, finally able to stop his mouth from spilling out more accusations. This was of use to _no one_ at this moment. "Look, I'm relieved to hear you're okay, but I'm also... angry. And I don't want to fight, so just... leave me alone. _Please_."

"I'm _not_ okay!" Lenya yelled, and swallowed audibly. He looked for tears on her cheeks, but saw only an added brightness in her eyes. "But if that is what you wish, I will go." Without waiting another moment, she turned and ran away.

Alistair placed his hand on the cold stone wall and closed his eyes, cursing himself. Impulsively, he reached for the wooden bucket standing next to him and flung it across the barn, sinking into a defeated posture as he began to berate himself once more.

Another mistake, another failure in the long list of all that he was.

_Monster. Murderer._

He lowered his head onto his knees, and _wept_.

.

.

* * *

.

She ran blindly through the night.

Lenya paid no heed to the direction, and didn't particularly _care_. Away, only _away_, from the one place she had sought solace, and found none - found, in fact, only more pain.

She crossed the stone courtyard and ignored the stares of the guards positioned there. The air was clear and mild, but her lungs still burned from her furious tempo, and the sheer exhaustion lingered deep in her bones.

_I'm not okay._

Lenya understood his wish to be alone, the reason for it. After all he had been the one who had been forced to take responsibility for the mistake she had made.

_Arai is dead, because of me._

She raced the stairs up to a hall that looked like every other in the castle. Cold. Empty. Dead.

Her body ached with the aftermath of her injuries and a pain that was not physical, but she didn't stop. Never since the Deep Roads had the urge to get away from a place been so huge, so overwhelming. Lenya turned around the corner and – not paying attention to what was in front of her – crashed into a sturdy, concrete wall and onto the ground. For a moment, stars swam before her eyes and she was too dizzy to get up. As she waited for the lightheadedness to pass, an all-too-familiar voice resounded amidst the rhythm of her own frantic breathing.

"The painted Warden should watch where It is running," the rather painfully lively wall said, and turned toward her. "It might get squished otherwise."

Her vision and mind clearing, she recognized the enormous frame of Shale looming over her. "Y-yes, sorry about that."

The golem scoffed and cocked her stony head, observing the Dalish closer in apparent disbelief. "Is It leaking? I thought the old mage has fixed It.-"

Suddenly self-conscious, Lenya touched her cheek and noticed it was wet. _How? When?_ She didn't know the answer to her self-imposed questions, only that she couldn't stop the tears any longer.

"I would hug It, but then It would spurt all manner of blood and innards, like the slobbering animal did. And we don't want that, no?"

_That_ was a mental picture Lenya didn't need or want. She made a choked sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob, her face scrunching into a mask of anguish. That bit of movement _hurt_, eliciting a flinch of pain. In this case, however, it was the needed distraction to let her focus again.

The golem sighed, visibly uncomfortable and out of place with the situation of seeing the Dalish so depressed. "It was a good, if smelly, slobbering warrior. But we still have the drunken dwarf, after all. There is hardly a difference."

A faint laugh bubbled up at that, against her will. That was typical Shale, jaded and cynical toward every living being and yet caring in her own unique way. Then she remembered the reason _why_ and all too quickly her amusement faded.

"Does It want to see the pretty stones I have collected for the slobbering animal?" Her head creaked as it tilted sideways. "And I don't mean the drunken dwarf this time. I suppose I could squish Its smelly head as well if it would amuse the Painted Warden Elf. _I_ would certainly be amused."

Lenya sniffed and shook her head, forcing a smile to her lips. "No, thanks. We might need Oghren still."

"I could also toss It toward our enemies. Or toward the feathered fiends."

"No." This time the smile was brief, but genuine. Blinking, she added in baffled recollection, "You collected stones for Arai?" She swallowed. "Why?"

Her stone shoulders heaved in a shrug. "There was not much else to do with everyone moping around for it, and the annoying human hag wailing in self-pity for the demon-boy. Good that the clown knight squished it, or I would have done it. _Gladly_."

Lenya frowned and instantly regretted the motion at the pain it caused. Though it seemed... fitting. A rightful punishment. "Yeah... I just hoped – nevermind."

"It still likes to be reckless, doesn't It?" Shale snorted and turned to go. "It should have waited for me to crush it, instead of going alone and being the one getting crushed."

"The golem is right," a deep voice rumbled through the hollowness of the hall, long before Sten was visible. "This was an ill-advised maneuver, _kadan_. And yet, I am not surprised that you did this." His sigh was long, maybe even frustrated; it was hard to tell with his typical, stoic expression. The Qunari approached closer, appearing from seemingly nowhere with his huge, bulky figure framed in shadows that danced upon the walls.

"I know," Lenya said, her eyes downcast. "Believe me, I _know_ it was wrong." And she did. The regret gnawed constantly and without mercy at her consciousness. How foolish had she been to not recognize all the people around her, willing to stand with her? How could she so easily forget about the previous night of endless battle where everyone had fought for her? It was _she_ who had made a wrong assumption, and had then acted on that whim. _Impulsive. Impatient_. It has been a grave mistake, its price now paid by Arai and Alistair.

_Creators, Alistair._ She gasped, her heart wrenching. How could she–

"The Qunari has dug a hole outside," Shale said, jarring her from her thoughts. "For the slobbering animal. Or the wailing human hag. Preferably _both_."

Lenya turned to Sten, surprised. "You did?"

He nodded. "The Mabari was a warrior deserving of respect. We should bury him, now that you are here, _kadan_." Sten headed to the room where Arai lay, most likely to retrieve his canine body. Lenya didn't follow, rooted to the spot as she watched him move away.

Not alone.

It was a fact, as plain as the night was dark and comforting like a blanket against the cold. In spite of it all, Lenya couldn't shake off the feeling of dread, or the emptiness inside. The sound of guilt was simply singing too loudly within her, making her unable to hear the other, softer tones.

.

.

* * *

.

She was surprised by the beauty of the spot Sten had chosen for Arai's final resting place.

The grave lay under a willow tree outside the castle, not far from it and yet far _enough_ from all the painful events and misery housed within its walls. The village of Redcliffe looked tiny from where she stood, high upon the cliff, and the lake shimmered deep below them. The moonlight fractured into a myriad of pieces upon the water's surface, painting the soil with patches of silvery light.

Arai would have liked this place._ After_ peeing on the tree, of course.

Lenya smiled at that, but it devolved quickly into a shaky sob. She hugged herself, trembling not because of the salty breeze that enclosed her, but because of her sorrow. Another life lost, another friend gone due to her mistakes, her wrong choices. Would it never end?

The world around them had been quiet as Sten had laid the Mabari's corpse into the hole and closed it. That silence yet lingered, even now, interrupted only by the faint rustling of the willow's soft branches and the heavy sound of guilt inside. Lenya looked out over the water's surface, grateful her companions had been there to pay respect to an animal that she had called a friend. She was even more grateful when they left again, so that she could feel safely alone with this tangle of emotions. Kneeling down, she let the loose, reddish earth run between her fingers, inhaling its heady, musty scent.

"_An'etha lethallin. In Falon'din ven an'din, Arai."_

As soon she spoke those words in the comforting familiarity of her native tongue, her movements froze, the hand still clawed around a bit of Redcliffe's reddened dust. Lenya stared at his fresh grave. Overwhelmed by the feeling of wrongness, she wanted to scream or cry, and yet she remained mute.

She didn't notice the other person advancing, and paid him no mind as his palm landed on her shoulder, not until his voice sounded through the night. "I'm sorry." The scraping of his feet in the dust indicated he had sat down beside her, his presence now palpable. "Leliana told me everything. I came as fast as I–"

"Zev..." Whirling around, Lenya threw herself into his arms, effectively halting his words and knocking him over.

Where normally a humorous remark would follow, at this moment he said nothing as he pushed himself up with her in his arms. Lenya felt herself shaking, the numbness inside washed away by a desperation that slowly crept up her throat as a strangled sound. Now that she wasn't alone she didn't want to cry, especially not in _his_ presence. Zevran had always marveled at her strength and placed such trust in her leadership that she felt it would be a disappointment if she allowed her tears to overwhelm her.

"I-I sh-shouldn't..." she gritted out in between her snivels, shaking with the effort.

"What? Be sad about what happened? Grieve for a lost friend? Do you think I would appreciate you less, should you need to cry for all that has gone wrong?" He looked at her and _tsk_ed, brushing through the tangled mess that was her hair. "Don't be silly, my dear. It is _all right_."

_That_ was what she needed to hear and what finally undid her. A cascade of sobs and whimpers rippled through her chest and spilled forth from her throat, the grief and despondency given voice. There was nothing she could do to stop them from falling anymore, but now it felt safe to do so. Her hands clawed at the fabric of his gambeson, her head burrowing into his shoulder as she wept. Zevran didn't move or speak, except to make little comforting sounds and caresses she barely registered. And yet, this was exactly what she'd needed. Someone who was simply _there_, without judging her for the mistakes she'd made, granting solace with their mere presence.

Lenya didn't know how long she cried, only that it was hard to stop. Forcing herself to look up, she croaked, "I-I screwed up, Zev. It is all my fault."

He remained unimpressed and simply tilted his head to the side, faking a thoughtful pose. "Ah, did I ever tell you the story the time I got knocked out of a window and landed in a river where I nearly drowned? No?" He grinned. "Amusing that, really. I only survived because some urchins fished me out of the water. After that, they robbed me blind. Made off with my boots, too."

Lenya blinked to clear her vision, but her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, making it hard to see. "Robbed by urchins? You?"

"Hm." The elf nodded. "I had to find my way back to the safe house, bruised and naked, and very thankful to be alive. But what I wanted to say is that no one is perfect. Nor do _you_ have to be, my fearless leader. Even I, against all evidence to the contrary, am not." Cautiously, he wiped the tears away from her bruised, puffy cheeks. "We all make mistakes."

She sniffed and swallowed, hard. "Normally mistakes don't cost the life of a child, or that of a friend."

The light in his amber eyes dimmed, his gaze momentarily straying away from her. "Yes, _normally_ they shouldn't." Whatever thought had crossed his mind, however, he recovered swiftly from it. "But such is life–"

"I couldn't kill the boy, and I had the chance," she blurted. "Before the demon showed up, I mean."

"So?" Zevran shrugged and tucked a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. "This just proves that you _care_, despite your never-ending efforts to let it seem you do _not_."

"Great." Lenya scoffed. "Because I 'cared' and let my guard down, _this_ happened, and others had to pay the price. Arai is... dead and Alistair..." Her eyes widened. "Oh Creators...how can I ever face him again?"

"Ah yes. I heard that in order to save your life, Alistair fought the demon and took responsibility for deed afterward. Pretty brave of him, no?" At that, her head snapped up, glowering at him. Zevran shook his head. "Don't look at me like that, my dear. I would have done the same, without hesitation. It seems you still don't understand that there are people around who care for you. I'm telling you yet another time that, while you _are_ are a deadly sex goddess and our fearless leader, you don't have to do _everything_ on your own."

"Am I supposed to feel better now?" Lenya snorted derisively." Because it isn't working."

"No?" He sighed. "I'm just honest. And yes, maybe you made a wrong choice and have every right to regret it, but without you, none of us would have even made it here in the first place. _Brasca_. This is something you _finally_ need to get into your stubborn head. After all, we have had this talk before, if I remember correctly, my dear. This leads me to the question of why you are here, crying in my arms - not that I mind - but–"

Lenya looked down, biting her lip. "Alistair... didn't want to see me."

"Are you sure?"

"He was pretty clear with all that _yelling_ at me, after I found him in the stables." Her eyes filled with tears again. "It is my fault he had to kill the human boy."

"Yes."

She blinked, confused. "What?"

"That _is_ what you wanted to hear from me, yes? Some accusations, some pesky lecture of how _wrong_ you were with your choice... Maybe you were, maybe not. But does it change _anything_?"

"No, I– " Shocked by his sudden harsh words, Lenya needed a moment to sort her thoughts. "I don't know. I'm just so... _tired_ of all this. Of death around me. Of always losing–" Her words faltered, swallowed by a whimper.

"Understandably so." He nodded and squeezed her hand. "I will miss Arai myself. Mabari or not, he was a loyal and dear friend to you, and you should take your time to grieve. But still, I'm not sure if you are finding the comfort you so desperately seek with _me_. And I guess you know that, too."

Her shoulders slumped with a sigh. "Perhaps you are right. It is just... I don't know how to face him after all that has happened."

"Well, I know for certain you'll never find out by sitting _here_." He arched an eyebrow at her. "You are not so quick to give up in other situations, my dear."

"Yes, but this is... different. I fear–" Lenya stopped, not knowing _exactly_ the nature of her fear. Rejection? Losing him and his love? It all seemed possible, at this exact moment... Shaking herself, she stood, sending a last lingering glance towards Arai's resting place before turning to Zevran again. To _wonderful_ Zevran. Always there, never judging and still smacking her upside the head whenever it was necessary. The memory that she had hated him in the beginning seemed so bewildering and distant to her now. Then again, she would never have expected to fall in love with a human. Or to become a Grey Warden in the first place.

_Choices_.

Some bitter, some full of regret and guilt, but all of them leading her to where she was now. And, most importantly, leading her to _who_ she was now. Not perfect - far from it - yet... enough. Not alone.

"Thank you, _lethallan_."

Zevran looked up at her from his seated position and inclined his head to her, smiling. "Always."

.

.

* * *

.

"Lenya?"

His voice sounded surprised, and thick with tears. At his forlorn tone, her heart wrenched in her chest, hurting like an open wound. Hesitantly, Lenya took another step forward, the hay crunching beneath her feet.

"I know you said you didn't want to see me and I want to respect that. But I need to tell you this... before, before–" She took a deep breath, her heart tightening even more. "So please hear me out."

Alistair didn't answer, but she saw him look in her direction, and took it as a consent.

"Creators, I'm sorry._ Emma ir abalas._ So much! I-I know I'm not the easiest person to deal with and never was. And you actually put up with a lot of shit I throw your way, with my moods, with everything I am and even more with all that I'm _not_. You accept and love me for who I am in spite of. And yet, I... I still keep you away and think I need to deal with situations on my own." She sniffed, the words momentarily lodged in her throat. "I don't trust you as much as I expect you to trust me, nor as much you deserve. This is not fair toward you. _Elgar'nan_, I will try to change that, but I–I'm not as perfect, nor as strong I always want to make believe I am. And this here, _all_ of it, is my fault. I was impatient, impulsive and _stupid, _and you had every right to send me away."

For a moment, she stared into the darkness where he lingered, then turned to go.

"Lenya..." She'd underestimated his speed. Before she could even reach the entrance of the stable, he had stopped her and embraced her from behind. "Don't go. I'm glad you came back." Frozen in place, she inhaled deeply and let it out in a shaky breath as his warmth flooded her. His hand clawed into the fabric of her sleeve, face burrowing into the hollow of her healthy shoulder. "And I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was just so _angry_. But even more... Maker, I was afraid, so _scared_ of losing you. When I saw how the demon loomed over you, I was consumed with rage because it wanted to kill you. I didn't think about who the demon really was, just that I needed to... But then–" His voice cracked and he lifted his head. "I killed a child, Lenya. The Arl's son. How am I supposed to–"

Lenya turned around, moving momentarily out of his grasp, and silenced him with a kiss. "I'm sorry it came to this, I never wanted..." Her fingers threaded down the muscles of his bare arms, hugging him again. "You are a wonderful man, Alistair, and so much stronger than you believe. Stronger than me. After all, you did what I couldn't. I just wish it wouldn't h–"

"_Stronger_?" He scoffed, interrupting her harshly. "I feel- I feel like a _monster_." Alistair heaved a cascade of breaths as if struggling against the inevitable, and then, after another moment he finally gave in. He enclosed her fully with his bigger frame and held on for dear life as he wept into her shoulder. His tight embrace started to ache due to her multitude of bruises, but Lenya endured it patiently. The pain seemed appropriate somehow.

"I know how you feel, _Atish'an_," she whispered after his bout of sobs abated, and brushed through his hair, softly. Without letting go of him, she sat down, Alistair following her wordless command to follow without hesitation. Resting her forehead on his damp cheek, she sighed. "The girl in Lothering... I wish I could have saved her, that I didn't have to–" Shaking her head, she looked up to him, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes. "But life isn't easy, or fair. Just as I found in Lothering, you had no choice and you did what you had to. I just feel terrible that I'm the one who forced you into that situation. If this is any consolation to you, I... paid the price for that stupidity."

Alistair's throat worked as he gulped. "What?"

"Arai, he... died defending me." Lenya bit her lip, momentarily glancing away to control the grief inside. "Because of me."

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, appalled, and kissed her forehead. "I had no idea. I mean, I saw he was injured, but I thought he was saved by Wynne, like you were. Oh Maker, I'm so _sorry_."

"Stop apologizing for everything, _Atish'an_." Once more she shook her head. "You had good reasons to be mad with me and you didn't know about... about Arai. Still, this isn't about me or the Arl shemlen, but you. Speak to me. You don't have to deal with it on your own." Lenya snorted humorlessly. "Ironic to hear that out of my mouth, isn't it? But you are so important to me and I want to _be_ there for you at least once the way you are always there for me. Creators, I _love_ you. And sometimes it is so terrifying, how you can make me feel so much that I actually don't know how to even deal with it. But... you're the one freaky thing in my freaky world that still makes sense to me."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." His laugh was brief as he tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ear. "You and I, the last two Grey Wardens. But aren't we supposed to be, I don't know, the heroes, instead of..." Frowning, he gestured with his hands behind her back. "..._this_?"

Lenya hesitated before answering, carefully considering her response before letting it roll from her tongue. She knew that being a Warden meant a great deal to him and differed from her often jaded perspective of it. Nevertheless, she wouldn't lie to him. "No," she breathed out, letting the word sink in as she looked up to him. "We aren't. We do the best we can, but we can't save everyone - as hard and painful as that is, with all the blood and death around us and the taint running through our veins. This is probably why we are called the Grey Wardens, not the _White_ Wardens. And the shades of grey are often darker than what we want them to be."

Alistair was silent, his posture tense and pensive. "I... don't know. All this tragedy and death. How are we supposed to make such decisions? It's not fair."

"No, it isn't. But we do this because we have to. Because sometimes there isn't even a _choice_ in a decision." Lenya placed her palm upon his bare chest, feeling the steady drumming beat of his heart beneath her fingers. His breath hitched and even in the darkness she could see that his eyes was following the movement. "_Ma'him sa ir vhenan'enansal, Atish'an_. I admire that, but I fear the rest of the world isn't as kind as you are."

Alistair brushed her hand aside and huffed. "What do you want me to say? That I should become as cold and uncaring as Morrigan? I'm just not _like_ that. I can't simply forget the image of Connor lying on the floor... the blood around–" He faltered, swallowing hard before whispering, "I'm not like that."

She had the impression it wasn't about Morrigan's attitude anymore, and more about ending the child's life. "No, _emma lath_. You don't have to be emotionless and hard. I love you for who you are. Your caring, gentle way, it … anchors me. But..." Lenya sighed. "I have the feeling that with the Blight getting worse each day, it won't be getting any easier - quite the opposite. This is not something that neither you nor I can prepare for, yet I wish you'd take better care of yourself. You are important too, _Atish'an -_ not only the people around you."

She watched him for a long moment and he shifted uncomfortably under her stare, his face a pained grimace. "I remember that after we left Lothering for the first time, Leliana said something similar. That I need to steel myself for the things to come. I-I'm not sure I can do this, Lenya. I'm not sure I am _that_ person." With a whimpering sound somewhere between resignation and sadness, he added, "But it's not as if I have a choice, right?"

Lenya took his hand and intertwined it with her smaller one, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "No matter what happens, we'll get through it. I'm here for you."

"I know." Resting his chin on her head, Alistair placed a soft kiss on her hair. "And I'm glad about that."

.

.

* * *

**_Elvish info:_**

_"Ma'him sa ir vhenan'enansal, Atish'an._ - You have a good heart, Atish'an.

_Atish'an_ - Lenya's term of endearment/ her "private name" for Alistair. Means literally "(my) safe/peaceful place"

_Emma lath_ - My love


	88. Heal My Wounds

_Beginning with this chapter here, it is M-rating time. No, get your minds out of the gutter (at least a bit xD) I'm just fed up with ignoring the elephant in the room, since Lenyastair will grow steadily a bit closer from now on. You know, physically. Cough. Also I felt the need to goof around a bit, since it was all a bit too doom and gloom lately, hence such a beginning. But don't worry, I won't forget about the gravity of these consequences, as well._

_This weekend will see a double update, tonight and the next one follows tomorrow, since I was absent for so long now. So don't panic if you don't find the usual RR at the end of this chapter. I'm still writing the replies and will put them together with the other chapter online tomorrow :D _

_Thanks to all reading, reviewing, lurking or loving this never-ending story in whatever form. You rock. Especially tklivory for her never ending source of support and beta magic. Wow...what a monster A/N O.o Enjoy teh chapter. _

* * *

_**Turn the page I need to see something new  
For now my innocence is torn**_

– _Poets Of The Fall – War_

* * *

**Chapter 82: Heal My Wounds**

The light of day was blinding her.

Groaning, Lenya fought against the impulse to open her eyes: it was _far_ too early and she was still too exhausted to get up. She tried to turn away from the daylight pouring into the stable, but there was an added burden on her chest that made moving impossible. Reluctantly she blinked several times to clear her sight and recognized the weight pressing against her: Alistair's head. He was still asleep, his features relaxed, his breath tickling her throat whenever he exhaled. The irony that he found such peaceful rest between her breasts, of all things, was not lost on Lenya. And yet, even pinned onto the hay-strewn, cold ground as she was, she hadn't the heart to wake him. She hadn't even noticed how and _when_ they had fallen asleep right in the middle of the stable, only that at some point before dawn she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore.

The feeling had obviously been mutual.

For a moment, Lenya watched him through bleary eyes and felt a surge of affection rush through her. Shrugging – and instantly regretting the motion with a muffled hiss – she nuzzled the healthy side of her face into the warmth of his open palm so as to continue her slumber.

_Screw the world. It can wait._

"Ah, there you are, at long last."

_Or not._

Refusing to open her eyes again, Lenya searched for an item nearby to throw in the direction of the voice to make it go away. Her questing hand did find _something_, but the slight jerk of Alistair's hips and his hitched breath told her that it wasn't– _Oh._

Suddenly wide awake, she quickly withdrew her hand from the _non-throw-able non-item _and turned her head toward the elderly mage, glaring. "Why are you here?"

Wynne ignored the question, and even despite the distance between them, Lenya could hear her smile. _Ugh_. "Good morning to you as well. Sleep well, did we?"

"There is _nothing_ good about this morning. Now go away."

"Yes, although technically it isn't morning anymore, but almost midday." The mage sighed. "I was searching for you both and–"

"-you found us. Congratulations," Lenya snapped at her. "Now _go_ _away_."

"Why are you sleeping in the middle of the stables?"

"_Were_ sleeping. Thanks to you." She huffed, feeling belittled by the deprecating tone in the other woman's voice. "None of your business. Why are you here anyway?"

"To examine your shoulder. You _are_ still injured, after all."

"And this couldn't have waited until I came to find you?"

"We lack the time to wait for natural healing, if we still want to do something about the Arl's condition. Bann Teagan has also requested a meeting with you in the main hall, as soon as both of you have eaten," Wynne glanced at Alistair's bare chest and her eyes narrowed slightly, "...and are _properly_ dressed. It sounded urgent."

Finally, Alistair stirred with a groan. Seemingly not knowing where he was, he blinked up to the mage, his eyes unfocused and tired. "What?"

"I'll wait outside for you." Not waiting for her answer, the mage turned around and left.

"Whatever." Sighing, Lenya let her head sink back onto the ground and poked Alistair's face. "Get up, _Atish'an_, you are heavy. And drooling on my cleavage."

He wiped his chin self-consciously. "S-sorry." Moving aside, Alistair landed with an audible thunk beside her on the ground and remained lying there, head resting on his arms. To her, he made it clear that he was not willing to get up, as in ever. "W-was that... Wynne?"

Freed from his weight, Lenya sat up and smothered the wish to rub her hands over her bruised face. Every bone in her body ached and she felt tired, physically _and_ emotionally. "Yes, indeed. Don't ask me why."

"Okay." He groaned, still not moving one inch. "But why is the light so damn blinding?"

"Because the sun is an asshole, mocking us. And also because it is almost midday." Behind them, a horse in its box snorted loudly, startling Lenya up and out of her self-indulgent lethargy. It was no use. As much the Dalish wished to lie in a corner and do nothing except perhaps _breathe, _she needed to get up, to move on.

If only it wasn't so difficult...

"That Bann shemlen wants to see us in the main hall too, it seems."

"Teagan?" His head jerked up in an instant, expression somewhere between anguish and panic. "Why?"

Lenya stroked his ruffled hair to calm him down. "I don't know, Wynne told me that. I just know that I felt too exhausted to protest against it. _Much_."

"Hmm..." Alistair fell silent, eyes lingering in the distance on the warm, bright patches of sunlight pouring into the stable. "Odd how a new day arises, even after all that happened." Then his gaze fixed her again, growing wide in shock at her still battered appearance. "Maker, Lenya. I had no idea. I hope I didn't hurt you."

"Oh, it looks that bad?" She tried to smile at him, to reassure him, but even that little gesture felt forced and cost too much energy. Instead she shook her head. "And I told you, stop apologizing so much. I'm feeling like shit and look like I got trampled by a herd of halla, but you falling asleep with me here has nothing to do with it. I'm used to sleeping on the ground, after all."

He took her hand into his and planted a kiss on the backside. "Just not with a deadweight like me, huh? And for the record, you are still beautiful. Even if one of your green eyes is now, err, a black one."

"You are a terrible liar, but... thanks." Lenya tried to roll her injured shoulder and grimaced in pain, which sent her into another hissing fit. "As much I don't want to, I need Wynne's aid. My shoulder is still killing me, in spite of being set back in the joint again. I can't fight like this." She sighed. "But what about you, _emma lath?_"

"Me?" He blinked, as if surprised with this question. "I feel... drained and weak, without even the energy to get up. And to be honest, I didn't even notice _when_ I fell asleep and was too exhausted to dream. For which I'm grateful. Except briefly before I woke up where–" He trailed off, a blush creeping over his cheeks. "Nevermind."

Considering the slow reddening of his features, Lenya had an inkling _what_ he meant and attempted to not look as embarrassed as she felt. She knew she failed when she noticed Alistair's confused stare on her. "What?"

The Dalish jolted up. "N-nothing. I should go and see Wynne."

"Nothing?"

By now, she was certain that the crimson in her face made a nice addition to all the other colors already there. Of all the other things he made her feel, blushing was one habit of her body she was the least used to. "I'm sorry. I was just searching for something to throw and wasn't looking and–"

Mouth agape, he blinked, slowly. Once. Twice. "So it wasn't–" Alistair inhaled audibly, a strangled, shaky sound. "Oh!"

"No?" Her cheeks felt as if they were aflame. "...And now I want the Dread Wolf to come and eat me, because _awkward_." Lenya was about to whirl round with the singular goal to flee, but his hand around her wrist stopped the intended movement. Frozen in place, she watched as Alistair leaned in, and what followed blurred into his lips, and warmth and... swooning? She felt her knees soften, but his hand on her backside kept her stable.

"I love you." He cleared his throat, apparently equally affected. "And I wanted to thank you for coming back and helping me through this horrible night."

"You don't need to thank me for that. It is a given." A pause followed in which the horrifying realization of the ambivalence of her sentence had time to sink in. "I-I mean being there for you. Not the attempt of throwing attached body parts."_ Great, transformation to an utter idiot complete. "..._I-I didn't just say that, didn't I?"

"Oh, Maker!" Alistair laughed, a hearty sound that had become so rare these past few days. Then it faded as soon it came, his expression serious again, yet still warm. "I don't know what I would do without you." He kissed her again, and now things were a bit less chaste and more... _something_. Whatever it was, Lenya found herself liking it and wanting to close the gap between their bodies he had left despite their... activity. Suddenly, though, just before she was close enough to touch, he evaded her grasp and spun around himself. "I, uh, should–" Alistair coughed, apparently embarrassed. He gestured wildly at the scattered parts of armor still on the ground, which did all kind of interesting things to his muscled shoulders. "...pick that up. I'll see you in the main hall then, okay?"

Kicking herself mentally to stop staring, Lenya finally found her voice to answer. "Yes, all right."

More stumbling than walking, she headed to the exit, wondering what in Mythal's name had just happened.

.

.

* * *

.

"What took you so long?"

The arched eyebrow and pointed gaze told Lenya that the mage knew _exactly _what had delayed her. Not to mention that her distracted expression and flushed face were telltale signs for all who cared to look closer - and no one was keener than the ever nosy Wynne, much to her dismay. Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, Lenya tried to sort the mess on her head that was her hair. She longed for a piece of cord to bind it back again, or fresh clothes, or an escape: _anything _but standing here in the bright sunlight that seemed to mock her. Like Alistair said, it felt _wrong_ for it to be such a beautiful day after all that had happened. The air was crisp, but heavily tinged with the musk of horse manure behind her and smoke from a fire across the lake. It was an odd, fetid mixture, causing Lenya to wrinkle her nose. "Why does it smell like this? As if something was burned, and not in a good way."

Wynne closed the book in her lap and stood up from the barrel she had sat upon. "That is probably still from the corpses the villagers cremated on the lake this morning." Following the Dalish, who was already heading into the inner castle, Wynne sighed, dejected. "I watched them. There were so many boats..."

"The humans here bury the ashen remains of their dead _in_ the lake?" Lenya made the mental note to scratch a bath in its water from her to-do list.

"It seems to be the tradition here. And considering the number of victims from the last few days, it was also the quickest way to avoid infectious diseases spreading from the corpses. The Chantry did pray for their safe journey to the Fade. Didn't you hear the ring of the Chantry's bells to honor them?"

"No, I didn't. Is this a problem?" Taking the next corner, Lenya headed for a heavy looking wooden door. As far she could remember, her pack was still in the Arl's study. She was not keen to return there and all the painful memories now bound to it, but she needed fresh clothes. Well, _and_ a place where Wynne could attend to her injuries without interference. The sooner that happened, the sooner she would be free of her sanctimonious babbling. Lenya might be exhausted, but she certainly had not grown stupid enough overnight to _not_ notice Wynne's distaste about her choice to return to Alistair in the stable. "I had my own problems to deal with."

"No, it isn't. But it would have certainly showed your goodwill and respect to the people who died. Especially because the Arlessa was there, since she had to cremate her–"

Lenya whirled round, fed up with listening any longer to what seemed passive-aggressive accusations. "I showed my goodwill and respect when I saved this village from the undead. Without my - _our_ - help, there wouldn't be any left alive able to respect the dead." She glowered at the older woman. "Do not forget that, Wynne. _Especially_ not when it was the Arlessa's stupid fear of magic and her secrecy which caused everything in the first place and cost those humans their lives."

Accelerating her pace, Lenya paid no heed to the servant still busily cleaning and opened the door to the study. It was a miracle she had found it so quickly and without problems, but she was glad of it all the same. While waiting for Wynne, who had been left behind by her furious tempo, her gaze wandered aimlessly within the study. Oddly enough, the room hadn't been cleaned yet and hence there were all manner of items still scattered on the ground. Walking over to the pack beside her tousled, makeshift bedroll, her eyes caught glimpse of a silver amulet lying on the ground, next to the massive desk. Lenya bent down to pick it up for a closer look. The surface of the amulet looked old and was riddled with cracks. It seemed as if the pieces had been carefully glued back together, showing a symbol she had seen before, yet couldn't quite puzzle out. Compared to the other items and inventory of the study, the jewelry seemed out of place, as if it didn't belong here. And maybe it didn't. The Dalish trailed her thumb over its coarse surface, trying to comprehend why she couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling inside.

"What do you have there?"

Lenya started as Wynne closed the door behind her. Intrusive as always, the mage looked over her shoulder at the object in her hands. "Hmm. That particular emblem of Andraste's flames has seen better times. It is good that you valued it enough to repair the amulet. It would have been a waste to simply throw it away."

"Wait..." Lenya blinked, slowly, her mind racing why this sounded familiar. "This is the symbol of Andraste?"

"Yes, of course." Wynne looked at her as if she had asked something very obvious. "You don't know the meaning of your own amulet?"

"This isn't my amulet..." Her eyes suddenly widened in realization, as the memory of Alistair's words long ago came back to her.

_"I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered."_

"...but Alistair's," she finished, turning to the mage as her fingers closed around the jewelry. "...Why isn't it still broken? Alistair told me he threw it at the wall."

"Well, someone obviously has repaired it then." Wynne shrugged, already focused on the task of healing. "Now, let me see your shoulder. That is more important right now, so you can meet with Bann Teagan. He told me he had possibly found a way to save the Arl." Lenya didn't listen. She only nodded dumbly as Wynne prattled on and on, too lost in her own thoughts.

_It made no sense._

This was clearly the Arl's study where she had found Alistair's amulet: the same man who packed him off to the monastery at age ten and never cared again. Yet, it seemed as if the Arl-shem cared enough to meticulously collect the myriad of tiny pieces and repair the amulet bit by bit.

Wynne poked and prodded her injured arm, eventually pouring a wave of tingling magic over her patient. The reduction of the swelling on her face and the pain in her shoulder was a welcome, albeit agonizing process. Lenya hated the seconds in between and before the feeling of alleviation, where the mending of flesh and sinew were so very palpable and simply hurt. Flexing her shoulder after the deed was done, she was pleasantly surprised to notice a complete absence of pain. Annoying as the mage could be, there were probably not many humans more adept at healing than her.

"Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me. It was necessary, so we can move on soon," Wynne said briskly, and smoothed the wrinkles out of her red robe, ready to leave. "You need to rest that shoulder and arm for a few days though, so refrain from tumbling in the hay with Alistair for once."

"_What_ is your problem?" Lenya narrowed her eyes, feeling the ire seethe inside her. The mage's tone and choice of words were simply insolent. "You are going on about Alistair and me, even when it is none of your damned business."

"You are both Wardens, and he is the son–"

"Cut the crap," she interrupted quickly, not caring to hear the same nonsense of responsibilities and duty again. "I may be a Warden and do all the shit needed to end the Blight, but I'm a person first. And I hate your attitude towards me lately. Normally, I don't give a damn about what you think of my personal business, because as the word implies: it is personal and my own, not yours. Your implied accusations are making it hard for me to ignore your meddling and I'm growing angrier each time I see you. So I'm giving you _one_ chance to explain why it bothers you so much that I love Alistair, before I go back to ignoring you. For the rest of our long journey." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Your choice."

Wynne appeared to be caught off-guard by her rant. Staring at the Dalish, she snapped for air, and possibly words. She turned her back to Lenya and let that breath fade into a sigh. "Mages aren't permitted to fall in love. It is greatly discouraged by the Chantry and the Templars in the Tower. And yet, it happens that we seek each others company." She paused, as if searching for the right words. "I had a son, you see. But any child born to a Circle mage belongs to the Chantry and so he was taken from me the moment he was born."

For a moment, Lenya forgot how to breathe. She struggled to comprehend this piece of information, but even more to grasp the atrocity that this human institution had once more proved to be. _No_ child should be ripped away from its mother, nor was any child the _property_ of anyone. She quietly cursed in her tongue, and waited for Wynne to go on.

"I was too weak from the birthing process. There was nothing I could do to stop them."

"I'm sorry to hear that and I mean it. But I still I don't understand what that has to do with Alistair and m..." – _Oh._ Lenya might have never shown any interest in sexuality before, but she knew about the basics, and could piece one and one together.

"I'm just worried about you two. You are both young and inexperienced with the matters of the heart. And seeing that he is Maric's son, your... dalliance with him has a great potential for tragedy." She sighed. "There are certain herbs brewed as a tea, which–"

"I'm infertile!" Spinning around, Wynne stared at her, shocked. "Yeah, you heard that correctly," she scoffed. "The taint inside of me is a jealous bitch and doesn't allow any other guests. So even if I did fuck around, there would be no child. And it would _still _be none of your business if I did, but for the record I _don't_." Lenya's expression darkened, caught between anger and wistfulness, as her voice got louder. "I love him. You have no idea what that means for a _Dalish_ to say that she loves a _human_. Not a single bit. But I don't care what you think about it, nor anyone else. I have lost everything that once was important in my life, and for what? For duty, for responsibilities larger than life. I never wanted that and yet here I am, because I cannot turn back. Even if I should survive ending the Blight, I can't return to the life I once had, or to my clan. I'm not that person anymore. I'm a Grey Warden, like Alistair. If you still don't understand why he is important to me then I can't help you, but by the Creators: stop _judging_ me for it."

Not waiting for an answer, Lenya took her pack and left Wynne behind. She didn't care that she was half-naked, sans the tunic pressed on her chest.

After all, there were enough rooms in this stupid castle in which to change clothes without worrying about whether a condescending mage was in it.

.

.

* * *

.

"No!"

An hour later found Lenya - now freshly clothed and more presentable - standing in the main hall, glaring at the human for his insane proposal. Bann Teagan had just suggested hunting a legend to cure the Arl's sickness, a legend which possibly did not exist, and probably could not be found. If the whole idea wasn't so utterly absurd and lunatic in and of itself, Lenya would have laughed out loud at the irony of him asking a _Dalish_ to find an Andrastian relic. At the moment, however, she wasn't in the mood to be amused by the fact, since the human was actually dead serious in his request. "I have _no time_ to dance around Ferelden for a single shem, just because he is noble."

Alistair had been pensive and tense ever since Teagan had entered the room. He stood more behind Lenya than beside her, as if he was taking great care not to be noticed by the Bann. His elusive and silent behavior was understandable given prior events, though not very helpful at the moment. Lenya inhaled deeply in a vain attempt to calm down, the air thick with tension and the lingering reek of death despite the servants' incessant efforts to purge the castle of it. Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed Alistair shift from one foot to another, his muscles flexing in a nervous habit. Knowing his body language all too well, she knew it was a telltale sign for him pondering whether to speak up or not. He _wanted_ to say something, most likely in Eamon's favor, but for a few moments no one spoke. Within the fireplace roared a fire, its crackling song filling the silence as its flickering light cast ghosts of shadows along the walls. The tapestry on each of the walls showed embroidered, abstract pictures of Mabari hounds, of all things. Her heart twisted at the view, and she quickly averted her eyes.

He stepped to her side then, head turned to her and tilted ever so slightly. Before Alistair even opened his mouth to speak, Lenya already knew what he would suggest. "If it saves his life in the end, I think we should try."

"_Why?_" She frowned at her fellow Warden. "I might repeat myself by saying that we have a Blight to deal with, but it is nothing less than the truth. We don't have _time_ for this. And maybe this is me being willfully ignorant, since I don't give a damn about shem politics, but I don't understand why Teagan can't fill the role of the Arl."

"I fear my influence is but a fraction of my brother's," the Bann said, smiling grimly. "Any attempt at intercession I might attempt with the Landsmeet right now would probably do more harm than good, especially after I spoke against Loghain upon his return from Ostagar." Teagan exhaled, long and sorrowful. "I agree this idea of searching for the Urn seems far-fetched at the first glance, but it is not mere grasping at straws. Isolde gave me documents as proof that Eamon has been funding the research of a scholar – a Brother Genitivi in Denerim – who was studying the inscriptions on Andraste's Birth Rock. He claimed to have proof the Ashes were in Ferelden. If that is true, and we can locate the Ashes, we can cure Eamon, whose spirit is still held in the Fade."

"Sorry, did I hear that right? Did you say this human we need to find is in _Denerim_?" Lenya couldn't believe it. "Of _all_ the places in Ferelden, we need to go to the human city where the Loghain _shem'alas_ lies in wait for our arrival so he can finish what he started before?" Alistair's wince at her blunt choice of words didn't escape her, but neither did he stop her angry scoff. "Great. This is getting better and _better_."

"As much I yearn to bring justice–" Alistair stopped with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dark shadows lay upon his face, his boyish features completely clouded by sorrow and exhaustion. He seemed older, somehow, as if a part of his perpetual innocence was gone now, forever torn to pieces by yesterday's events. "I agree with Lenya. We can't simply walk into Denerim. That would be outright suicide."

"Well, Loghain would have to notice your presence there first. You may need to disguise yourself and act in a more... subtle fashion, but it is not impossible," Teagan answered, nodding his head. Lenya couldn't differentiate if it was a mere suggestion or a hidden jab against her personality. Not that she cared much: his request only added to the insanity.

"So let me get this straight." Lenya started to pace, purely out of the need to do _something_ besides glowering at Teagan. "You want me and my companions to travel to Denerim - a place currently very inhospitable towards Grey Wardens - and there, find some unknown scholar guy, who _may_ have a lead about the whereabouts of the Ashes of a dead woman, which _may _happen to be a fabled relic, that _may_ not even exist in the first place." She paused to let her words sink in, arms settling over her chest. "And all this tremendous waste of time and effort just for one single human, while we are in the midst of a Blight that is still raging, unchecked. Did I get that right?"

Lenya stopped her feet, fixed Teagan's figure with a stare and waited for a reaction that did not come. She took a deep breath in an attempt to control her anger. Once. Twice.

She failed.

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" Her eyes narrowed. "You must think I'm insane. Why by the Elvhen should I pursue such lunacy for a human I couldn't care less about?"

"I thought we had already established that there is a war going on between the Bannorns. And then, of course, you could _try_ to save my _husband_, at least. Now that my son is... gone." Alistair paled immediately, his eyes widening in momentary panic at the scornful tone of the Arlessa. Had she been around and listening the whole time? Lenya made a face: like Alistair, she wasn't keen on her partaking in this conversation. But the Arlessa was already approaching, though she wasn't quite in sight yet. "Eamon is the only one with enough influence to be able to help you unite the nobles at the landsmeet and remove Loghain from power."

Deep down, Lenya was aware that it might be necessary to actually carry out this absurd task, eventually, but she was not willing to play entirely by their rules and simply _give_ them what they wanted only because they _demanded_ it. "No!"

"How dare you–" Isolde halted, the amber fire light haloing her pale figure as she stopped, suddenly enraged. "What is _he_ doing here?" Her arm shaking, she pointed at Alistair, and he flinched back as if stricken by an arrow. "You! Filthy murderer! You killed Connor, my son!"

"Isolde, contain yourself!" Teagan's voice hollered from behind, but Lenya barely registered it. All she saw was how Alistair winced at each of those hateful words. each dripping with grievance, and it made her furious. As if he had _enjoyed_ doing it. As if it was _he_ who had hidden Connor in fear of magic from the circle and let him get taught by a blood mage. As if it were _his fault._

Unconsciously, she stepped in front of Alistair.

"I–" his mouth opened and closed, eyes looking around in panic before fixing on the ground. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" She grated, her tone drenched in rancor. "Bastard! You wanted to do this all alo– " Before Lenya was even aware of her action, she struck the harpy down with a solid punch. Alistair stared at her, then at the unconscious Arlessa on the ground, and left the hall without further words. Still shaking with intense wrath, the Dalish watched as Teagan rushed over to his brother's wife.

Cautiously, he put the Arlessa's head into his lap and glared up to her. "How dare you? Isn't everything complicated enough as it is?"

"How dare _she _do this?" Lenya mimicked his words through gritted teeth. The blood thrummed audible in her ears, as she glowered down at him.

The Bann tried to contain his frustration and anger and let out a long, suffering sigh. "Look, just _go_, Warden. We will talk about it again, once everyone has calmed down. You ought to do the same - maybe get some rest, I don't know. There are rooms cleaned and prepared for all of you."

"Yeah, because I could not feel more at home here, really." Scoffing, Lenya whirled around to hurry after Alistair.

~V~

It seemed as if every able man and woman in Redcliffe had volunteered to help cleanse the traces of violence and evil within and without the castle.

Lenya paid no heed to the commotion the servants caused, nor to the commands of the knights ringing through the small, high windows from the courtyard. Muttering and cursing in her tongue, she rushed down the hall. Her steps were heavier than usual due to her fury and echoed on the stoned ground. Her mind was narrowed down to _not_ going back and throttling Isolde to death, and to finding Alistair before he could fall back into the manifold shades of guilt.

As usual, Lenya had no idea where to go to find _anybody _since the halls all looked the same: grey stone around her that only served to confuse and irritate the Dalish. She passed through what the humans called a gallery; lined with portraits of the family ancestors and suits of plate armor standing at attention. At the end of the floor, she finally saw a familiar face amidst the sea of servants.

"Have you seen Alistair?"

"Always searching for your beloved, yes?" The smile in Zevran's face didn't last long as he noticed her foul mood. "Are you all right, my dear?"

Lenya frowned at him. "Well, let me think: I just got asked to travel to Denerim to hunt after a myth that possibly doesn't even exist, simply to save the Arl shem that I couldn't care less about. And the man I love got accused by his shrew of a wife of being a 'filthy murderer'. So I couldn't be any better, really."

He arched an eyebrow at that. "Right, stupid question, sorry. And no, I haven't seen him, which may have been Leliana's fault, I confess. She is such a terrible distraction and–"

"Ugh, spare me the details, please." She raised a hand to halt his words, not at all in the mood for a description of his love life. Lenya had her mind already set on leaving, but Zevran stopped her, gently.

"Do you really think you should follow him, while you are so angry?"

"Yes, of course." Lenya looked at him, bewildered. "I've no argument with _him_. I'm furious and frustrated because of the Arlessa shem and their constant demand of me to fix things that shouldn't be my business in the first place, especially not when a Blight is of far more importance to us, the last two Wardens. We should be using our energy to end _it_ instead. Nor should Alistair be labeled with such names by the _shem'alas_ who started all and now only searches for a scapegoat. She doesn't know a single thing about him. Does she think he _enjoyed_ it? Bitch!" Impulsively, she kicked a nearby armor plate stand, instantly regretting the impulse as pain bloomed. Rubbing her hurt foot within the boots, she glowered up to him and continued her rant. "...and it is _my_ fault that it happened at all, that he had to kill Connor. I _hate_ it! I hate this place, and I hate _them_. _Mythal'enaste_, I try to be more open-minded toward humans, but _fuck_ they really give me _no_ reason to sympathize!"

"I agree," Zevran said and nodded, calmly."...and quite frankly: the world is full of assholes, but humans aren't the only ones, no?"

"Yeah, considering this, Zathrian... ugh. Don't remind me." She sighed, tired of the pointless discussion. "I do not need a lecture about that now. What I need to do is to find Alistair and just forget about the shit surrounding me for a while."

"I was not trying to lecture you, my dear." He squeezed her hand and winked at her. "But maybe you are right. Get some quality time in with your man. It is the best way to make you both forget for a while. You certainly need it, as tense and frustrated as you are right now. Understandably so."

"Creators, Zev." Lenya rolled her eyes, annoyed. "First Wynne, now you. What is it with all of you and your redundant interest in my private life? I lost Arai, and Alistair had to make the hardest decision in his life yesterday. I surely have _other_ _things _on my mind right now. And I can't believe I'm discussing this with you, anyway."

Why not?" He shrugged. "Like I said, sex is relaxing; helps you to put your mind off things."

She snorted, tone all sarcastic. "Yeah, I definitely want to look back someday and say: Hey remember the day after Arai died? It was so great a first experience with you. ...And that is all I have to say about that. Not everything is about..." Lenya waved about with her arms. "..._that_."

"Ah, I see." Zevran smiled. "Just one last question, because I'm curious..."

"What?"

"What did you say to the Arlessa, when she accused Alistair?"

"Nothing. I punched her."

"Thought so." Grinning, he patted her hand and turned to leave. "Never change, my dear. Never change."


	89. All The Way For You

_Here the other, purely Lenyastair chapter and reason for the rating change, heh. If you have time left after reading this, Tklivory has written a great One shot with several Wardens starring in there. Yes, Lenya is in there, too, and done well. The story is called "The Tales of Many Wardens" and a link is to find on my profile, if you are interested. Now enjoy the mount'o'sugary-fluffy fluff ;)_

* * *

**_Seems to matter what I say, so I'll hold my tongue at bay  
And rather use my mouth to kiss your frown away  
So your doubts no longer darken your day  
So you can hold your head up high come what may  
Please remember that I'm gonna follow through all the way_**

~ Poets Of The Fall - All The Way/ 4U

* * *

.

**Chapter 83: All The Way For You**

.

The bridge of his nose hurt as he pinched it to try and relieve the pressure.

It was no use.

The pictures, the words: they were an endlessly repeating play in his head, the taste of guilt weighing heavier with each iteration. In the room that had been given to him, Alistair sat on the edge of the large four-poster bed and squeezed his eyes shut. He simply wanted to forget, to not think about what he had done, nor what it meant. He should have taken Oghren up on his offer to get blasted in Redcliffe's tavern. Alistair damned himself and his decency, but the last thing he needed now was to be seen singing and dancing under the influence of alcohol. Or be seen at all. He felt like hiding in a hole or under the bed, like he had as a child. He just wanted to be away, away from everything, until the Archdemon–

That thought made him pause and reopen his eyes. _Right._ He couldn't forfeit _that_ duty, inescapable as it was. Nor should Lenya be left alone with that massive responsibility on her small shoulders. He sighed - if only everything weren't so damn _hard_ right now. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he sighed and looked around his quarters. The interior of the room was lit by torches and candles, giving off a warm glow that evoked the feeling of night even at midday. Shelves held stacks of fine, leather-bound books, a carved wooden armoire standing among them. The floor was covered with brightly colored rugs, and the flames cracked loudly in the fireplace, bathing the room in an additional warm light.

It felt ironic for him to be here, somehow. As a child he had spent most of his time in the stable and now, coming back as a full grown man, they had given him a luxurious, expansive room - even after all he had done. Alistair suspected that it was Teagan who had arranged it in their absence. As neat as the room was, cleansed of all evidence of recent events, it must have cost hours of work to prepare it. He felt undeserving of all that effort, and yet he couldn't avert his gaze from the warm and inviting lure of the flames, his exhaustion almost palpable.

The mattress moved under an added weight behind him, but Alistair didn't notice until her arms were wrapped around his torso.

"Hey..."

He exhaled, slowly, as he felt her soft body pressing against his backside. Her warmth enveloped him like a blanket against the cold, reaching places inside of him the heat of the fire couldn't touch. "Lenya... I didn't hear you come in."

Her chin rested on his shoulder and he felt the movement of her smile against his skin. "As you know, I can be sneaky."

Alistair didn't answer, not wanting to move or speak to destroy the rare moment of peace. Yet a moment later his mouth worked against his better intentions. "What are you doing here?"

"You looked like you needed a hug. And I need one too, so two birds with one stone." Lenya let go of him to reposition herself from kneeling to sitting in the center of the bed, straddling him from behind. Her arms returned to their place around him as she leaned forward, her head resting on his shoulder blade. "Although... you are so big that it is not easy for me to do so."

He turned around to her. "Sorry?"

"Stop apologizing, _emma lath_. I wasn't criticizing you." Her hand enclosed his cheek, and he leaned in to her touch, eyes closed. The sound of her fingers scraping over the stubble reminded him that he hadn't shaved for a few days. She didn't seem to mind. "I'm just saying that our size difference is sometimes a curious thing. I can't even reach around you fully with my arms. But I guess you have to have these muscles, since as a warrior you carry that massive armor, shield and sword just about everywhere. You are _you_ and I like that. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Alistair smiled briefly and planted a kiss into her palm, wanting it and its warmth to stay there forever. But already her hand wandered, down his neck, under the fabric of his tunic to his shoulder. He leaned back with a blissful sigh, but retreated quickly as he noticed his head coming to a rest on her chest. Lenya gently pulled him back, silently giving her consent. "I remember the first time I bandaged your wounds, right after Honnleath. I never told you, but I felt guilty because it was my fault you got injured in the first place. The blow was destined for me and yet you shoved me out of the way, in spite of me being so caustic to you all the time. You didn't hesitate a single second to take that hit. Later when I asked you _why_, you just said that we are fellow Grey Wardens and have to take care of each other." She paused, in both motions and words, as if pondering something. "Is this scar from that wound?"

He swallowed and nodded, keenly aware of her fingernails drawing circles around the puckered flesh, and on his bare skin. On the road they were always clad in armor; thus skin on skin contact was a rare, fleeting thing, and so very electrifying.

"My point is..." He suppressed a moan as he felt her lips upon his shoulder, tracing the white line of the scar. "That bitch doesn't know anything about you, Alistair. She had no fucking right to say these things to you. I want you to know this."

Alistair sat up with a sigh, pointedly reminded of everything he had managed to forget since her arrival. He rubbed his face, distressed. "And yet it still true that I killed her son. I–you shouldn't have done that."

"Really?" Lenya scoffed, her posture tensing. "Well, she can be glad I had no weapons at that point."

"What has changed, Len?" He shook his head, not turning to her. "Nothing. Connor is still dead, even if you struck her down for saying such things. I'm no less guilty of it just because you hit her."

Lenya didn't answer. Instead she skidded closer to him again and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. His head stayed in his hands as he felt her fingers run through his hair, massaging his scalp in the attempt to offer comfort.

"As Grey Wardens, we are expected to to end the Blight. Not only that, we apparently have to fix every little problem in this country while doing so. _And _protect the innocent and weak from every single darkspawn, which is nigh impossible." Her voice was warm and soothing, like a liquid balm for his agonized soul. "There is only so much we can do, Alistair. We were fortunate enough to find competent companions – I see that now more clearly than before – but in the end we are only two people, the last remaining Grey Wardens. No matter what we do, we have to forsake one vow or another in order to stay somewhat sane. To survive long enough to end the Blight. There isn't always an ideal way, and it isn't fair." Alistair stopped her caress to entwine her palm with his, waiting for her to continue. "I mean, look at me, I never chose this path. It was chosen for me."

"Do you... regret it?"

"There are many things I regret, _Atish'an_. You know that." She drew her eyebrows together in a pained frown. "Getting sickened with the taint in the first place. Leaving Tamlen behind and seeing my clan move on without me. Nithius. The girl in Lothering. And now... Arai." Impulsively, he put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. She let it happen, even seeking his proximity. "But _this_ here... Us? No. Not one bit." Leaning on him, Lenya let out a breath that was shaking. "I need you and can't do this without you. I mean, technically I _could_, but it would suck big time. Much more than it already does."

He couldn't hide a smile at that. "You are _so_ romantic."

Lenya shrugged. "We Dalish have learned to be more practical. A pretty dress or other frilly nonsense doesn't fill stomachs or help us get through a harsh winter. So naturally, I don't care for such things."

Alistair reached out to touch her cheek, curving his fingers around her jaw, and tilted his head to claim her lips for a kiss. It was tender and undemanding – barely more than a feather touch of lips against lips – and yet he felt the warmth rushing through him, untying all the knots in his stomach. He smiled as he drew away, his forehead yet resting at hers. "Which is one of the reasons I love you."

"Oh, really?" Lenya looked up at him, and he couldn't help but be mesmerized by her eyes. Though its color was darkened with sadness, it was still the deepest green he'd ever seen, like the grass of a meadow in a lush forest. Her long lashes fluttered, confused. "What?"

"Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?"

She made a small sound between a laugh and a snort, and averted her gaze, like she always did when the compliment was unexpected and she didn't know how to deal with it. It was endearing. "Beautiful?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "When they are not busy glaring, yes."

Lenya sank into him with a sigh, her next words murmured into the fabric of his tunic. "That is another thing I regret now. That I was so vile and harsh with you in the beginning just because you were – _are _– a human. It wasn't fair."

"I confess it was frustrating at times to figure out how to make you _not_ lash out at me, but I understood your reasons for it." For a moment, his mind wandered to a time where he was younger, to his time in Redcliffe as a boy and afterwards in the chantry. While he had used jokes and sarcasm to shield himself from emotional harm and held people at a distance, she was more blunt and aggressive. Their methods might be different, but they served the same goal. Maybe that had been the reason he never gave up on her, no matter her demeanor. He'd known there was more to her than just that anger and abrasiveness, and he had been right. And she had been worth it, every bit of it.

He sighed as he broached another topic. "What do we do about the Arl and the Urn, though? To be honest, I can't let him die, not after what happened. Then again, I'm afraid of him waking up. What shall I tell him? I killed his son."

"We'll make him understand that in order to save Redcliffe there was no other way, after his shrew of a wife let it all willingly go to the Fade. That, or the Arl shem can continue to sleep."

"Wasn't there another way, Lenya? I'm sorry, but I can't help to doubt it."

She exhaled, tickling his throat with her breath. Looking up to him, her voice grew louder than before. "I don't _know_, Alistair. Maybe we could have gone to the Circle and maybe it would have saved the boy. Or maybe more people would have died because of the demon in our absence. Those were the decisions we _had_ to make. I feel guilty for having brought you into this situation, but what is done can't be changed. And believe me, I wish I _could_. Without me rushing into it, Arai – and maybe even Connor – would be still alive. And you wouldn't have been forced t– " Lenya faltered and swallowed harshly. "I–I guess we both need time to process what happened, time to cope. So please can we _not_ talk about the next utter insanity expected of us? At least not today. It has all been just... too much. I came here because I wanted to be away from all of that and to be with you... but if you would rather be alone, I will go."

"No..." Alistair embraced her again, keeping her at his side. He frowned. "That's not what I meant. I'm glad you're here. Being alone now would drive me insane."

"I know what you mean. I still can't believe that when we leave Redcliffe in whatever direction, he won't follow."

"Arai and I were never... best friends, but I know how important he was to you, love." He pulled her closer to him. "I'm sorry."

"It was the moment after I... couldn't go through with my plan of ending the boy's life. I let the dagger fall to the ground and turned my back at Connor. So _stupid._ I learned never to let my guard down years ago, and yet... I did it with him. _It._ Actually, I wanted to return to all of you." Lenya's voice broke and he waited for her to go on, his hand rubbing over her small back for comfort. "It was as if the demon had been waiting for a moment of hesitation to show up, and it hurled me like a doll against the next wall. The last thing I heard before passing out was Arai growling and his paws scratching on the stone floor. There... there was nothing I could do and it kills me."

"I hate that it ended like that, believe me... but he saved your life there."

Lenya looked up. "You did, too."

"Seeing you there, battered, with the demon looming over you, I... it was–" He sighed, needing the pause to sort his thoughts. "I just reacted. I needed to get you out of danger. Everything else was unimportant to me."

"Even your own life?"

"Yes." He didn't hesitate to answer. "If it saves you, I would – ouch!" Bewildered, Alistair alternated his stare between her and the slowly reddening mark of her hand on his arm.

"Stupid!"

He blinked. "What?"

"You ought to value your life more." Lenya was positively glaring now. "I don't want you to die for me, _alas'bora_. Some may call it romantic, but I just call it stupid!" Her lower lip did that adorable mixture between pouting and trembling, but he knew better than to give in to the sudden urge to kiss it. "What about _me_ then? You may be doing a great heroic thing for someone you love, but I'm left behind. _Again_. I don't want to live with the knowledge that you died because of me."

"I–" He was speechless for a moment, didn't know how to react to her fierce response. "Well, if it's any comfort to you, love, I didn't actually plan to _die_. Death doesn't suit me." Humor. Normally a good, familiar method for him to dispel such a grave topic and situation, but in this case Lenya didn't move, not even to blink.

Lowering his head, he frowned. "Len?"

Instead of answering, she jumped forward. Alistair had just enough time to become vaguely aware of Lenya's arms around his neck before he was pressed back onto the mattress, her lips on his. Nothing was shy about that kiss: she outright claimed what he was willing to give anyway. A swipe of her tongue along his lower lip was enough to cause him to groan. His fingers circled at the nape of her neck, burrowing into the silken texture of her locks. She used his distraction quite cleverly to explore his mouth, to find his tongue. The flavors danced between them, in their waiting mouths, caramelizing. The jolts of electricity rushing through him emboldened him with every swipe of her tongue and he felt a pressure building in the deepest part of him. Alistair had still enough sense to shift away from her body, hopefully quick enough before she noticed her effect on him.

As suddenly as she had began, Lenya broke the kiss. For a moment, he panicked as she frowned. "Something is poking me."

Self-conscious, Alistair sat up in a hurry, trying to hide the evidence through a new position. "Not me, really," he blurted and his flush deepened to a darker shade of red.

At that, Lenya arched an eyebrow at him, but thankfully she wasn't looking down. Her face was deliciously flushed, its color spreading across the neck and down to her cleavage. Her chest was heaving up and down as she caught air, a quite hypnotic rhyth– Alistair shook himself. _Focus_. "No, I–" She stopped talking to rummage in the pocket at her side. "I completely forgot about this being in my pocket, but then it dug into my flesh while we, well, kissed."

Funny, he also had something digging into his flesh, especially in his new, crooked position. Alistair tried to control his breathing to alleviate the pressure and noticed that she was holding some sort of pendant in her hands. "What is it?"

"I was hoping _you_ could tell _me_, _Atish'an_." Smiling, Lenya opened his hand, turned it around and lay the item within his palm. "I think this belongs to you."

Eyebrows pulled together in confusion, he finally looked down and blinked. Once. Twice. _It couldn't be._ It had been broken, thrown at a wall. By him. And yet, it looked like the amulet he had thought lost so long ago by his own stupidity. Still disbelieving, Alistair drew his thumb over the surface of the amulet. It was coarse and riddled with cracks, and the silver was tarnished, but the flame of Andraste was still recognizable on its cracked surface. Overwhelmed with a rush of complicated emotion, his heart both swelled and squeezed in his chest, making him gasp for air out of a different reason. Looking up, Alistair saw that Lenya was watching his face with rapt fascination, an affectionate smile on her lips. _Maker_, he loved her. "You have– I don't understand. Where? How?" was all he was able to articulate.

"So I was right. That _is_ the amulet of your mother."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the jewelry as if he was afraid it could vanish when he looked away. "Where did you find this? I mean it was broken... I shattered it at the wall."

"In the study, by coincidence." She shrugged. "Apparently, the Arl shem repaired it. Doesn't say anything about his level of care for you, but it is a nice enough action, I guess."

"The Arl? Then... he put it back together? He might even have brought it with him one of those times he came to see me at the monastery. Not that I would have given him a chance, as belligerent as I was to him. So stupid of me."

"You were young, _emma lath._" Lenya glanced sideways, apparently not particularly interested in talking about Eamon. "It is just... remember what you told me when you gave me the dagger?" Her eyes turned to him again as her hand enclosed his cheek, the touch light. "I think you should have something from your heritage as well. It is important to have a remembrance, to know where you come from. And by that, I _don't_ mean your father. You know I don't care about that. But I want you to have this. It was yours all along, anyway."

Lenya smiled, almost shyly, and if Alistair thought he couldn't fall more in love with her, he was now proven wrong. He gasped for air; unable to speak, he simply gaped at her, and felt stupid for doing so. While fighting through a variety of emotions to find the right words to thank her, an unexpected sob rippled through his throat. Instantly alarmed, she inched closer to him. "What is wrong?"

Alistair cleared his throat, feeling a bit embarrassed by his spontaneous reaction. "Nothing. I guess... I'm just not used to people listening to me. That you remembered... I mean, wow. I–" Words escaping him, Alistair fell silent and pulled her close for a kiss. Pressed into the angles of his body, she was instantly flawless and so very perfect, before she suddenly jerked away. "Now _you_ are poking me." Much to his horror she looked down at his groin and her eyes widened. "Oh."

Barely able to suppress the urge to stand up and run away, Alistair shifted uncomfortably under her stare, grimacing. His cheeks burned like fire. "Sorry. I... well." He wasn't aware of what exactly he blurted, only that it made no sense and that somewhere in between was a not so manly whimper.

She bit her lip, still not looking up. "Does it... hurt?"

"What?" Distracted by the distinctive path her hand seemed to be taking, the confusion about her question had no time to settle in. "No, not really." Alistair took her hand away from his navel and placed a kiss on the backside. "But it is quite hard, err, _difficult_ to concentrate with your hand so close." It was not that he didn't want her touch him, as it was quite obvious that he _did_, but he would never force her to do anything she wasn't ready for. He wasn't even sure if _he _was ready for it, yet. And still his mind wandered to that morning, where his dream had been more real than he thought. Of course, _that_ trail of thought was entirely unhelpful at the moment.

"Now it is twitching." Lenya tilted her head to the side, eyes squinting with concentrated interest. "When it begins to pulse or throb, we should call Wynne."

_Wynne_. Now _that_ was a sobering thought. He buried his face in his hands. "I can assure you this won't be... Could you please stop staring at my... well, _there._ This is a bit... awkward. Even more awkward, I mean."

"Sorry." Taking his hands away from his face, Lenya smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, _Atish'an_." She paused, obviously mulling over something. "Is this because of me?"

Alistair couldn't help but laugh out loud and it felt _good_, in spite of... everything. Even if he still didn't know how the topic could change so quickly from his mother's amulet to... that. She was utterly endearing in her innocence, a trait in which he was none the wiser, actually. Still the thought of her not knowing about her effect on him was a bit absurd in itself. "Lenya, I _love_ you. Have you any idea how much you– how beautiful you are to me?"

If the blush spreading across her cheeks was any indication, she didn't. "I had no interest in such things before, you know?"

"Well, I grew up in a Chantry, remember? Doesn't make me the most experienced man either." Alistair leaned his forehead on hers, his arms folded behind her back, but didn't make any other move toward her. He left that decision up to her.

"Now I'm curious. _What_ do you like about me?"

"Len, I don't think we should–"

"Yeah, me neither. Still, I want to be with you and get to know you better. Is that... wrong?"

No... not at all." Enjoying her presence, Alistair was quick to dispel her doubts. Maker, it was rare enough that they had time for each other, without the feeling of a hundred eyes scrutinizing their every move in camp. At the same time, being alone with her made him a bit nervous. "But there isn't much to tell, I'm a simple man and you... wow, are so, err, _everything_? Your smile, your caring way. You are one of the few who actually listens when I go on about things. You just proved that to me again."

She laughed. "That is sweet. But I meant... _physically_."

"Oh." For a moment, Alistair was too dumbstruck by her question and then too busy trying to not gawk in every direction but at her. He didn't want to appear like a drooling lecher. "Well, for starters–" Reaching behind her, he fumbled with the cord binding her hair, attempting to loosen it, though he failed to do so. Lenya helped him. With his fingers, he threaded through the long tresses now flowing free over her shoulders. "I like your hair like that. Down. You rarely wear it that way and I understand why, though it makes it more personal, I guess. I like the thought of being one of the few seeing you like this."

She smiled. "Okay. No problem."

"And of course, I like, no, I _love_ to kiss you." To prove his point, he showered her face and neck with light pecks, which elicited that small contented sound out of her, which he also happened to like.

Lenya moved closer, grinning like a cat swallowing the canary. "Agreed. Kissing you is great. I really like your nose, by the way. "

"My... nose?"

"Yes, it is big and elves doesn't have such huge noses, but it suits you. I think it is a fantastic human nose."

"Err...thanks...I think."

"Though, the rest of you isn't too bad, either. Has anyone told you that you are very – how is the human word?– Ah yes, _handsome_?"

"I...no?" he asked more than answered, surprised by her notion. "Well, there was this one time in Denerim, but these women weren't like you. Not you, I mean," he added with an enraptured sigh.

"Hmm, I should hope so. I would remember wandering around a shem city, complimenting random strangers."

"Yes." Alistair laughed, his heart easy. There were worse fates than being told that he was attractive to the woman he loved. "Most certainly."

"Let me help you..." Already was she shifting, climbing on top of him and with her movement the light mood changed too. He felt her hands on his neck attempting to close the necklace, the motion so innocent that he berated his body for seeking the sweet friction that her hips, so snugly pressed into his, offered. Alistair tried not to notice the way her soft form molded into his or the warmth of her breasts touching his chest, but failed. He had dreamed so often of being this close to her, and in his mind he had already kissed every part and made love to her countless times, until she screamed his name in rapture. Until it left him lying awake, aching for her touch when there was none but his own.

The reality, however, was more daunting. Now, when he only needed to wrap his arms around her to pull her close, he did not act, paralyzed by the fear of doing something wrong, of hurting her with his disparate, bigger form. Especially now, when she still wore fading bruises from her injuries. Lenya seemed unperturbed by everything, even by his evident arousal that he had tried so keenly to hide before. Not knowing what to do, just being aware of it all being too fast and happening at the wrong time, he looked up to her. "Lenya?"

She didn't answer, instead seeming to have found great interest in another part of his body. "Human ears are funny, though. So little and round. It looks odd."

Alistair was about to say something, but her head dived in and her tongue came out, mapping the outlines of the shell. His words ended up as a strangled gasp, his body tensing as he clawed one hand into the sheets beside him. In spite of himself, his doubts, there was nothing he could do to stop the excitement from rushing through him. Multiple sensations laden and associated with one single emotion that slowly lay itself like a hot and heavy fog over his protesting mind. Apparently encouraged by his reaction, Lenya became bolder, her teeth nibbling along his earlobe and her lips kissing behind his ear and down the neck, causing a groan to ripple free from deep inside of him. Against his own intentions, he pulled her close to his chest in one fluent motion, a part of his mind reprimanding him to be gentle, to not embrace her too hard. "Maker, woman. You are driving me insane here."

He felt her smile on his throat and swallowed hard. "I didn't know that ears are sensitive for humans, too. Interesting." Lenya was saying that in a tone as if discovering a pretty flower or a new prior unknown food.

"Make that two of us, really." He leaned back to look at her more fully. "But... you are not bothered, being so close to me?"

"Why? I love you and I enjoy being–" Her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh you mean you poking me?"

Alistair laughed. It was too cute, if a bit odd, how she named it. "Yes, I don't _mean _to be like this, you know." His cheeks warmed up again. He couldn't _believe_ he was talking about this. "But, well, that happens when I touch you or we are kissing."

Her eyes grew even bigger. "Every time?"

"That depends on how... err... much we touch or kiss? Maker, I can't believe we are discussing this." Alistair ruffled his hair, embarrassed. He wanted to think of all _but_ the many times he needed to sneak away from camp and relieve the pressure due to yet another ardent canoodling with her. He was – taint aside – a vigorous, young man in love and his body was still unaccustomed to such... feelings of desire and lust. His Chantry upbringing wasn't exactly helpful to deal with this new foreign _desire _her every kiss and touch sparked in him. Quite the opposite: he felt rather shameful of it. "Let's just say that when it happens, it is... very distracting. Especially when I'm in armor, you know... "

"Oh." Lenya grimaced, seemed to understand his implication. "And I'm the reason for you–" Alistair nodded. "Well, then... it is not bad." Having decided that, Lenya pushed forward. He sucked in a sharp breath as he found himself flat on his back on the bed with her above him, hands resting on his chest. Fingers curled in the fabric of his tunic, she pulled it upward, leaving his torso bare.

"What are you–"

"So many scars." Frowning, Lenya tilted her head. "I never noticed that."

"I–" He didn't know what to say, felt himself simultaneously intimidated and aroused by the view of her sitting on top of him. Thankfully, she kept her hips still, which allowed him coherent thoughts, at least. And the awareness of her watching his... half-nakedness with growing curiosity."I... guess this comes with the job and heading into hordes of darkspawn."

He inhaled deeply, tried to focus on other things than the pressure of her legs wrapped around him. _Such fascinating, long legs, leading to a nice, firm – _Before he even noticed his action, his hand already had wandered down behind her back and gave her rear a light squeeze. Lenya started up, which ended in a motion that left _him_ gasping.

"...Sorry?" Instead of the expected glare, she smirked down at him, her fingernails driving over the planes of his muscles with an appreciating hum. At that, he was absolutely _positive_ that he was going to die on the spot. _Too much, too soon. Slow down_, his mind applied somewhere amidst the haze and he attempted to control his breathing.

"You like that?"

Liking was not _nearly_ descriptive enough for all the things she made him feel right now. He was enthralled, terrified and inebriated alike by the emotions, sight and warmth surrounding him. The smirk returned as he didn't answer, making him question for a moment how someone so innocent could make such an expression. Lenya was clearly enjoying herself. "You are a beautiful man, _Atish'an_. Not only for a human."

With such words, she leaned onto him, and he met her halfway for a searing kiss. Forgetting about his reservations, Alistair finally claimed her lips like he'd dreamed of before and trailed along her neck and pointed ear, as he strayed away from her lips to taste her skin. She was divine, soft curves perfectly molding into the harsher angles of his body, their clothes a last, but necessary boundary between them. His pulse thrummed loudly in his ears, his breath growing hot and heavy; all telltale signs that he was heading towards that one particular direction with a frightening speed. Alistair couldn't stop the heated pressure from arcing through the base of his stomach, humming with want and _more_. A final swipe of her soft tongue around his, the shift of her hips just _so, _and suiddenly it all dissolved in a moment of pure bliss. Groaning into her mouth, his whole body shook, and then it was her questioning gaze that brought him instantly out of a state of pleasant oblivion.

"Are you...okay?"

_That was–_ Unable to form words, Alistair simply nodded and kissed her heated cheek to dispel her worry, while catching his breath. Not a moment later, the fog clouding his mind cleared and he became aware with horror of the evident mess his momentary high had left behind in its wake. Adapting a new shade of red, Alistair scrambled away from Lenya as far as his position allowed. Pulling the tunic over his head, he used the cloth to cover up... _down there_. Then he remembered that he owed her more than his embrace and a nod as an answer. "I'm fine, love. I just need to–" _What? Run away? Change my breeches? Crawl in a hole? All of it? _"Go to the bathroom." _Right. _He was certain if it ever came to the _real thing_, he might pass out, either of bliss or embarrassment. Probably both.

"Oh, okay." She sounded disappointed and Alistair mentally kicked himself for being so focused on himself.

"I love you, Lenya." He kissed her without the prior urgency. "Is there something... I can do for you, love? I mean, err, that you want me to do?"

"For me?" Lenya blinked, confused by the question. "Just staying here. With me. After the bathroom thing."

It was not what he actually meant, but Alistair made no attempt to correct her, seeing as it didn't seem to be important to her. "Of course."

"I just don't want to alone. Especially not here in this stupid shem castle." Sighing, she let go of him and looked away, into the slowly dying flames of the fireplace. "Normally there is– " she faltered, scowling.

Arai. No matter where she went, he had been always with her. "I'm sorry, love. I wish there was something I could do."

"Yeah, me too."

Alistair reached out to brush her cheek to comfort her, and she took and hld onto his hand, leaning into his palm. "Your hand is so rough."

"Oh..."

"No, I don't mind. Mine are calloused, as well." Lenya looked up, smiling. "Yours are strong and yet can be so gentle, like you. And I love how their touch makes me feel. ...How _you_ make me feel, actually. _Ma'arlath, Atish'an_." Before he'd even the chance to react adequately to her sweet admission other than staring in awe at her, she glanced down at him and added, "By the way, your breeches are wet. You really should hurry to the bathroom now."

Groaning, Alistair hit his forehead, because _of course _she noticed the things he didn't want her to, like always. Yet he couldn't help but laugh, after the awkward moment had passed. It was typical Lenya to say something uncharacteristically romantic and then add an inappropriate dry comment. He shook his head in disbelief. "Has anyone told you how adorable you are, Len?"

"Not if they care to live."

"Right, err, I better be going now."

By the time Alistair returned, freshly washed and clothed, Lenya lay curled up on the bed, fast asleep. Feeling his own exhaustion, but not wanting to wake her, he walked as quietly as he could to the other side of the bed and lay down beside her. Instinctively, she skidded closer and snuggled herself into his embrace.

He smiled.

Lying here with her didn't make his guilt miraculously go away, but her presence made it easier to bear. The fact that he wasn't alone was as important to him as it was to her. Alistair planted a gentle kiss on her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of woodsmoke and Wynne's herbs. Lenya called him _Atish'an_, her 'safe place', but the same held true for her.

For him, she was _home_.

.

.


	90. Crossing The Lines

_Sorry if Teagan comes off a bit of a creep in the beginning here, it was not really intended. I blame Lenya, since she is quite the little Dalish cookie of rage in here. Cough._

_Tklivory has my greatest thanks for her restless and awesome beta work, as well as all my FFN buddies out here still willing to put up with me and this unending monster. Hope you enjoy the incoming 10k of rambling, lol._

* * *

"_**You really don't care what happens a year from now? Five years from now?"**_

_**"Angel, when I look into the future, all I see is you! All I want is you."**_

_**"I know the feeling."**_

_BtVS, Buffy/Angel – Bad Eggs_

* * *

.

**Chapter 84: Crossing The Line(s)**

.

She woke before him.

For a moment, Lenya lay perfectly still and watched him sleep. It was odd and strangely beautiful to see Alistair like this, his features relaxed and peaceful. The early light of morning had found its way through the cracks of the dark velvet curtains, tracing the outline of the muscles on his frame. His chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm, the warm puffs of breath tickling her face. Sometime in the night, he had turned to her, and one arm was still lightly draped around her form. Lenya smiled at the warm feeling that surged through her at the sight, remembering an old Dalish saying. Since they had no land of their own, they wandered eternally, settling down only for a brief time before moving on. Therefore the term and meaning of 'home' was vastly different from humans living in their stone houses, permanent, grey and unchanging. Home was clan and wherever they wandered.

_Home is where the heart is._

Her fingers threaded softly over the lines of his jaw, causing him to stir slightly before he settled down again, tired. He was usually up before her, but it had been a horrible, restless night for Alistair. Nightmares seemed to haunt him more than usual, the feeling of guilt deeply rooted within. Lenya didn't expect it to vanish magically and knew that only time and his own determination could overcome the horror of killing a child. As horrendous it had been for him and for her, it also had brought them closer together. At this exact moment when she looked at him, she couldn't help but feel love for him.

"_Emma vhenan, ma sa'lath, Atish'an_," she whispered, amazed at the clarity of her feelings for him. The prior inhibitions that had held her back were gone, replaced by an abiding, deep trust. She would be there for him, like he was for her: without hesitation.

Alistair stirred once more, only to turn to the other side, taking the sheet with him. Smiling, Lenya placed a kiss on his shoulder. She hadn't the heart to disturb his short moment of peaceful slumber after all the times he had thrashed in his sleep, releasing choked screams from a face twisted in agony. Still, restlessness plagued her enough that she couldn't stay here either, and so she stood up.

The air in the room was chilled, the flames in the fireplace having faded long ago, but Lenya didn't mind. With one last glance toward him, she snuck as quietly she could toward the door and then through it, closing it behind her.

Blinking, she paused to give her eyes a moment to get used to the bright light outside in the hall.

"What are you doing here?"

A stumpy human literally sprang into her vision and was tapping his foot impatiently like Wynne in her best times. Lenya only blinked once more. It was simply too early to deal with this shit.

"Didn't you hear me, knife ear? Why aren't you working? How dare you to slack off while we still have to clean the estate and have unexpected guests to care for on top of that." His sharp blue eyes glowered down at her.

She inhaled deeply, counted to ten and faked a smile. "Do you see any darkspawn?"

Now it was the man's turn to blink in confusion. "What are you going on about, elf? Now move, or I'll give you some bruises as a reminder!" Lenya caught his hand as soon it was risen and twisted his arm in a fashion that made him kneel in pain. If he moved one bit, the strained arm behind his back would break. She made a mental note to thank Zevran later for teaching her that particular trick.

"Listen, asshole," While the man writhed in pain, Lenya smiled down at him. "Off the top of my head I can think of seven different ways to kill you. There might be more, but I just got up, so I'm still tired. I suggest you take a good look at me now and answer two questions." She didn't wait for a reaction. "First: do I look like your typical, obedient flat-ear scrubbing the floor because you _shem'alas_ told me to? And second: do you see any darkspawn springing out of the corner? Here's a hint: The correct answer to both is no! So I don't have to fucking work right now, especially not for a scum like you."

"What is going on here?" Upon hearing Teagan's voice, Lenya loosened her grip, but kept her wary stance.

"You ought to teach the humans working for you better manners, Bann. In my clan, raising a hand against a woman would be a serious crime. Guess that isn't valid for you humans, right?"

"What?" Teagan's eyes flickered from the man to her and back, taking the information in. "I don't understand... why would would you raise your hand against a Grey Warden? The woman who saved Redcliffe from the invasion of undead? Show some respect!"

Though rubbing his hurt arm, the man's eyes widened. "A Grey Warden, ser? But she's– ?" He let out a whimper, finally realizing the nature of his error. "Oh Maker, I... had no idea, ser. It was all just a–"

"He mistook me for one of the servants. That _still_ doesn't excuse his disgusting behavior, however," she interrupted him and glared in his direction. "That _shemlen_ should be glad he still has his arm attached."

"Oh, I'm certain of that, Warden," Teagan answered, caught somewhere between amusement and anger at the situation. He inclined his head to her. "And I want to sincerely apologize for his lack of manners. I can ensure it won't happen again." The Bann turned to his servant, eyes narrowing. "We will talk later."

"Y-yes, ser." The man hung his head and, with a few final racial epithets muttered at Lenya, rushed down the vast hall and beyond their sight. With him gone, the Dalish saw no reason to stay as well, but Teagan's words stopped her.

"I was actually hoping to speak with you again."

"Let me guess..." She rolled her eyes," …you want to know if I changed my mind over night? The answer is no."

"It _is_ important, Warden. I am aware that you don't care much for politics, and this is well within your rights. However, in such unstable times when the civil war has already been raging for months, it falls to you to put an end to it for the sake of unity. That makes it-"

Lenya interrupted him with a scoff. "-_my_ responsibility? Oh, perfect, just like everything _else_ in this country!"

Teagan gaped at her, obviously at a loss how to handle her dismissive attitude. A small part of her felt deliciously gleeful at his bafflement. However, the other and bigger Warden part of her that was getting more and more difficult to ignore urged her to be more rational. Sighing, she gave in. "Look, you have been reasonable and don't deserve my hostility like certain other humans here, but that doesn't change how very insane a plan it is. My job is to end the Blight, not... that."

"I know this, my lady." He nodded and now it was Lenya the one being bewildered. "Yet to fight the Blight effectively, you'll need every able man ready for battle. That is why you must understand that without Eamon we can't go against Teyrn Loghain and put a stop to the civil war that his meddling caused. And if the war goes on, Ferelden will remain divided and sink into chaos. We must meet the Blight with unity, and if we are fighting against each other, we can't very well defend Ferelden against the darkspawn. I don't think that's what you want, is it?"

"N-no." She felt a bit too pressed by his sudden confidence and arguably good reasoning. "But I need time to discuss this with my fellow Warden."

"Excellent." Teagan smiled, apparently content to have elicited this reaction. He moved away from her and toward the door of Alistair's room. "Shall we do so now?"

Finally recovering from her state of surprise, Lenya stepped in his way, her arms crossed and she was back to glaring. "No, _not_ now. Alistair is... still sleeping. And I would like to keep it that way."

Teagan's smile broadened in a way that made her uncomfortable."I see. I've noticed you are very _protective_ of Alistair." Lenya didn't know how to react to this, so she didn't react at all. "You must know that I understand Alistair had no other choice. I did _not_ approve of Isolde's harsh words yesterday. Although your reaction might have been a bit impulsive, I still feel the need to apologize in her name. It has been a hard time for all of us, and especially for her."

Lenya's stance relaxed, but only slightly. "You'd better tell Alistair that, not me. _Later_. I couldn't care less for your feeble attempts of appeasing me. I know you just want to get me to agree to your insane plan."

The Bann shook his head and laughed. "You _are_ Dalish, right?"

"Oh really? Did the _vallas_– tattoo on my forehead gave me away?" Habitually, Lenya had fallen back into the well known behavior of defiance. She still didn't know what to make of this human, so she remained cautious.

"No. Your bearing, actually. You..." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "You are proud and fierce. I haven't seen many elves with your attitude, to be honest."

She snorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, excuse me that I don't sweep a curtsey at every human in sight, like all the flat ears here are used to doing. I would rather die than submit in the way they do."

"And I respect that. Alistair is a lucky man to have found a woman as lovely as yourself. " Lenya narrowed her eyes and tensed. This talk had somehow gone from weird to creepy. He seemed to notice her discomfort and backed off. "But I am too bold, my lady. This is hardly the time for such banter. Please accept my apology."

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes, annoyed by his antics. "Is there actually anything you _will_ do, now that your human village is safe? Aside from spouting gratuitous and unwanted flattery?"

"Yes." He stifled a chuckle. "As a matter of fact, my task will be the organization of Eamon's knights when they return. And to draft new soldiers, of course, and prepare the army to fight. When next you return, you'll have all the able men of Redcliffe at your disposal." He paused a moment. "Do you mind if I ask how your efforts of raising an army are getting along? Your companion mentioned something yesterday, while examining Eamon, but I was too concerned about my brother to truly listen."

"It is all done." She sighed. "The Grey Warden treaties are collected and the _durgen'len_, mages, templar and my people have sworn themselves to support our cause."

"That is... an impressive feat, if I'm allowed to comment."

"Are you noble shems always talking in such pompous phrases, or is it just you?" Lenya shrugged the compliment off, which didn't change the actual truth of his words, if she was honest with herself. Objectively seen, it _was_ impressive what she and her small group of misfits had managed to achieve in a mere matter of months. Still, it was far from over and somehow she had the sinking feeling that the worst lay yet ahead.

"Oh, you don't want to know that, my lady. Believe me," Teagan countered in a more flirtatious tone than she'd ever wanted. Unnerving as _that_ was, at least he saw her as the person in charge now, and heeded her opinions. Mostly. And of all the people in Redcliffe, Teagan was, by far, the most bearable human.

"Right, I really _don't _care." Lenya made clear that she intended to leave. "Is that all?"

"We ought to discuss how to gather your armies together, but right now the matter of Jowan is more important and pressing."

Stopping in mid-motion, she pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. Couldn't those humans do _anything_ for themselves? Just _one_ time, for Mythal's sake? "You mean the blood mage? Why should this concern me?"

"His poisoning of Eamon began this whole mess, yet he lives," he said, his expression grim. "I must decide what becomes of him."

Lenya tapped her foot, rapidly losing patience. "And?"

"Well, you have talked to him, have you not? I thought you'd have an opinion on his fate."

Apparently they could _not_.

It was flattering and annoying alike to get asked so often for her opinion, but if Lenya were honest she had thought of everything _but_ Jowan's fate in the past hours. There had simply been too many other things that occupied her mind, and a mage she had only met in passing was none of them. His fate really wasn't her business, and _should_ have been decided by the Circle and Chantry, or by Arl Eamon and his shrew of a wife. She hated all of them, and she didn't particularly want them to get their way. Yet no matter _what_ she said now, Jowan was doomed either way. Unless... Lenya smiled, an idea crossing her mind.

"He... should stand for his crimes and face the consequences. In fact, I want to do it myself."

Teagan let out a gasp, eyes widening slightly in disbelief. "You... want to _execute_ him?"

She shrugged and lowered her voice to a dangerous growl for added effect. "I'm used to killing. I do this _all the time_ in order to survive, remember? So stop treating me like a delicate lady, because I'm not!"

His eyes slid over the scar on her cheek, before being averted. "As you wish. You will find him in the dungeon, as before. I leave the time and manner of his death up to you. I doubt very much Eamon would argue."

_Not that he was able to._

That thought did give her pause_. _Maybe it wasn't fair of her to have her view on Eamon already so tarnished through the stories of Alistair. Perhaps he was a decent man and the person they'd need to navigate the political tangle of Ferelden. That might explain why Alistair still held the Arl in such high regard and refused to blame him for sending him away to the Chantry.

Lenya however, did not give him such credit, nor would ever excuse his behavior toward the man she loved. It was, in fact, one of the reasons _why_ she had chosen to visit Jowan now, though contrary to Teagan's belief, it was not to kill him. "I should be going then. There is... much to do."

Teagan probably interpreted it as more than the agreement to deal with the mage, because he bowed to her with a content smile. "I'm glad to hear this, my lady. I will see to it that you and your companions are well prepared for your further journey."

"Whatever." If the Bann intended to stock up their food rations and general supplies, Lenya would not stand in his way. They would need it either way, saving Eamon or not.

.

.

* * *

.

"Can you... help me with something?"

Leliana was arguably the oddest choice for assistance to her little plan of mischief and payback, but she was also stellar with all kind of locks, even more than herself... or Zevran. It was a talent Lenya would need down there in the dungeon, if she was to, well, _deal_ with Jowan.

The bard looked up from her food, startled at being addressed by the Dalish. Understandably so, since they hadn't talked more than three sentences in months. Until last night, at any rate. "What for?"

The deep blue of her eyes was dimmed with exhaustion, the lines in her face more visible than usual. And yet, she tried to smile, and seemed clearly... interested. Lenya glanced at the other companions and people gathered around the wooden table and bit back the urge to sit down next to them to eat. She suddenly felt ravenous, as if she hadn't eaten in days. For a Grey Warden this feeling was ubiquitous and yet in her case it was closer to the truth than she wanted. The last decent meal she'd eaten was before that 'wonderful' talk with Teagan and Isolde, and afterward her attention had been completely focused on Alistair. A hint of a smile stole its way on her lips at the thought of him and everything he was. Being loved... was nothing short of amazing, an antidote to mitigate all the anguish and guilt still buried in her heart. Shaking her head, Lenya reminded herself that the human still expected an answer.

"I need you to come with me." She noticed the disbelief in her eyes and quickly added, "Please."

"Yeah, Missy, how ya doing?" Waving at her, Oghren spoke before Leliana did and let out an expansive belch. He grinned at her as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped on the table. Several seats around him had been left empty, crumbs and other pieces of food strewn all over, but he didn't seem to mind - a direct contrast to the people sitting farther away from him, mumbling under their breath. "Wanna join us? Lots of food and brewery here. Do ya good after all the nugshit that happened." As if he wanted to prove his point, Oghren snatched another chunk of bread and quite literally stuffed it into his mouth. Her stomach protested with a loud growl. If seeing Oghren devour food like only Oghren could didn't kill her appetite, then she was _starving_.

She swallowed thickly. "As tempting as it sounds, I have business to attend to first."

"Ah, concerning your lovely fellow Warden, I suppose?" Lenya had chosen to ignore the smug way Zevran had been grinning at her ever since her arrival in the dining hall. Alas, this now became impossible.

"Yes, exactly, Zev." She rolled her eyes. "It is _all_ about Alistair. _And_ sex. _Everything_. Ever. Which is why I need to borrow Leliana now."

At that, Oghren spat the ale out in a high fountain and coughed. Zevran's mouth fell open with an audible _plop _and stayed that way.

Now it was Lenya's turn to look smug.

"I'm not... sure how to reply to this sort of, err, request," Leliana answered thoughtfully, tearing the deafening silence apart with it.

While even more servants had retreated from Oghren's vicinity, the dwarf flashed her a toothy grin. "Mind if, I, heh, _watch_?"

_Ugh, creepy. _Now her stomach lurched for an entirely _different_ reason. "Sorry to disappoint. That was just a joke."

Zevran heaved a disappointed sigh. "Aww, you are a cruel, cruel woman, you know that? Now my mind will be occupied with certain pictures your words have conjured in my head. Let me know when you are indeed serious about this. I would never want to miss the entertaining... opportunity, after all." Both women threw him a glare at the same time, but Zevran only shrugged, diverting his attention back to his plate of food.

Leliana stood up with a sigh. "Let's go then, shall we?" Nodding, the Dalish snatched several fruits, a chunk of cheese and bread, stuffed it all into a napkin, and turned to go.

"Yes, we should."

~V~

While they walked through a long corridor, the silence stretched into such a length that it became uncomfortable.

Lenya stole a glance at the human a couple of times, not knowing how to break through the growing... awkwardness. She had never been great at these kind of things, so thankfully it was Leliana who first broached a conversation.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about, or where we are going?"

"Yes. But before I do, I need to thank you."

Leliana came to an abrupt halt, mouth agape. "You.._. what?_"

She sighed, needing these words out before she could change her mind. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, or as in ever, if I'm honest. And I don't think it is... fair. Not anymore. You have a kind heart, and have always been there for everyone who needed it. You stayed and fought on our – _my _– side, in spite of us being less than... friends. And while we don't agree on... many things, I wanted you to know that I'm grateful for what you have done. Especially for Arai... after–" She bit her lip, still unable to say it. "And for me, with letting Zevran know about what happened and bringing him back with you. This was what I needed then, and I wanted to thank you."

"I –" Her mouth closed and opened a few times without saying anything. Blinking, Leliana visibly fought for her bearings. "I appreciate your words. Truly. It means a lot to me, but I didn't do all these things to win your favor. For me it was the least I could do."

Lenya smiled. "I know."

"I mean you both have such a huge responsibility and thus it is only normal I try to help, and–" The human prattled on for a minute or two, making Lenya wonder what can of worms she had opened with her words. Oddly enough, she didn't mind. _Much_.

"Leliana?"

She came to a halt, looking at the Dalish with wide, blue eyes. "What? Oh. Sorry."

Shaking her head, Lenya let out a snort. "Naah, it's okay. Though we probably should focus on the task ahead. Actually, I wanted you to come along so I could thank you... and, err, because I need you to pick a lock."

"A lock?" She arched an eyebrow. "Where?"

"In the dungeon. Jowan's cell, to be exact."

"Jowan?" Leliana gasped as she connected the name to a meaning. "You mean the blood mage? You... want to free him?"

"It's either that, or kill him. And seeing that the Bann actually wanted me to take care of it, I'll do it now." She shrugged. "You can turn around and go, if you can't stomach my decision. I'll get this damn lock open either way, it will just take me longer."

"I don't know, Lenya." Everything in her bearing was hesitant. "We shouldn't do this."

"No, probably not."

"And freeing Jowan could cause serious problems with the Arl and Arlessa, should they find out."

"I know." Lenya's lips twisted, amused by the bard's genuine indignation. "We should make sure that they don't find out, then, right?"

Leliana stood completely still, as if frozen on the spot, staring at her. Several moments passed before she spoke again. "Is this because of how the Arlessa treated Alistair?"

"Maybe." Her grin widened, then vanished from her face as she grew serious again. "I also believe that Jowan isn't the typical gruesome and cackling blood mage, such as we previously met in the Circle tower. He is a fool and made some very stupid choices, yes. But so did I - even got tainted in the wake of it - and still I got a second chance."

"And you have to fight the Blight as one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden," Leliana added, casually.

"Yeah, there is always a catch, it seems." She nodded in the bard's direction and sighed for melodramatic effect. "But as hard and painful as it is more often than I care to count, I know now that I'm not alone."

"I'm not fully convinced yet, but I guess with a Blight on our heels, there are worse things than a single blood mage. I hope he is worthy of your mercy and the trouble it could cause."

"I hope so too. It seems as if being around you humans has made me soft, since I'm growing quite fond of this... redemption thing." She headed toward the entrance of the dungeon, inwardly glad that Leliana had decided to follow. "I suppose if we are heading to Denerim, you will want to join us? I know it's been a while, but I remember the ambush on our camp."

"You do?" Once more, she was utterly surprised. The Dalish held back another snarky comment. Her ability to recall the event wasn't all that hard, given the corpses that had been strewn across camp. Or the initial reason for it.

"It's not decided yet, but it appears to be one of those wonderful non-choices I keep happening upon lately." Lenya wrinkled her nose as the lingering dank, foul-smelling air seeped through her light clothing. The sparse wall torches that were still lit threw a greasy yellow light across their path and lay twisted shadows along the filthy walls. She squinted her eyes to concentrate her sight in the darkness. It was hard to recognize more than the barest of contours and thus to keep her orientation in the labyrinth of narrow, stinking corridors. "But the matter was about your past, right?"

She didn't need bright light to notice Leliana's wince. "Y-yes. I'm not sure if... she is still in Denerim, though. Months have passed since that... incident, after all."

"So do you think she has given up?"

A sigh reverberated from her lips and then from the dark walls, echoing together on the stone with her footsteps. "No."

"I see. Well, time to find out, right?

"...Maybe. I just thought that this part of my past..." Another weary sigh rattled between her teeth. "It's... complicated."

Lenya laughed without humor. "Isn't it always?"

Leliana hurried to walk beside her, the cell of the mage now in sight. "How is Alistair holding up? And... you?"

"We are... coping. Alistair takes it worse, unsurprisingly, seeing that he still holds that Arl shem in a high regard. I, however, would be glad if I didn't feel like breaking down at every Mabari picture I see. Another reason to leave soon, I guess."

"Give it time, Lenya. It's only been two days. Don't push yourself."

The gesture from Leliana was heartfelt, yet gratuitous, since it wasn't feasible. "Alas, we never have that. Time, I mean. It's been Fen'harel's rush all the time, full of demands, always. So what if I do something not proper according to their damn rules now, especially if it _saves_ a life? Screw that."

"Well, if you put it _that_ way..."

"Good to see you understand." With those words, Lenya stepped in front of the cell of the haggard mage, a smile on her lips. "Hello, Jowan."

.

.

* * *

.

Weak sunlight lanced through the greyish gloom, and struck dimly against the stone of the cliffs. The air was damp from the morning dew and hued in a blanket of faint mist. Lenya felt the breeze against her skin, the faint smell of death still lingering in the air. It would probably take weeks until Redcliffe would be completely free of the reek, and longer to be free of the memories. She hated how she had no such mercy. This place would always been branded within her mind, the place where she lost Arai forever. She took a deep breath, enjoying the momentary absence of sound and company and taking advantage of the quiet to think.

While she didn't care about Jowan's fate after setting him free, she wasn't regretting her decision. Lenya was aware it would be better to keep her decision a secret, but at the same time it brought her great satisfaction to put a damper on the self-righteous, demanding ways of these noble shems. Every time she had to look at and listen to the wailing of the human banshee now, Lenya would do it with an inner, gleeful grin.

Unfortunately, the unwanted thoughts on that... _woman_ seemed to have summoned her, as she discovered the Arlessa standing on the other side of the cliff, silently looking out on the lake below. Isolde turned, her face twisting into a scowl at the sight of the elf, as far as the black eye and her bruised cheek allowed such an expression. Lenya struggled to keep her face straight, as well, though for an entirely _different_ reason. It seemed as if her years of brawling with Tamlen and Fenarel had been finally been good for something.

"Come to gloat, Warden?" The disdain in her voice was even louder than the crashing of the water upon the cliffs.

To answer with a 'yes' was... _tempting_. Instead Lenya focused on a _slightly_ more diplomatic answer. "Actually, I came here for fresh air. Contrary to your belief, human, the world doesn't revolve around you. I'm sorry for your loss and I mean it, but you brought this upon yourself. Don't you ever forget that!"

"No," The spite was suddenly absent from the Arlessa's tone, her words no more than a whisper. "Nor will I ever."

_Good..._ the gleeful part of her wanted to laugh in her face, but Lenya halted, feeling sorry for her instead - a feeling utterly alien for her when it came to this human and yet definitely _there_. If Lenya thought about it, the Arlessa wasn't all that different from Jowan. Foolish, single-minded and naïve, perhaps, but not intentionally wreaking havoc. Though sometimes those sorts of people were even worse, since they were oblivious to the suffering their deeds left in their wake.

_Oh Creators, what have I done?_

Before the panic about her probably not-so-heroic action of saving a life could further set in, the annoying Arlessa with the even more annoying voice opened her mouth again. In Lenya's experience, this was never a good thing. "But what does _someone like you_ even know about loss?"

_What in the flying halla– _For a moment, she only gaped at the human, too dumbstruck by the sheer audacity of that sentence.

As quickly as the feeling of compassion for Isolde had come, just as quickly it dissolved along with the gust of wind twirling around the Dalish again. No, she would not step forward and _push_, she would not – _ugh_. Why, oh _why,_ did that shrew has to stand in such a _convenient_ way in front of her, with the chasm _exactly_ behind her? Gnashing her teeth together, Lenya balled her hands into fists, to keep them too occupied for a motion they would _rather_ do instead.

"Listen, _shem'asha'alas._" Nerves snapping like an overly taut bowstring, Lenya found herself _growling_ at her. It appeared to have become her natural reaction toward Redcliffe's very own banshee. "I'm not one of your flat-ear servants you can command at will, as the state of your face should have made unequivocally clear, but you seem to need more to fully comprehend that fact. I'm a Dalish and I'm a Grey Warden, and I _corrected_ the mess _you_ created. Don't tell me what to do or about not knowing what loss means. It is around me every fucking day, in every face I look. This country is falling apart, rotten with the taint, while you were sitting your human ass in this very castle, sticking your fingers in your ears to ignore what happened just around your corner. I had to give up everything in my life and have fought the Blight ever since, and have seen far more death and despair than I ever wanted. Your nightmare is my every sodding day." Words fumed out of Lenya in a rant, quicker than she wanted. "But this isn't a damn contest about who suffered more, nor a silly game I refuse to play, human. It is about the fucking _ignorance_ you display, even now." She only stopped to gasp for air, the tainted blood pounding furiously in her veins. "It is in your right to grieve for your son, but by the Creators, I _swear_, if you ever _consider _repeating or rephrasing the words you said to Alistair in his or my presence, then it won't be my _fist_ next time!"

Lenya whirled away, breathing harshly, as she struggled to maintain what little restraint she still had and _not_ launch herself at her. Silence descended over the place as the human didn't react, while the wild rhythm of her pulse and breath became unbelievably loud in the lingering stillness.

"You dare threaten me? Even now?"

"That is _all_ you gathered from my words? _Fen'harel__,_ how oblivious _are_ you?" Lenya snorted in disbelief, shaking her head as she faced the Arlessa once more. "Actually, no, that was not my intent. It was more a not-so-friendly reminder not to mess with me, shem. Or with Alistair. _Especially_ not with him."

"So that is what this izz all about? Because you are warming the bed of Maric's bastard, you can't stand the truth, _elf_?" Isolde lifted her chin in defiance, but flinched back as Lenya straightened her posture. "You need us, you need my husband's aid to unite Ferelden under one banner to fight against the Blight!"

"Your words are as solid as fog and you want to know _why_?" Lenya smirked. Compared to all the kinds of darkspawn and demons she'd encountered, the glaring of the Arlessa looked as pitiful as a hornless halla. "Even if I should be willing to pursue this inanity of a task and end up traversing the country for a wastebin of a dead woman, it is _you_ who needs _us_. Because without the ashes you want us to collect somewhere within this sodding country, your beloved husband is doomed. Alistair and I, however, can always find _another_ way to deal with Loghain and _another_ place to unite the troops we've gathered. _Without_ your precious husband's help, I might add. Another, not-so friendly reminder." Now Lenya was the one glaring. Her eyes burned in hatred as she looked at the taller woman. "Believe me, you don't want me as an enemy, because my enemies have the tendency to be very short-lived and speared on the pointy end of my blade. ...Oh and for the record: _that_ was a threat."

Isolde fumed and shrieked words like 'savage' and 'heathen' after her retreating figure, but Lenya couldn't care less. She felt lighter, almost giddy, after having finally thrown all the words seething inside of her for days at its rightful recipient. It might have been harsh, but diplomacy was never Lenya's strong suit, nor did the human deserve courtesies, since she wasn't willing to give such herself.

.

.

* * *

.

His awareness returned in layers, called from deep slumber back to reality.

Forcing one eye open, his outstretched hand didn't find the expected warmth of her: only a cold, empty space where she _should_ be. Groaning, Alistair lifted his head and blinked into the face of the person who had ripped him out of sleep in the first place.

"You're not Lenya..." His tongue felt heavy, as if wrapped in wool cotton, and his temples throbbed with pain. _Blasted nightmares_. They were getting worse.

"Sharp observation, my dear." Wynne chuckled, softly. "I wanted to say the same, actually." She seemed to notice his distress, which wasn't all that hard since he made no effort to hide it. "Are you all right?"

"Nightmares," he replied somewhere in between massaging his temples and another groan. "The usual." And then again, it was not. Pictures of Connor's face dominated even over the darkspawn last night, leaving him restless, screaming and in need of Lenya's calming words and presence.

"My, my. Let me help you." His skin pricked in learned defiance as a light wave of Wynne's healing magic washed over him, alleviating the physical ache. Still, it did little against the pictures yet prominent in his head. At least Alistair was able to focus again, finally wondering where Lenya had vanished to.

Rubbing his face a final time, he looked up at the elder mage. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, Wynne, but what _are_ you doing in my room?"

"Ah, you must excuse me, Alistair. I was searching for Lenya. Seeing she wasn't in the room assigned to her, I figured I would find her here."

"Again?" He drew his eyebrows together. "Why this time? You seem awfully focused on her lately."

"Not as much as you, my dear." She chuckled as he lowered his gaze, purely out of reflex. ...And because he was thinking of yesterday's rather steamy events now, thanks to Wynne's words.

"I don't know where she is, actually."

"Oh?" Wynne raised an eyebrow, the one when she wasn't believing something. "That is surprising. Since you and our fearless leader are inseparable these days. Joined at the hip, almost." She said it with a smile, but the slight harshness in her voice did not escape his notice.

"Th-that is a bit of an overstatement."

"Only a _bit_, hmm?"

He flushed a little, causing him to sigh. "If you came here to torture me, the darkspawn already did a fine job with messing with my head last night, so there's no need for more."

"It's getting worse, then?"

Alistair nodded. "We took our time gathering the troops for the war, but so did the archdemon, apparently."

"All the more reason to leave here quickly, don't you think?" Wynne looked at him with expectation and he couldn't pinpoint the reason _why_.

"So I gather the news of the Urn and the possible upcoming journey has already made the rounds?"

"Yes. I visited the Arlessa this morning." That was all she said, her eyes resting on him again. It was unnerving how she kept using cryptic half-sentences in that kind of tone, a technique he thought used only by the Grand Cleric.

"Wynne, what in the Maker is between you and Lenya lately?" He shot her a look that wasn't all that friendly. "Ever since you healed her arrow wound, there's been a change between you two. And yesterday, I saw the same tension in the stable. You might think I didn't notice, but I'm not stupid."

"Who said that, my dear? I'm quite aware you are not." Her laugh faded quickly. "I can't say the same for your fellow Warden, though stupid is too harsh a word. That, she certainly is not, just very stubborn to accept even the smallest amount of well meaning advice."

"Advice?" He frowned. Knowing how well Lenya always received such an endeavor, it was likely the cause for the tension between them. "What advice? What are you talking about?"

Wynne averted her gaze and brushed some imaginary wrinkles from her robe. "It is not my place to comment." Walking over to the cold fireplace with a sigh, she seated herself on the stool in front of it. For a moment she stared into the ashes. "Tell me, what are your plans once this is over, Alistair?"

"What?"

The mage turned to him and folded her hands in her lap, the motion calm. "You are the son of a k–"

"No, Wynne!" He interrupted before she could end the sentence, though that didn't stop his stomach from churning at the merest mention of her meaning. "We are _not_ talking about this! I'm a Grey Warden fighting the Blight and that's _all_." Taking a deep breath, he softened his voice. "In the unlikely, but possible scenario that we come out alive I–"

She interrupted him abruptly. "I just want you to be aware that your duty as a Grey Warden and your true heritage will always override your personal desires."

"My whole life has been about what _others_ wanted," he burst out, surprising even himself. "And I never complained. But I'm starting to believe that Lenya was right. I _should_ look out for myself more."

"I don't think that heeding her advice is a good idea, as reckless and hot-headed as she is and was, especially in the past few days."

"Oh, do you?" Alistair huffed, not truly angry, though a pang of frustration was undeniable. "That's funny, because she actually _is _one of the few asking for my opinion, _without_ having their own motives."

"I don't mean ill." Wynne shook her head. "I simply would hate to see you hurt, Alistair. Your blossoming relationship to Lenya bears a great potential for tragedy. I am just trying to minimize the suffering that may come to either of you."

"What?" Alistair couldn't believe it. "You know what _truly_ lessened my anguish after I had to kill the Arl's son? Lenya staying at my side and being there for me, calming me down. And that in spite of her own grief for Arai. I didn't ask her to do that, but it meant so much to me. More, Lenya remembered _this_. Something I told her _months_ ago." He exhaled a shaky breath, his fingers brushing over the rough texture of the amulet dangling from his neck. "I love her, that won't change, no matter your words or approval. ...And yet, you _were _right."

Wynne's eyebrows knitted together. "I was?"

"Yes," Alistair answered, completely composed, voice even. Although he felt no resentment for her, the disappointment in her words and actions settled deeper inside. "It is indeed not your place to comment upon this. I'm a Grey Warden and I know my duties. Believe me, the archdemon in my head every night makes that abundantly clear. But that doesn't mean I can't be a person, too, Wynne. I like you, but I'm not surprised that Lenya is angry about your meddling in what _shouldn't_ be your concern. Even if you meant well, I think you went too far, myself."

His gaze locked with hers, silent for a heartbeat.

"And now, leave. ...Please."

With that, Alistair stood up from the bed to walk over to his pack and paid no further heed to the elder mage. The clicking sound of the room's door a moment later indicated that she respected his wish in that, at least.

.

.

* * *

.

There were a lot of things Alistair _preferred_ to do to get ready for the day.

Morning meditation, light sword exercises, or simply sitting close by the remaining heat of the fire, mulling over past events... A sudden ambush of darkspawn or Morrigan's presence were _not_ generally considered a part of them. Now standing in front of the witch's room, he almost wished for a horde to attack and hinder him in his intent. _Almost_.

With a sigh, he knocked on the wooden door. As expected there was no answer. Smothering the wish to leave, Alistair pressed the handle down, opened it a crack. Even before he could fully enter, her less-than-friendly voice greeted him.

"What do you want?"

"To be honest..." he raised an eyebrow at the sight of Morrigan kneeling on the floor, various phials and ingredients placed in front of her. The strong scent of herbs flooded his senses, and a hint of magic pricked his skin. "...leaving through this door again."

"I'm not stopping you." Concentrating on whatever creepy mixture she was about to create, the witch didn't even look up to him. Not that he minded, really. It made his visit all the easier. Probably.

His mind was wrapped around the words, but his mouth refused to form them. "Funny, how the word 'potion' and 'poison' are so alike..." tumbled out instead. The exasperated groan came instantly from her place. Glaring up at him, she extinguished the tiny flame dancing mid-air with a flick of her wrist and stood up in one fluid motion. "In case you didn't notice yet, idiot, Lenya isn't here."

"Yes, obviously." He involuntarily shivered as their eyes met. Her gaze was void of any warmth, despite its golden color. "But never mind, I wanted to, err, talk to you, actually."

"Oh?" She blinked once or twice more than needed before reverting back to her usual cold and composed demeanor. "Excuse me if I don't fall over in excitement. I'm certain your wish for company will be greeted with more enthusiasm next door, where the old hag has her quarters."

_I doubt that, _his mind supplied, ever so unhelpful. Not that his wish to see Wynne right now was any keener, for that matter.

"Look, I don't want to linger long – _or at all _– and will leave you to your task to systematically poison us bit by bit again, but..." He grimaced, eventually forcing the words out that lay heavy on his tongue, "_Ineedtothankyou! ..._There, I said it."

"What?" She gaped at him, as if he had turned into a toad all the sudden. Alistair had the inkling it could became the horrid truth, should he decide to outstay his meager welcome. "T-thank me? Did you hit your head on your way here, fool?"

"Apparently."

"Not that there is much within to be injured."

"Ah, back to well known insults. You know how to make me comfortable, Morrigan. ...No, scratch that. Only distance between you and–" He stopped with a sigh. "I mean, for acting as quick as you did. I don't want to imagine what would have happened when we waited only a moment longer to follow Lenya."

"She would have died." Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed as if she had tensed as much as he did at the graveness of the words, even if they were spoken bluntly.

"...That, I meant." Alistair gasped, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Just the mere thought of losing her, of what _could have been_, caused havoc with his heart.

"I didn't do it for you." Her tone was once again harsh, though her stance and averted gaze belied its briskness. Morrigan _cared._ The fact itself hadn't lost any of its baffling impact, ever since the day when the witch had threatened him on Lenya's behalf.

"I know." He shrugged with a smile. "And that is all right with me, really."

Sighing, the witch turned away and stalked to a crooked stone window. Rays of light poured into the room through it and gently graced her form, which reminded him so much of a prowling, dangerous animal. "I do not wish to take part in the insanity of a task for that selfish fool of a woman."

"That, you have in common with Lenya, believe me."

"'To run across the country for a stupid religious bauble is a needless waste of our time and efforts. Let the old man die and carry on with what is important. Like, oh, fighting a Blight, maybe? Isn't that what your task as a Warden _actually_ entails? But perhaps 'tis just me thinking so."

"Yes, it is just you." Her head turned to him, scowling. "I won't ask where you heard about it, but if we can save the Arl's life, we have to try. I owe him that much, at least."

"Because you killed his son?"

His mouth opened and then closed, but no further sound emerged. It was appalling how pointed her observations could be. Then again, he had never thought of her as dense. Evil, creepy, heartless and not to be _trusted_, yes, but not–

"Twas neither your nor Lenya's fault." Her voice put an end to his trail of thoughts and the awkward silence in the room. "That boy was lost long before we arrived in this pathetic excuse of a village. The demon had the child already fully under its control and simply used him as its plaything for amusement. If you want someone to blame for the disaster taking place, point at the Arlessa, who hissed and spat chantry verses even at the mere mention of the word 'magic'." Morrigan scoffed. "Fools, all of them. They know _nothing_."

He blinked, baffled. Had Morrigan just tried to alleviate his feelings of guilt? As impossible as that seemed, it was obvious and more typical that she didn't agree with their plans to further support the Arlessa. Alistair decided to comment upon _that_, as the other option was too unbelievable.

"Oh, you won't accompany us? That _is_ a tragedy, but you won't hear me complaining about the lack of your presence. Nothing against your rags and feathers screaming Korcari Wilds, really, but you are a shiny beacon of apostate-ness for everyone in Denerim whose notice we want to _avoid_. You know, due to the bounty on our heads, Loghain wanting us dead, and all those ugly things."

She glared at him. "All the more reason that it is utter _lunacy_ to give in to the demands of that woman."

"Well... we need the Arl's help, after all."

She crossed her arms, scoffing. "Yes, keep telling yourself that, fool. I, however, won't stay here while you senselessly run around the countryside."

"You–" Once more the witch had rendered him speechless. He had always wished for her to vanish, though for her to announce it out of the blue and towards him, of all people? "–better discuss this with Lenya," he managed.

"Not like that." Another exasperated sigh. "I plan to monitor the darkspawn movements in the south. At least one of us has to do something useful. And even darkspawn are a better choice for company than to stay here in this pesky village. Superstitious fools."

Not that he'd paid much attention to her, but it was nevertheless noticeable that Morrigan was being even more elusive than usual. She had avoided everyone here since the encounter with the demon, even Lenya. "If you put it that way, it... really _is_ helpful." Maker, did he put Morrigan and helpful in the same _sentence_ just now? This was definitely the point to turn around and leave. "You should tell Lenya about this yourself, though."

"Thanks for yet another piece of redundant advice." Already she was turning away, the conversation over. "The old circle bat is really rubbing off on you."

For a moment Alistair pondered her remark about Wynne, then decided against adding any further comments. "You are welcome. Just one last question before I go back to ignoring your existence and pretending none of our niceties within this conversation ever happened."

She didn't turn around again, instead focusing on her previous task. "And that would be?"

"Have you any idea where Lenya could have gone?"

.

.

* * *

.

He found her not far from the castle, standing beside a willow tree, quiet and motionless.

Even as Alistair embraced her from behind and placed a kiss on her cheek, she didn't react. "This is a nice spot. He would have liked it."

"Hmm," Lenya exhaled a trembling breath and leaned further back into his arms. "Sten was the one who had found it for Arai."

"Sten? I would have never thought that he knew about Dalish burial customs, nor respect them." The wind howled in between of the hollow stones of the cliffs, leaving him shivering. He was glad for the additional warmth of her in his arms against the unexpected dankness of spring.

"Don't underestimate him. He is Qunari, as foreign to the human world as I am, but I guess he had a soft spot for the Mabari." She laughed, though briefly. "Such a human and Fereldan thing to do."

He chuckled, not at all serious. "So... seeing that Arai was actually imprinted to you... does this make you human, too?"

"Creators, no!" Before Alistair could start to feel offended by her vehement protest, Lenya turned around to him, shrugging. "_Abelas_. I simply... like me being Dalish. That will never change, Grey Warden or not."

"I was just joking." He brushed his nose against the bare skin of her neck, smiling. "You are perfect the way you are, love."

"I know." A pause. "That it was a joke, I mean. And as infuriating the most of your species are, I have developed a soft spot for some of you, too."

"Oh?" His lips quirked up. "I wonder who that could be."

"Don't be so smug, _Atish'an_. It is not only you." She shot him an annoyed look for added effect before glancing away. "Given, you are the main reason why I don't think all is lost for them. You and... Morrigan."

He decided to let her comparison of him to Morrigan slide, in favor of giving in to the need to kiss her, present and growing ever since waking up. "I missed you," he murmured against Lenya's lips with a sigh, not willing to pull away one bit from her. She didn't mind, and her arms curling around his neck offered additional warmth.

"Stupid. I have only been away for a few hours. I got up because... I simply couldn't sleep anymore, but didn't want to wake you."

"Yeah. It was... a rough night."

With a peck to the corner of his mouth, she disengaged herself from the hug and turned to the lake. For a moment, she only stared at the overcast, gloomy horizon. The breeze that slowly moved the many clouds in the firmament above bore the scent of rain. "I also needed time to think. Time to be alone."

"Oh. Sounds serious." Lowering his head, he tried to sound brave, in spite of the sinking feeling inside. "Okay, lay it on me."

Lenya smiled, though she didn't turn to him. "No, it isn't. I simply need that from time to time. It is an old habit from being with my clan, I think. It was always very crowded in our camp, with the aravels and all the equipment, and sometimes it got to be too much, so I would vanish for a few hours. I suppose that is where my tendency to run away comes from, at least."

"Nothing wrong with that, dear." Alistair took her hand, placing a kiss on its backside as he entwined it with his. "I can't count the times I wanted to run away from the Chantry as a boy. Tried it once, even. I had to scrub pots for weeks and got a tirade from Sister Augusta in return, though."

"Interesting." Her expression brightened, if only for a moment. "You haven't really spoken much about your past, before your time as a Grey Warden. Aside from the reason why I already dislike Eamon, I mean."

"I'll tell you everything, once we're on the road again." He grinned. "My misadventures as a boy and adolescent will make good campsite stories for you, I guess. That, or they'll be good at putting you to sleep."

"Yeah... about that..." Lenya bit her lip.

"Your lack of sleep?"

"No, silly. Our plans for the further journey."

"Oh."

"I met the Arlessa shem here, a while ago."

"Oh!" he repeated, more anxious now. "Should I be frightened of your next words? Considering you punched her the last time you met her, I mean."

"Better not to ask." She grimaced and he thought it better to heed her suggestion. "Though I managed not to throw her off the cliff."

He blinked. Once. Twice. For all the months traveling with her, she still had the talent to catch him on the wrong foot. Especially when he was unsure whether she was jesting or not. "Wow. That's, err, progress, love?"

"Indeed." Lenya let out a snort at his baffled reaction. "While the encounter isn't one I will write down in my diary as a wonderful moment, it reminded me of something."

"You... have a diary? I have never seen you- "

"Alistair..."

"Sorry. Okay, I'll focus now." Alistair pointed at his face, his expression straight. "See, completely serious now."

"How I love and hate that you make me laugh at the most inappropriate times. Tamlen did the same thing. It is... infuriating." Despite her words she stepped closer for a brief kiss. He felt her smiling against his lips. Not tearing her eyes from his, she pulled away, but remained linked with him through her gaze and entwined hand. "I made a promise, you know."

"For what?"

"To help the Arl. To save him. Not to Teagan, and not to the Arlessa shem, but to... him."

Alistair already had an idea who she meant and hoped to be wrong. "To whom?"

"Connor." Of course he had no such luck. Against his will, he tensed at the name, his heart suddenly heavy in his chest.

Naturally, his panicked reaction didn't escape her. "I... maybe I shouldn't tell you this. It doesn't seem right to poke at such fresh wounds."

"N-no." Alistair forced a smile to appear on his lips. "I'm good, really."

"Liar." Shaking her head, her free hand came up to brush his cheek, affection filling her face. "It was before I failed to go through with my, well, initial plan."

"You mean... you want the search for the Urn?"

"_Wanting_ is too strong a word, really. But since it seems the only way to achieve this, yes. I am not doing it for Teagan, or the shem who sent you away like luggage, or his shrew of a wife. I don't care for any of them, though Teagan at least seems sensible. Insane and utterly stupid as the task is, I can't ignore the last wish of a boy who was braver than all three of them combined."

Breathing was becoming hard, his throat too tight and the blinking too quick. Alistair felt the squeeze of her hand. "You know what Zevran told me not long ago? _'Do you think I would appreciate you less, should you need to cry for all that has gone wrong?'_ It is all the more valid for you, _emma lath_."

He stiffened even more, his eyes fixed on their linked hands. "That is, err, thoughtful. Of Zevran." Finally he felt confident enough to look at her again. "And you. But I need to learn to deal with it. No matter how much I wish I could make it so that it never happened, I know I must learn to live with it."

Lenya glanced into the direction of the willow tree. "Yes, I know the feeling." After a moment of silence, she asked softly, "Are we going to make it, Alistair?"

Now her tone was frightening him, instead of the other way around. "What do you mean?"

"I... am not even sure. When I began this journey, very reluctantly as you may remember, I made a silent promise to Tamlen to survive this. For a while it kept me going, but–"

"Don't–" Rushing forward on impulse, Alistair embraced her and pulled her against his chest.

"But sometimes, I do wonder how often we can still cheat death. With me almost dead if Arai hadn't taken that blow for me and then dying _for_ me, I fear he isn't the last of our friends we will have to bury." She pressed out a shaky breath. "And the thought is killing me. Stupid rag tag band of misfits. It was never planned to grow fond of them."

"So much wasn't planned, Len."

Lenya laughed, leaning into him. "Indeed."

"And yet we are here, with three, no, _four_ gathered armies - in no small part due to you. You've brought us so far. If we manage to save Eamon, we can end the Blight before it has even truly started. No one has achieved that before."

"And then? What will happen then, given the unlikely chance we survive?"

"Then we elope to Orlais, eat cookies and live in sin."

She turned to him, one eyebrow raised. "In _sin_, huh?"

"Did I say that out loud? Oops." He grinned, snuggling her neck as he pressed a kiss against her skin, unable to help himself. "Seriously, though, Lenya, I'm not going anywhere... unless you want me to."

"No." Sighing deeply, some of the tension finally seemed to leave her. "It is foolish in our situation, I know, but when I think of the future, all I see is... you."

"It isn't foolish at all, love." Alistair hugged her tighter, his heart going out to her. "It's something worth fighting for."

"Yeah." Relaxing in his arms, Lenya stared up at the gray-colored sky. "I know what you mean."

.

.

* * *

**Elvish note: **

"_Emma vhenan, ma sa'lath, Atish'an" -_ You are my heart and my one love, Atish'an (Alistair)


	91. Interlude V: Petrichor

_**A/N:** Have another Lenyastair centric chapter :D Let me know if I start to annoy you with that xD. Enjoy._

_Petrichor= The smell of the cleansed air after rainfall. Symbolic, you know? Thx to tklivory for the awesome work and everyone reading, faving, lurking and especially feedbacking. Heh. _

* * *

_._

**Interlude V: Petrichor**

.

It was their last evening in Redcliffe.

Lenya couldn't say she was _sorry_ about it, yet she was also not glad about the actual reason for their departure. All had been prepared, the promised rations and equipment for the road safely packed away for the coming sunrise. The roles of their companions had been discussed and assigned. Morrigan, Shale and Sten would remain in the village, their appearance simply too glaring for what needed to be an inconspicuous sojourn in Denerim. Bann Teagan seemed none too happy about her decision of giving Sten the role of Commander, considering the hopefully soon-to-arrive troops of their treaties. Granted, it would take a while for that to happen, but in the absence of the Wardens there was no one with more expertise and authority for the task than Sten. Not knowing how long they would be gone, it was better to be prepared for that scenario than not. The task would also serve to keep Sten's mind occupied and avoid the danger of _restlessness_. Lenya hadn't saved the human village only to return after weeks of travel only to find it in ruins, after all.

She could give no such guarantee for Shale, however, and only hoped Morrigan would take the golem with her on one of the darkspawn scouting missions. Shaking her head with a smile, Lenya leaned herself back into the comfort of Alistair's arms.

"What are you thinking about?"

His voice would have been drowned out by a tangle of music and laughter, had he not been so close to her. She didn't answer directly, instead observing with amusement the ritual convulsions done by the few men amidst a bustling tavern. No matter how generous she tried to be when looking at the movements, it didn't deserve the word _dancing_. Then again, she blamed their high level of inebriation for even _daring_ it in the first place. Music from lutes, little drums, flutes and other instruments Lenya couldn't name filled every edge of Redcliffe's makeshift tavern, the atmosphere relaxed and cheerful. Considering the events of just a few days ago, this was a remarkable and surprising development. The Dalish figured that the urge to celebrate in such times merely served the purpose of celebrating life itself, and their survival. Thus she had no objection to this party. The many dead had been buried – _cremated _– and mourned, and now they were ready to move on. Somewhat. Which was more literally true for them than the simple folk of Redcliffe.

Despite the overall cramped character of the building and the resulting heated air smelling of sweat and stale ale, Lenya enjoyed being there. Curled up in a corner, she sat on a table reserved for 'the hero of Redcliffe', as she had been recently dubbed, much to her amusement and annoyance alike. The arms wound about her belonged to Alistair, who was anything but shy about showing his affection for her. All through the evening he had peppered her skin with light touches and kisses, causing Leliana nearby to grin broadly each time. Of course, his newfound boldness was probably due in large part to the drinks he'd been consuming, but this changed nothing about the fact that his lovable gestures set her blood more aflame than any brewery ever could. And it also didn't change the fact that Lenya was _still_ not used to the sensations his light touches brought to life. The trail of heat lingered inside and flared with renewed vigor at each touch. Maddening, confusing, but not _wholly_ uncomfortable.

She loved his closeness: the warmth and scent of his skin were a compilation of unaltered security and comfort to her. Through the past events, the shared grief, it was undeniable that she'd grown closer to Alistair, in both the physical _and_ emotional sense. Lenya just didn't know where _precisely_ to go from there, and so the thought crossed her mind: did she want _that_ already? Whatever 'that' was – though she had an inkling, she wasn't all _that _shy and inexperienced.

In _theory_.

"Lenya?" His voice was clearly audible in the hush that had arisen as the instruments subsided into a well deserved rest. His tone also reminded her that he had asked her something, before she had become drowned in her own tangle of thoughts. Turning around, she looked into his questioning gaze and lingered. She loved his eyes, could sink into their warmth for hours. Their hazel bore a reminiscence of autumn leafs for her, the tinge dependent on the nature of the ambient light. It remembered her of the richly colored tapestry in the woods. Of home.

"_Atish'an..." _It was no more than a whisper of her chosen name for him and yet never more true, before she eliminated what little of distance lay between them to sweep her tongue along his mouth, still flavored with a hint of ale. Surprised by her daring approach, Alistair shifted with a gasp, but didn't pull back from the kiss. Feeling his tongue gliding against her own, her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, as the burning inside flared anew and even brighter than before.

"Well, aren't ya two sodding precious?"

Blinking up at the sassy voice, Lenya rolled her eyes at the dwarf, who took the glare only as an invitation to grin. "Want 'nother drink, or is the self-imposed trip into lala-land enough for ya both?" She pointed at Alistair, his heated cheeks and dreamy distraction obvious. "For your human boy, it apparently is."

Lenya snorted, the anger about the interruption already vanishing. "Felsi, right?"

"That depends, Warden."

"On what?"

"On how clearly the long-legs are still able to pronounce my name after a few pints of the bronto piss my late boss kept calling ale. Though your tongue seems still sober and clever enough to do so, and _more_." Beside her, Alistair cleared his throat, which only increased the dwarf's mirth. "Don't get your stones in a twist, boy. I don't care _where_ you put your tongue, as long it is far away from mine. But you better watch your red-headed companion, she seems to take notes all the time."

At that, Lenya stole a glance at Leliana, who was engrossed in a conversation with Zevran and a few villagers. Knowing her, she was probably telling them embellished tales of their glorious quest to gather troops against the Blight and the disparate Wardens' undying love. Or similar drivel. Lenya sighed. "Well, she _is_ a bard... and obviously the next candidate for a talk about boundaries after Wynne."

"Oh, so she _sings_ while stabbing you in the back? How endearing. Reminds me of Orzammar. Minus the singing."

Another snort from the Dalish. She was truly starting to like the _durgen'len_. "Pretty much."

"I see now why Oghren likes her," Alistair leaned in and whispered, though not as quiet as he thought it was. "It's like talking to a female version of him, minus the stench and the drunkenness."

"Ugh! Did you have to mention that _name_?" Her broad nose wrinkled in disgust, making Lenya aware of the fact that convincing her to accede to Oghren's courting would be anything but easy.

"Have you seen him?"

"Why?" An auburn colored eyebrow darted up. "You're obviously better off with your human."

"Indeed." Lenya agreed, then shrugged. "Just asking, because I lost sight of him in the crowd a while ago."

"And that is a _bad_ thing? Still don't know why you're putting up with him, Warden." Felsi shook her round head. "Though if you _really_ want to know, he is across the tavern, courting the wooden pillar with colorful language. I have the feeling the pillar will reject him too."

"That is..." The Dalish halted, not only because she needed time to process this _particular_ information, but also due to the band intoning a new song. The flute player was a grizzly old human, yet he understood his instrument well enough to silence the buzzing talk around them in an instant. "Well, at least he is fun to be around, right?"

"If by, 'fun,' you mean, 'more likely to light farts on fire,' then yes."

_Ouch._ Lenya winced at her harsh words, even as the high-pitched flute tone not meant for extended elven hearing hit her ears. "To be honest, Felsi, you can say what you want about Oghren..." Her quickly raised hand stopped whatever quip was about to tumble out of the dwarf's mouth. "..._but_ he has been a great help to us Wardens. In the Deep Roads and afterward, fighting the darkspawn. Right, _Atish'an?_"

"Huh?" Alistair stared at her, puzzled. He had definitely been a lot more interested in the music than the conversation. "Y-yes, of course, love."

"Wow, I'm happy for you, really," Felsi didn't even try to hide the biting sarcasm. "And here I thought it was just a backhanded way to shove the sodding duster back to me."

"Well, he is spirited..."

Felsi snorted. "Indeed. More in an alcoholic sense, though."

"Look I'm not good in this, but I promised him I'd talk to you. And I tend to keep my promises, so listen. Yes, Oghren is a smelly, often drunken pile of stones – to use your manner of speaking – but underneath all that crudeness is undeniably a good, loyal heart, and you know that."

"Just one question, Warden, if you will humor me." Having abandoned the plates and tankards, Felsi stemmed her hands at her hips. "Has the Blight and killing all the darkspawn, undead and demons become so unexciting for you that you are now meddling in people's personal affairs?"

"Oh, believe me, I would prefer_ not_ to. After all, I didn't wake up one morning and think, _'Hey, it would be awesome to run across Ferelden in search of the wastebin of a dead woman that possibly doesn't even exist.'_" Lenya glared at her, annoyed by this accusation. "But it is apparently expected of me to fix everyone's and their sodding aunt's business. Not to mention in matters of dwarven and shemlen – _human _– politics. As a _Dalish_." Her eyes narrowed, now more peeved with the content of her words than with the dwarf. "And I have to do all of it only to ensure that Fereldans stop killing each other long enough to actually pay attention to the big fucking dragon of an Archdemon soon to be marching on the surface. And to top this, we both are the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden without any reinforcement coming, since the latest regent is a paranoid jackass who wants all the remaining Wardens dead. ...So what do _you_ think, huh?"

"That your job sucks." For once the fiery dwarven woman seemed at a loss for words. "And here I was complaining 'bout the long-legs getting drunk too easily and forgetting to tip me."

A frustrated sigh rattled between her teeth. "Finally _someone_ understands." Alistair placed his hand on hers for a moment, giving it a squeeze. It helped calm her down, like it always did. "But this is a favor to a friend and thus something different. He has... changed, you know?"

"Changed _how_? Into a horned toad?" Arching a brow, she glanced over to Oghren's corner, who still stood swaying in front of the pillar. "Sadly, I see no difference. Same sodding duster, if you ask me."

"True, he still drinks and curses like a wild halla, but after losing his entire clan... err, caste and the months of mockery I would have turned to alcohol myself."

Alistair turned to her, a hint of alertness flitted over his expression."Really?"

"Nah." Lenya waved his concern off, lips quirking up. "As you know, I'm more for an open confrontation in such cases. Hence I would tell them a piece of my mind and afterward stab them all in the face."

"Lovely." He chuckled, his fingers fluttering over the inner side of her arm and evoking a shiver down her spine, despite the stifling hot air. "Remind me to never anger you in such a way, love."

"People need a purpose," Lenya continued, "...and a place to belong, besides fighting. Even Oghren. And he sees this place with you."

"So he hasn't found a surface girl putting up with him pissing on the table?" Felsi snorted. "I'm truly shocked. I bet the next thing you'll tell me, Warden, is that you were one of these stereotypical human hating elves before."

Alistair was the first one to burst into a laughing fit, but Lenya also couldn't keep her face straight for too long.

"Oh, sod it! ...You _were_? And now you are sticking your tongue– no, never mind." The _durgen'len_ threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, you win. I'll talk to the duster, but no promises. At least he hasn't challenged a roast to a wrestling match _this_ time." Shaking her head, she stalked away from them, muttering under her breath, "Wardens... you're all sodding _crazy_."

Alistair waited until Felsi had been swallowed by the sea of people around her. "That was a nice move. For Oghren, I mean."

She shrugged, smile wry. "I have my moments."

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her hair, slightly damp due the heat in the tavern. "More than that, love."

Her smile widened even as she let herself fall back into his arms. The next hour or two were filled with comfortable silence, drinks and the luxury of forgetting about the weight of the world on their shoulders. For this small duration of time, at least.

.

~V~

.

"Ahh, fresh air!" Lenya announced into the starry night, as she and her fellow Warden more or less stumbled out of the tavern.

Behind them, the last sounds of Leliana's lute and voice dwindled into silence before being displaced with thunderous applause. The bard had finally found a public willing to listen to her tales and songs. And, Lenya had to admit, she was a damn good singer, her voice clear as a purling stream in a forest. Not that the Dalish didn't know about her abilities before. She just never made the effort to really pay attention to Leliana's own crafted lyrics and songs, telling about love, life and heroes. Some of them told of regret, of betrayal, and seemed very personal, almost too intimate to listen to. The villagers, not knowing her, were not bothered by the content and simply well entertained. And in the end, Lenya supposed, that was what mattered.

"Y-yeees. That is good." Alistair giggled, which made _her_ giggle. In spite of the amount of beverage consumed, they were both not inebriated – thanks to the... _Warden-ness, _she supposed _– _but definitely tipsy, a combination that, along with the horde of butterflies in her stomach, seemed an uplifting, liberating feeling. In fact, for the first time in days, Lenya felt _good_. The breeze hit her blushed cheeks like a feather, its cooling touch making her smile. And then there was _his_ presence at her side – though currently more stumbling than walking – as a steadfast constant she needed in her life full of chaos and pain.

"I love you," Lenya blurted out, unable to help herself. She felt herself overflowing with emotions, which was irritating, confusing and... _wonderful_.

"Was the ground always this – _oh_." He looked up – the muddy earth suddenly not that interesting anymore – and beamed at her. Taking her hand, he tried to prod her in a distinctive direction. "There's a place at the lake I always liked as a kid..."

Lenya didn't hesitate and followed instead of leading, for once. Alistair knew the village a lot better than she did, even if it was sometimes easy to forget that he had spent the first ten years of his life here. The sounds of music and laughter became more distant with every step toward the glistening water of the lake. The moon stood high in the dark sky, round and full, its silver light beautiful and bright enough for Lenya to see, though apparently the same could not be said for Alistair. Within the dimness of night and under the influence of alcohol, he failed to pay heed to his steps and suddenly fell over the grassy edge right into the lake. Entwined as their hands were, he took Lenya with him. With a loud splash they both landed in the freezing cold water, sputtering.

Lenya managed to resurface first. Fortunately the place they'd fallen in wasn't deep, and was, in fact, close to the grassy bank. Standing up and sorting through the mess that was her hair, Lenya's first impulse was to glare at him for his rather unusual clumsiness. Though as soon he'd managed to be upright again, all anger melted away before his utter expression of ..._Alistair-ness_. He seemed unsure what to do first; cough at the swallowed water, shiver at its coldness, or look completely mortified at what happened. So he did everything in quick succession, which looked too comical in combination with his hair sticking out on each side.

"You look like a grumpy, drenched rat!" Lenya brought out under a snort, before she totally lost it. "...A _human_ rat," she added helpfully after the giggling and snorting fit, and gasped for air. For a moment he stood in the water as rigid as a statue, while she continued to double over with laughter. Then a squall of water hit her face like a wall of ice and her shocked expression made _him_ laugh for a change. The lake turned quickly into an epic battlefield of two Wardens fighting each other with water, as if to test which of them would yield first to its chill.

And Lenya loved him for this silliness even more. The lighthearted playfulness not to be serious and grave all the time was a trait that she had only found in Tamlen before. It also served as proof that he was more than 'just' the man she had learned to love, but her companion and partner in crime.

"Do you yield?" she asked after sending another wave his way. It hit him well enough, drenching his broad form anew. Alistair didn't answer. Somehow he had returned to his former state of rigidness, except the chattering of his teeth and his gaze fixed on her. It took her a moment to notice the direction of his eyes, before remembering that a beige tunic and water was a mixture not adding up _that_ well.

Or perfectly well, for Alistair.

Lenya had always been a small woman, by far not as curvaceous as Leliana and Morrigan, even if this was rather due to the disparate physic of elves and humans. With the months on the road and constant fighting, however, even what little curves she possessed in comparison to the human women got molded into a lean and more muscular form. Alistair didn't seem to mind, captivated as he was by her distinctive female features.

"Eyes up here, _Atish'an_..." she quipped, more amused than offended, which added an intensity to his cheeks as they flared a bright red.

"I... uh, sorry." Turning his head away, Alistair cleared his throat. "We better get out of the water."

Creators, he was _endearing_.

It was a bit uncertain which of them moved first and closed the gap between them, only that it _did_ happen as she felt his arms wrap around her, her body soft against the vibrancy of his strong build. His lips were a scorching contrast to the temperature of the water, suddenly not as freezing or even noticeable anymore. Gentle, insistent fingers roamed without aim over the small of her back and she mirrored his movements without breaking the kiss. His hands came to a halt at her hips, his grip slowly tightening as her lips crushed against his to the point of near-bruising. Instinctively seeking more closeness, Lenya arched her body into his, her breasts pressing into and sliding up his chest. Alistair made a strangled sound, between a sigh and a groan, and some small part of her mind not utterly lost in the sensation made the note of _liking_ it. Eventually he was the one backing off, slowly, pulling his tongue out only after swirling it in her mouth a final time, leaving her dazed and breathless.

Alistair, however, though equally short of air, looked smug. "Do you yield?"

For a moment, she simply stared at him and couldn't help but doubt his story of growing up in a chantry. Then the coldness of the water came back to the forefront of her mind, her skin clammy underneath the drenched clothing. Shaking her head, Lenya started to wade out of the water to sit down in the grass nearby. Getting out of the wet clothes would be the most sensible thing to do now, but she wanted to wait for Alistair first. Her eyes widened. By the Creators, this trail of thought sounded entirely _different_ to its real intent.

"Are you coming? Err, out of the water?" Damn, she really _had_ spent too much time with Zev. Otherwise she couldn't explain why she found sexual innuendo in every single one of her thoughts and words right now. Or Alistair was indeed to blame, since his taste still lingered on her lips as the fire did in the pit of her stomach.

He still hesitated. "Maybe I just stay here and –?"

"Don't be foolish, come out now. You will get sick otherwise, _emma lath!_"

A pause of consideration. "...Okay."

The reason for his hesitation became apparent with each of his steps and confirmed what she had felt before. Under other circumstances it would have irked or even scared her, but this was Alistair, and, after all, she _was_ the reason for his discomfort. So all in all it was perfectly fine and perhaps even a bit amusing, considering the frigid water. She grinned at him with open mischief. "No yielding, I see."

He stopped and blinked, then harrumphed. "So much for my romantic intentions. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine, if a bit cold."

"Right." Coming closer, he rummaged in the pocket of his breeches and brought a piece of soaked leather forth. "Actually I wanted to give you this, but now I have ruined it. Like always." Alistair heaved a deep sigh.

While the view of the wet tunic hugging his toned body was quite nice, the urge to be close to him hadn't diminished, so she motioned him to sit next to her. "Come here..." Snuggling up against his side after he complied, she looked up to him. "So what is it?"

"It's a piece of, well, Arai's collar." Her breath hitched; in fact, for a second, her whole world seemed to stop. Alistair smiled ruefully. "While I was checking into when your armor would be repaired, I asked the smith if he could re-function it to a bracelet. I thought it would be nice for you to have something to remember him by. Mabari or not, I know how important he was to you."

Breathing became difficult, let alone giving an answer to his expectant, warm gaze. Once again this was entirely sweet, thoughtful and so much... Alistair.

He mistook her silence for something negative and frowned. "But clumsy me had to take the shortcut into the lake and ruin everything. Better we get out of these clothes as soon as possible." A pause. "...Maker, that sounded more harmless in my head than out loud."

She caught his hand, interrupting his attempt to stand as she beamed at him. "You are so sweet, _ma vhenan_. And I would love to have it still. It is a wonderful thought, thank you."

"It is? I–" She effectively silenced him by sealing her mouth over his, pouring all her feelings in this kiss.

Pulling away only enough to speak, she finally answered, "Yes, it is. And now... let me thank you." He took a sharp intake of air as she wiggled into place on his lap, her lips on his curling into a palpable smile. "And no, I don't mind your poking." She felt the rumbling of his chuckle against her mouth, and his arms wound around her again, as he yielded to his terrible, _terrible_ fate. Leaning forward, her lips slid open and immediately his tongue passed through in a slow, exploratory sweep of her mouth. Lenya sighed against him. It was still a marvel for her _how_ this one motion caused a cascade of sensations inside, and even _more_ amazing how comfortable she felt being so close to him. Not just because he was a male, obviously, but _human_. His physique was as disparate from the _elvhen_ as hers from a human woman, but she didn't want it another way. To her, he was perfect: every difference, scratch and scar belonging to the beautiful picture that was him.

Of their own accord, her hands followed her thoughts and slid from his matted hair down to the limited space between their bodies, splaying across the musculature there. Her feather-light touch made the muscles of his stomach jump as her fingers mapped his skin, learning him, even if through the damp tunic. Groaning, Alistair broke free from her lips, only to angle his head and renew the kiss with fervor, his tongue a hot, claiming brand. Lenya wasn't sure if it was physically possible to melt, but it _felt_ like it, the heat pooling in her belly like molten lava, the cold long forgotten. His hands wandered up her sides before he stopped both motion and kiss to look at her. Her hazy mind needed a moment to register the abandonment and one questioning eyebrow quirked up at his sudden halt. Then she noticed the path his fingers were heading and his uncertainty to proceed or not. He was asking her with his gaze alone, dark with desire.

Smiling, Lenya pointed at her forehead. "Mythal."

"What?"

"My Pantheon. The meaning of my Vallaslin." Lenya nuzzled his head with her cheek, looked up to him. "I trust you, Atish'an."

It took a moment for Alistair to understand, to remember, but when he did, his face lit up. "...Oh. You are telling... _wow_. But why Mythal? And the tattoo on your ba–"

"Later–" _Mythal'enaste,_ she was all but in the mood to talk now. To emphasize the notion she took his hand and placed it on her swell of her bosom. Mouth snapping closed with a _plop_, he stared at her, wide-eyed, and stiffened. Well, perhaps 'stiffening' was currently the _wrong_ word to think about, since it made her keenly aware of his hardness, hot beneath her hips, and that set a whole avalanche of thoughts in motion that Lenya was unsure she wanted pursue further... at least at this moment. It was-

_Ahh!_ Her whole body _leapt_ as he experimentally rolled a nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of unknown pleasure down her spine. Alistair's features were extremely focused as he marveled in wonder at the sight, yet she also saw a hint of a grin in his face. _That smug bast-_ and he did it _again_. Head lolling back, her hips bucked up on impulse, entirely unwanted and still leaving both gasping as they suppressed their moaning.

"Oh, _Maker_..."

Lenya felt his palms sneaking _under_ the damp tunic, trailing to the curves of her breasts. Encouraged by her response from before, he gave them both a light squeeze. _Holy fucking– _She couldn't stop the strange mewling sound that escaped from her mouth. His throat worked and he swallowed, hard, before beaming at her enthusiastic reaction. "This is... awesome!"

Oh yes, it _was_. The warmth of his touch in combination with his calloused fingers on her bare skin was a sensation completely new and exquisite. Her senses heightened as she became hyper-aware of his hands and the power of his body underneath, and Lenya positively _tingled. _She wanted more, though _how_ precisely she didn't know, since the desire was entirely foreign to everything she had thought she knew thus far. She only knew that it entailed him and his closeness. As if reading her mind, Alistair sat up to embrace her more firmly and kissed her in a way that stole her breath and her sanity. He drank her soft sighs like water from her mouth, and, letting go of the swell of her chest, his hands moved over her sides to her back. His touch was erratic, uncertain of their path, but also gentle as they drew circles on her skin that left fire in its wake.

Biting her lower lip playfully, Alistair placed wet kisses down the side of her jaw and nipped at the curve of her throat, then suddenly darted up to suck on a scant earlobe and the outer shell, his breath hot and ragged upon it. Panting, Lenya's back arched into him for the feel of more, of the friction of their hips that became increasingly prevalent in her mind, as far she was still capable of a clear thought. It seemed as if instincts were taking over thinking; every touch, every flick of his tongue shed away a piece of her sanity.

"Alistair..." she ground out in the night, startled when she couldn't even recognize her own voice. It was shaking, and very, very... _needy_.

He went completely still at that and then something inside him seemed to snap. With a growl, he flipped her over, pinning her on the ground and planting himself above her, and then just as suddenly, he stopped. The grass prickled her skin through the wet clothes, her body suddenly cold without his proximity. For a moment neither of them moved. Their mingling breaths and thudding heartbeats seemed to be the only sound for miles. Sprawled under him, Lenya looked up, observing him through half-lidded eyes. He was gorgeous. His hair was mussed, his face heated and his chest heaved up and down in an erratic, quick rhythm. He was watching her, too: questioning and uncertain, but also with undisguised, raw _want_ that thrilled her. With the haze momentarily cleared from her mind, Lenya became more and more aware of the path they were threading, of where it would head should it continue. She was aware of the line, and she wasn't sure she wanted to cross it yet, and, judging from his hesitation, the feeling was mutual.

But Creator-dammit, she _ached_ in places she'd never _dreamed_ of before. Her skin felt aflame where his touch had been and her whole body struggled against the idea of walking away from him. So how–

"Len...we – " He gasped, having trouble speaking. His muscles flexed under the exertion of keeping himself upright and not _on her_. "Not here."

She bit her lip and almost immediately his gaze darted to her mouth, leaning in despite his prior words. Lenya's mind practically cooed at the growing closeness, the press of his body against hers deliciously welcome.

_Oh... sod it._

While her hands occupied themselves by trailing a path to his buttock to give it a firm squeeze, she heard an amused giggle close by. It grew louder with every passing moment, reaching such a volume that Alistair broke free from her lips to look up. And froze.

"Too bad. This place is already taken, Zev."

"Ah, I see." The elf chuckled. "Well, my dear, we had better find another, less _occupied_ one, yes?"

"Yes!" Lenya hissed from under Alistair, suddenly feeling the urge to kill her friend. Leliana as well, as she snickered at his innuendo, but at least _she_ turned away, unlike Zevran. Alistair was still frozen in place and positively _mortified_.

"Ah, my dear Wardens, don't mind us. Go on. It is about time, I say. If you ever need advi– "

"Go away!" She growled anew, glaring furiously at him.

Shrugging, Zevran finally turned around, slung his arm around Leliana's hip and left as suddenly he and the human had appeared.

Her head turned, Lenya blinked into the night. "Well... that was awkward." _And effectively ruined the mood._

Alistair sighed. "Yeah. We'd better–" Grimacing, he freed her hands from his backside to stand up, still unstable on his feet. And _still_ visibly aroused.

"Sorry?" Her smug smile belied her words. "But you really have a fine ass."

"Oh... it's not that, love." Breathing still ragged, Alistair cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "But maybe we shouldn't..."

He was sweet. His obvious embarrassment quelled any remaining anger about the interruption. "Yes, we have to get up early and stuff. ...Am I allowed to kill them both?" Or _not_.

Chuckling, he held out a hand to help her stand up, and used the momentum to take her into his arms. "Don't worry. Me and my fine ass aren't going anywhere."

"Oh, is that a promise?" Damn, since when did she _purr_ words?

"I mean- what did I say? Maker, you don't really expect me to make sense right now, do you?"

"No." Lenya laughed, and stretched herself up to kiss him without haste. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He sighed. "It's just... well I didn't plan on... pinning you down, since I'm–"

"What? Stronger build, bigger? I'm well aware of that,_ Atish'an_, but I can assure you that everything happened with my consent. In fact, I enjoyed it." She flashed him a crooked smile and lowered her voice. "As you obviously noticed."

He apparently needed the assurance and so Lenya was all too willing to give it to him. And more, but due to the interruption that had become a topic for another time.

Alistair grinned, looking pleased with himself, in spite of his... state. "Well, _maybe_."

"Oh? Only maybe?" Creators, what _was_ it with this purring voice coming out of her? "We should make sure then. _Next_ time."

_Congratulations, Lenya, you have officially become one of the women,you used to laugh about._

His throat worked and his lips parted slightly, as he obviously envisioned the possibility. "Hmm... then I will have to arrange that, won't I?"

Lenya smiled, casting a covert glance at him through lowered lashes. "Good night." Then she turned around to vanish into the night, needing alone time to cool off. Still feeling his gaze upon her, she gave her hips an extra sway.

Maybe being one of those women wasn't all _that_ bad.

.

.


	92. Hindrances

_Remember when this story used to be innocent and smut-free? ...yeah, me neither xD So let's go further down this road...to Denerim. Enjoy._

* * *

_.__******The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.**_

_- Eden Ahbez_

* * *

.

**Chapter 85: Hindrances**

.

Lenya kicked a pebble, her irritation giving the kick enough power to land it in a puddle of mud with a loud _splotch_.

The rain had been nothing but a downpour for days, turning their route into a maze of silty holes to stumble and sink in. Today had been the first clear, if still cloudy, day, but that did little to alleviate her mood. In fact, Lenya was positively ready to kill someone that was _not_ a darkspawn - if they let her have enough time to do so, of course. Everywhere they walked, the monsters seemed to already be there, constantly setting her Warden senses on fire.

Her skin _itched_, caked as it was with mud and black ichor that even the rain could not alleviate. It felt as if a thousand ants were biting and burrowing underneath her new human sized and only hastily refitted leather armor, which chafed in addition to the already maddening crawling of her skin.

They needed to make camp somewhere not swallowed by mud, but that was not here and not now, and Lenya hated it. Hated _everything_. It seemed like an eternity since she had last had felt clean, dry and comfortable. Granted, on-the-road luxury was an abstract concept in itself, but it had rarely as bad as it had been these past weeks. Maybe this was the reason she pressed on like she did, forced marches where rest would have been the more sensible choice. Lenya wanted to finally reach Denerim, find a dry shelter that was not her drenched tent and rip the cheap armor off her skin and burn it on a pyre. Ironically, Loghain's resident city had suddenly become an alluring goal to reach, although she was still not sure _how_ to get in undetected.

Lenya looked over to Alistair, who was no doubt no less miserable than herself. The plate of his armor had suffered a serious blow, the cuirass dented on one side by a hurlock's blow. Thankfully the enchanted silverite had eaten up most of the force before it could seriously injure him, but it also made it more uncomfortable for him to walk. As attuned as she was to him, she saw it in his movements, even if he made the effort not to show it. He noticed her gaze and smiled, solely for her benefit, and then focused back on the muddy road, silent. Lenya sighed quietly, the sound swallowed by the slushy rhythm of her boots on the wet ground.

This was another, even more irritating circumstance of their journey so far. Aside from a few stolen glances and kisses in between marches and campfire, privacy with Alistair had been completely absent. Due to the constant darkspawn presence, they needed to be clad in armor at all times, with one Warden always holding vigil while the other rested. Certainly a sensible tactic known from the Deep Roads, but also one that slowly shed away her patience away for the sheer _everything_. She felt herself dancing on the brink of sanity already and it wouldn't take much for her to snap should they they not find a place to camp soon. Preferably now, though in a few hours would be a more realistic goal, if less agreeable.

"Lenya?" Wynne's voice teared through the silent terseness that loomed over the companions. "May I have a word with you?"

Great, just what she needed now. The Dalish had only agreed to take her with them since she wasn't stupid enough to believe that they could manage the journey without any healing arts. It didn't mean she had forgotten about the mage's meddling and condemning way, though. Grumbling under her breath, she slowed her steps, let Alistair take the lead of the group and turned her attention to the elder woman. "What?"

"I have been thinking."

"Now, that is an occasion worthy of informing me, I'm sure," Lenya retorted in a brisk tone. Not looking at the mage, she noticed how Alistair's steps became slower, ever so slightly, no doubt to eavesdrop. He had told her about his own dispute with Wynne in Redcliffe and hence his interest in the conversation didn't surprise her.

Instead of being offended, the mage shook her head, chuckling. "Well, if you could stop being Quickwit McSmartypants for a moment and listen to me –"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"...I could...apologize."

If Lenya hadn't abruptly halted, she'd have crashed into Alistair, who had jerked to a stop at the same time. "What?"

Wynne let out a weary sigh. "I think I was too harsh in my judgment before, and I am sorry."

Starting to walk again, she looked over at the mage, taken aback. "Really?"

"Yes. What you both have may not last forever; death and duty _may_ part you, but love's worthiness is not diminished because of that. I should have seen that before." Alistair let himself fall back in line with his fellow Warden, giving up the poorly disguised pretense of not listening. Zevran and Leliana were unsurprisingly less shy about their eavesdropping. Only Oghren groaned under his thick beard and sped up his steps. "Instead, you learn to cherish every precious moment that you spend together, knowing that it may be the last."

At that, Lenya shared a look with him, observing his grimed, bloodstained face. There was truth in her words, she had to admit. Being a Warden wasn't exactly a career to live a long, healthy life, even without the shortened lifespan the taint brought with it.

"Oh, this sounds so romantic," Leliana said, _far_ too cheerfully given the meaning of Wynne's words.

Zevran laughed. "Ah, ever the bard, I see."

"I'm just trying to be positive, Zev. " Lenya didn't need to turn around to know she was pouting: it was detectable in her voice. "You might try it for a change."

"Considering we have been in a muddy hole of nowhere for days, you must excuse me if I have a hard time doing so. What is it with you Fereldans and mud and dogs? I will never understand."

Lenya deemed his inquiry not worthy of an answer. Instead she looked at the mage, her expression softening. "Apology accepted."

Alistair nodded. "No harm done, Wynne."

"I'm glad to hear it. Besides," she continued, smiling, "...it warms my old heart that something so beautiful can be found in the midst of chaos and strife."

"Yes, she is the best thing that could have happened to me." Much to Lenya's surprise, he pulled her close for a brief kiss, dirt and blood notwithstanding. And for a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the mud, her overall frustration, or her companion's amused comments. Only he and his lips and the feeling of not being alone in this utter mess around them.

"_Ir su araval tu din'elvaral u na emma din'abelas," _she murmured under her breath, as she disentangled herself from him, albeit reluctantly.

Having caught the string of her mother tongue, Alistair looked at her, confused. "What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing." Lenya shrugged and turned, smiling for the first time in days.

.

~V~

.

_The tips of her hair trailed on his chest as she rode him, like golden threads of silk on his skin._

_He watched her, enthralled by the enticing sight above him: eyes closed, her mouth opened in a wordless breaths of pleasure, her head tipped back as he gripped her hips and guided her faster, thrusting upwards as his passion started to overcome him. The edges of a smile started to form at the corners of her mouth and her silent gasps became voiced._

"_Alistair…"_

He startled up, blinking in disorientation as the images faded away. Sitting up in the tent, Alistair struggled to catch his breath and calm himself. His heartbeat thrummed so loudly in his ears that for a moment he was afraid of her hearing it, even though there was a small distance between them. His whole body ached, the dream had been so painfully vivid, and it definitely left him wanting. Head in his hands, he rubbed his face as if it would help him to get rid of this feeling. In reality it made him only more aware of the pressure in the underarmor he still wore, so he could be ready that much more quickly should darkspawn attack. He laughed out loud, without humor and with his normal self-deprecating ruefulness.

Even fighting darkspawn had become increasingly difficult to focus on with her at his side. The dent in his armor was due to him not paying enough attention to the hurlock in front of him and too much to Lenya's fluent dance of death. Oh, what a fool he was: he should know better. He could thank the outstanding Dalish craftsmanship that his hide was still intact, instead of lying in his blood with broken armor and body. And that was only because he had stared at her for a moment, captivated by this amazing woman fighting at his side, this... this wonderful woman who loved him so openly and with all her heart, in spite of his multitude of shortcomings. Alistair was still amazed that she didn't shy away from his huge frame, even enjoyed his presence and the touch of his bumbling, sword-calloused hands. His fingers twitched, painstakingly remembering the feel of her skin underneath his fingertips. Her curves so delicate and soft, yet powerful with lean muscles and scars formed by incessant battles.

He gasped, withdrawing his hand from the ground and flexing it into a fist, as if stung by fire. _That_ trail of thought was entirely unhelpful, yet it was all that lingered in his mind these days. Ever since that night in Redcliffe, when she lay pressed above, _into _and under him, their bodies damp from the water's lake, and heard her soft sighs and his name from her lips, he _wanted_. Oh, Maker take him, he did. And now weeks later, after endless days of marching, alternating watch and stealing fleeting kisses with her in between, it had only become _worse_. While Lenya held vigil, he lay in their shared tent, surrounded by her scent, and dreamed of her. Always smiling, kissing and touching him, moaning his name in a crescendo of pleasure to the end.

The nights when nightmares of the Archdemon plagued him were almost a welcome relief.

Alistair shifted, keenly aware of the pressure that begged for release. Every attempt to concentrate on the Chant's verses or meditation were bound to doom with these other, _vivid_ pictures so dominating in his mind. Noticing the flap of the tent not fully closed, he could clearly see her silhouette hued in the soft, golden firelight. Alistair pressed the heel of his hand down, hard, oh Maker, _hard_, and bit his lip on a moan of relief. But he shouldn't. He really, _really_ shouldn't. Then again, he yearned to go out there and steal a few precious moments with her, before she turned in for her bit of sleep. Not like this, of course. Not when his mind was narrowed down to re-experiencing and adding to their sensual moment in Redcliffe.

She deserved more, better, _much _better than what the camp offered. Even when the _how_ and _when_ were still uncertain, he wanted to do it right. Without the darkspawn on their heels, the mud surrounding them, simply free from fear for their life every minute. Clean sheets, a bed and time, yes, _a lot_ of time to worship every freckle and spot of her skin. He gripped himself harder. With leisure to elicit the small, enraptured sounds from her lips, while he learned the reactions of her body in detail and without haste. Oh yes, this was what he wanted, how it had played out in his head a dozen times already. Reflexively, Alistair rose his other, unoccupied hand just in time and bit into it to muffle his cry, as he shook with the violence of his climax.

Even after coming down again, his pulse and heart still raced like after a fight, the experience more intense than, well, _usual_. Grimacing, Alistair observed the deep biting mark of his hand and the general…mess he had created. He cleaned himself up the best he could, using his enchanted water skin and a cloth he found on the side of his pack. With a sigh, he stretched himself more or less uncomfortably in the narrow tent, and still struggled to catch his breath. Maker, if the Grand Cleric or even Lenya knew even a fraction of his thoughts, he may yet be struck with a lightning bolt of the Maker or, respectively, with a dagger in his face. Or maybe Lenya would simply laugh, not mockingly, but in the sweet, mischievous way he loved so much and–

He shook himself, unwilling to pursue those thoughts _again_.

Maker, he had it _bad_.

His wish for more, however, wasn't restricted only to the physical realm. At all. Alistair wanted to share _everything_ with her, the good and the bad times, simply to be with her for the rest of his life which, considering their prospect of fighting an archdemon, could be much briefer than planned, not to mention the looming shadow of his heritage. He knew that he loved her, and he knew what _he_ wanted, but whether or not pure desire was enough to actually achieve everything he wished for in the end, he couldn't say. No one could. Eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if it would help to banish these thoughts from his mind. Maybe it was better not to plan so far ahead now–seeing as they fought for their life every day–and concentrate instead on reaching Denerim first. Perhaps a talk with Lenya too, to get to know how she felt about taking, ah, the next step. Both would be difficult enough in their own way, but manageable, somehow.

_Probably_.

.

~V~

.

"_Atish–_"

Lenya fell silent and stilled as he wrapped his arms around her, down on his knees.

"Are you... all right?" Her voice sounded worried, her stance only slowly relaxing. He didn't want to startle her, so he nodded, without looking up or letting go. Alistair burrowed his nose in the hollow of her neck and inhaled. She smelt still of the dirt of the road and the smoke of the fire, but Alistair didn't care. Much.

Her hand ruffled through his hair, almost in the way she used to pet Arai. Which was... a weird thought in itself. "Bad dreams, huh?"

Alistair hummed and it caused her to flinch, tickled by his breath. Slowly, she wriggled herself out of his grasp and peered down to him, eyebrow arched. "Not that I object, _ma vhenan_, but remember this funny thing that we all need to do... no matter if you're elf or human? How is it called? Ah, yes, _breathing_."

He chuckled, looking positively guilty. "Sorry. I guess I just needed a hug right then. I hope I didn't–"

"No, you didn't. I'm no delicate flower,_ Atish'an_. I thought we had cleared that up by now. Just a slight warning would have been nice, or else I could have ended up stabbing you in your face. And actually, I don't want that. Not anymore."

"Wow, thanks, my lady." He snorted. "I was my usual stompy self, actually, but you seemed to be so sunk into your book, you didn't hear me." He nudged the sleeping dwarf next to the fire with his foot. So much for watch duties. "Or maybe it was due to Oghren's snoring you didn't hear me?"

"Well, even kicking him didn't wake him up, so there is that." Shaking her head, Lenya pulled the leather-bound object in her hands away from his sight. "Also... it is not a book..."

Sitting down next to her, he leaned in closer to her, trying to catch a peek at what she was doing. "Oh, what is it then? A diary?"

Not answering, Lenya put a worn piece of vellum in between the pages and snapped it shut. It was obvious that she didn't want him to know, so he decided to drop the topic. "Why are you up, anyway, love? Your shift isn't due for another hour or two."

"I... uh, couldn't sleep any longer." And looking sheepish, he added, "Also I wanted to spend some time with you before you go to sleep. There isn't much of it lately, and... I miss that. You."

Smiling at the honesty at his words, Lenya stretched herself up for a kiss he was all too willing to give. "That is a sweet thought, _Atish'an_." She kissed him again, in a slow, languid way that set his senses on fire. "I approve."

"Hmm, good to know," he drawled the words out, voice low, and leaned his head on her shoulder.

"Cuddly tonight, aren't you?" Letting out a snort, she patted on her lap with her hand, motioning him to lie down. "Ah, well, come here. You still have an hour of rest left and an hour you should get. Unless my legs go numb from your big head; then I will just push you off." She flashed him a crooked grin. "Just so you know."

"Charming, really." Shaking his head, Alistair followed her orders with a contented sigh. The position wasn't all that comfortable, but her hand running through his hair and simply being close to her easily made up for that. Even through the armored leggings her body warmth was seeping through, the hum of her taint palpable and so familiar to him. "I guess I need a shoulder to lean on at times... or a lap. Are you sure th–"

"Yes. There is nothing wrong with that, really. And it gives me time to finish what I started. So do me a favor and be quiet, okay?"

"What are yo–"

"Shh."

And so Alistair remained hushed as she wished, noticing it was no use to ask her about her occupation. But occasionally he would look up to see her scribbling in the book, face intent and her fingertips smudged with soot.

"Done..." Lenya announced some time later, just as he was about to drift off to sleep. The heat of the fire, the unusual stillness of the camp and her presence had had a calming influence on him.

"Hmm?" While curious, Alistair was not exactly motivated to move away from her, or even heave his head one bit, for that matter.

Shaking her head with a smile, Lenya leaned over for a peck on his cheek. "You really _are_ like an oversized puppy at times, _Atish'an_. ...A stubbly one."

"Part of my charm, I guess?"

"Indeed." She laughed. "...So you want to see it? It is probably a bit stupid and not all that good, but there was little else to do in a thankfully quiet watch so far and –"

Amused by her sudden rambling, he sat up and snatched the leather-bound book out of her hands."Just show it alrea–" Alistair stopped talking abruptly as he registered what he saw. A detailed portrait of himself, asleep in a bed. Not all that clean drawn, since smudges of coal were smeared on the edges, but stunning all the same. Even more amazing was the fact that Lenya felt the urge to draw _him_, of all people, and that she was so good in it. This woman never failed to surprise him, and it only made him love her more.

"That bad, huh?"

"Not at all, Len!" He rushed to say. "It is... wow. I had no idea that you... _wow_."

Lenya shrugged, looked a bit embarrassed by his compliment. It was endearing. "To be fair, I didn't tell you, or anyone, for that matter. Back in the days when I was with my clan, I used to do this almost daily. It was my escape from the often bustling camp. I would go out into the woods and sit down amidst the nature and draw everything that was around me. Trees, the leaves, the moving of the grass, animals. It gave me a sense of peace and a better understanding of my surroundings, I guess. As a hunter, one of the first lessons is to observe, to listen, to absorb what is around you. And... drawing, well, those quiet days helped to sensitize my intuition for my environment, as I'm not the most patient person otherwise. Obviously." She took a deep breath. "Vellum was naturally limited, so when I had none–which was often–I used my dagger to draw lines into the earth. While the pictures didn't become that good or detailed, it trained my handling and made me more fluent in my movements with weapons. So overall, this hobby only had advantages for me. Without Sten, however, I don't think I would have picked it up again... after my conscription."

Since Lenya had proven to be a great leader and capable Grey Warden, it was easy to forget that she hadn't chosen this life. Unlike him. Thus it was all the more amazing what she had managed to achieve, how far she had come. Purely objectively, of course. ...Mostly. "That's a great story and I love to hear about your past, but where exactly does Sten fit in?"

Lenya laughed, nudging his side. "Don't be so impatient, I was getting there. Sten and I had a conversation while looking at a picture of the Grey Wardens of old, in Orzammar. With griffons and a fiery battlefield, quite striking. I told him then I used to draw too and he asked me why I stopped. I had no answer for that, to be honest... and it got me to thinking. So before we left again, I found many empty pages bound in a book in the shaperate. It would have cost a fortune to buy, but the shaper gifted it to me, for my accomplishments in Orzammar. It is the one you are holding now. So in the following months, every time I was startled up by a nightmare, which is often as you know, I drew. It helped me to get those...pictures out of my head, to calm me down."

After listening to her, he finally flipped through the other pages and noticed that his picture was just one of many. And totally disparate, as well. They lacked detail, as they were clearly hastily drawn. In edgy, rough ways, they showed twisted faces of creatures that were painfully familiar to him. Darkspawn, the Broodmother – he shuddered – but also blood, death, and so much... sadness that his heart ached at the view. In a way, this was her diary, not in written form, but in vivid and all too grim pictures.

"I gave Sten a picture of the archdemon I drew. To symbolize to him our common goal, you know? But overall, you are the first I'm showing this."

Alistair looked at her. The book still in his lap, he pulled her closer and kissed her temple. "It seems very personal, so I'm honored you share it with me, love. And once more amazed, since I know a lot of these pictures myself, or rather, it shows very clearly what I dreamed of myself." He cleared his throat, glad that she was clueless of his _current_ dreams. "Yet I don't understand how I fit in into the gallery of... darkspawn and demons. Not that I'm not flattered, but–"

"I can't get you out of my head either," she blurted and Alistair gaped at her. Looking down, she shifted, fiddling with the buckle of her oversized armor. "Well, the one morning in Redcliffe where you still were asleep, I liked how you looked so peaceful next to me. Especially after the horrid night you had. I have had this picture in my head ever since. I suppose I needed to draw it to get it out of my mind. Not that it helped much, really." Lenya laughed out, her eyes resting in the dancing of the flames. "It is maddening how much I think about you and even more frustrating that we have so little time right now for each other. I get why, I really do, and then I get mad at myself for still wanting more of it." She glanced up to him, eyebrows creased into a frown. His fingers twitched to brush it away, but he remained still, not wishing to interrupt her.

"You know in hindsight, my behavior toward everyone in the beginning wasn't all due to the bitterness of being snatched away from my clan and my life. That was part of it, and not a small part, but I used and still use my harsh manner to keep people from coming too close. It is... was easier when everyone took me for the bitter, sour-faced, human hating Dalish. No attachments, no looking back while running into a horde of darkspawn, weapons blazing. Or looking forward, for that matter. Because what did I have to lose or gain? I would fight the Blight and likely perish doing so, despite my promise to Tamlen. It would have been a fitting end and punishment for leaving him behind. But now, ever since I fell in love with you everything... has become way more complicated. Dangerously so."

His shoulders slumped, the words heavy on his tongue like his heart. "So... you are saying–"

"Gods, no!" Lenya cut him off. "I... _need_ you, _Atish'an_. Never doubt this. You are my strength, when going on feels too hard. My friend, my fellow Warden, my–" She sighed. "But...in the same time, it scares me deeply how much I care for you, how important you have become to me in a matter of mere months. I never–" Stopping, she hung her head, miserably. Alistair placed his fingers under her chin, making her look up to him, his voice soft.

"Hey... what are you afraid of, love? Speak to me."

She swallowed and glanced sideways. "Many things I would rather not think about. But in the quietness of camp, the long hours of watch, this is all but easy. Especially when my hand is reaching out for Arai out of habit still and is gripping nothing but thin air. It ...still hurts. And you. Seeing you charge headlong into a darkspawn horde may be glorious, because you are a capable man and ably fighter... and yet it never fails to give me a heart attack. I know you can't hold back and you shouldn't for my sake. It would be stupid and endanger us all, not just yourself." Lenya reached back for her sketchbook and handed it to him. "I want you to have it... in case... well. So that you have something to remember me should–"

"No!" Alistair snapped, irritated. She flinched back, scowling at him. "You told me not long ago to value my life more. So for Andraste's sake, you do the same, Lenya! Keep that book and the drawing of me. Give it to me when this is over and I will gladly take it."

"When this is over? But–"

Shaking his head, he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her. "No 'buts' and no ifs, Len. Orlais, remember? Cheese, cookies, sins?"

"The way Leliana is talking about the insane fashion and people there, I'm not sure if I want to go there."

Shrugging, he pecked her nose. "Then we don't. We can go anywhere you like. It's just a matter of killing an archdemon and a massive horde of darkspawn first before that, so what can go possibly wrong?"

"Right," She chortled. "And you are not by chance the only remaining son of some human k–"

"Hey, I'm glad if I remember which boot to put on which foot, so no bad K-words, okay?" Alistair cupped her cheek, his eyes fixed on hers. "All I want is you. I don't intend on letting you go, if that's what you're thinking. Unless... you wish to, of course. I mean, I'm not at all experienced in relationship things, but even I know that acting like a possessive, crazed jerk is quite the turn off."

"And possibly deadly. In my case, at least." She smirked at his shocked expression, leaning into his touch. "Don't worry, _Atish'an_. You are doing fine. More than that."

"Glad to hear it." He chuckled and ducked his head for a kiss.

"...Hold that thought." Lenya pulled away and at first he wondered why, before he felt a familiar twist in his guts. _Great. Super. _Alistair swallowed the frustrated groan, unlike his fellow Warden.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate darkspawn? So just to make it sure once and for all: I fucking _hate _them!" She was already on her feet. "Wake the others and get moving. You know the drill."

.

.


	93. Anam Cara

**Chapter 86: Anam Cara**

.

Lenya wiped her stained weapons on the grass and made a face as she looked over the strewn darkspawn bodies.

If there was one thing she would never get used to, it was their foul, rotten stench. Or their look. _Ugly bastards. _Fortunately it had been only a small horde for a change, and thus imposed no real danger to them. Or maybe they were getting slowly complacent, which was a danger in and of itself. Lenya knew she needed a sharp mind and deft hand for even the smallest genlock, to be quicker in killing, but sometimes it was hard not to fall into a mechanical pattern, to really pay attention to _what_ exactly she was slicing through. More than often it felt like a never ending chore, the blood a perpetual rain on her skin.

"We need to burn them..." His face smeared with dark blood, Alistair had already begun to throw the smaller ones into a pile. Wynne would ensure the fire, as soon she had checked on everyone's health. Oghren was helping Alistair with the bigger hurlock corpses, something with which Lenya still didn't feel all that comfortable. But Morrigan had assured her that her brewed potions would keep their companions taint-free, and so far it always worked. She had no reason not to trust her words, after all.

Speaking of uncomfortable, the humans that hugged each other, scared and wide-eyed behind their wooden carts, had been the real target of the darkspawn. One man had been bitten by a genlock and speared by its sword before their arrival. She needed to put him out of his misery, which was probably the reason why they eyed her now with lingering suspicion. Thanks to that Loghain _shem'alas,_ the Grey Wardens had all but a good reputation currently. And Creators forbid if one also turned out to be an elf, who dared to save their asses. Turning away from their stares, she scoffed. Hypocrites.

"Poor Jandrek, he had been a good fellow."

Wait, she _knew_ that voice. Whirling around, she gazed into the face of Bodahn Feddich, the dwarf who traveled with them for a time after they left Lothering. Creators, that felt like ages ago. And in more ways than one, it _was_.

He smiled warmly at her, the light of the torches from afar reflected in his weathered face. "Good to see you alive and well, Warden. You should hear the rumors flying around about you both, they keep growing with each day. By now people expect you to be a hundred feet tall and spitting fire at the darkspawn."

"Oh?" Lenya rose an eyebrow, amused. "If you stay around long enough, I just might do that. Anyway, good to see that you have survived this madness so far, Bodahn."

"In no small parts due to you, once again. It seems to have become a habit of yours to save me and my son, right?"

In spite of the weariness that was slowly creeping into her bones, she smiled at him. "I do what I can. Do I get another discount now? I'm in dire need of elven seized armor. This human thing chafes far too much, even though it was resized. Helps to bolster my aggression in a fight, but it doesn't really protect my skin in the long run."

"I'll see what I can do, Warden. Once everyone has calmed down and the mess here is sorted out, come to my cart. Where are you heading to this time?"

"The human city, err, Denerim." Lenya sighed, wiping the sweat – and whatnot – from her brow. "Unfortunately."

"Oh? Then it seems we have the same route once more," the dwarf said, a faint undertone of hope in his voice.

Not answering, she looked around in the darkness, scanning her – _their _– surroundings with the experience of a hunter. The plain terrain here didn't offer much shelter, either from the weather or a renewed assault. They needed to return to camp, break it up and move on. It wasn't safe to stay any longer there. Or here, since the remaining taint would soon sink into the earth like a– "Ouch!" Whirling round, she found Wynne pressing a cloth drenched with alcohol onto the minor wound of her arm.

"Just because the darkspawn blood doesn't affect you, doesn't mean your cuts don't need treatment, young lady!"

She scowled at the mage for the audacity. "I'm fine, Wynne. This is nothing."

"They always say that in the beginning, but wait until the wounds infect and start to fester," Wynne said, an amused twinkle in her eyes. "Then they start running my way, complaining about why I didn't help them earlier. Just you watch."

"All right, I get it." Resigned to her fate, she took the cloth from her to clean and dress her wound with it. "We can't stay here, though. The area is unsafe, not to mention blighted. I can feel it in the very earth. It's everywhere."

"What about them?" The mage pointed at the small group of humans. Most of them still seemed shaken, but the rest had already reclaimed their few belongings and were packing them onto their cart. "They are nothing but simple people. Refugees from the war of the Bannorn, I suppose. Without our timely arrival more than just one man would have certainly perished. Fortunately none of the others got hurt or infected with the taint."

"We were on our way to Denerim and taking a small break when they attacked," Bodahn chimed in, earning himself a surprised glance from both human and elf. He inclined his head toward the mage. "Oh pardon my manners, dear lady. Bodahn Feddich, merchant and trader. We didn't have the pleasure to meet thus far, I reckon?"

"No." Wynne shook her head, smiling. "But I have already met the other dwarf traveling with you. He is a most helpful young fellow."

He smiled back at her. "That is my son, Sandal. Also very talented in all kinds of enchantment. I'm certain he is eager to offer his services, should they be required."

"I see. I have never heard of dwarves being capable of enchantment, so he seems to be quite the special fellow." With a smile, the mage turned to Lenya. "We should travel with them to Denerim."

Lenya crossed her arms. "That would slow our journey down considerably, Wynne. Not to mention it would make us an even bigger target to all kinds of darkspawn."

"That might be true, however, it would also give us the needed cover to enter Denerim undetected by Loghain's men." The mage leaned in to her, obviously attempting to convince her. "Think about it, my dear. We will be slower, but his men are looking for an armed and armored group, not simple travelers and merchants."

Lenya groaned, disliking the undeniable logic of Wynne's words. Frowning, she glanced over to the group and her eyes met those of a young woman, barely older than herself. Great, this was just what she needed. A constant reminder of all the lives depending on her – _their_ – success, in the form of a few hapless refugees in tow. On their own, she knew, they had no chance to survive, much less reach Denerim. "Fine." Lenya sighed, her eyes searching for her fellow Warden. She felt his presence, but couldn't see him. "_Atish'an_?"

He emerged from a pile of darkspawn bodies. "Just a moment, love, bit busy with taking the trash out." With that, he threw the shouldered genlock on the would-be pyre and walked over to her, smiling. His smile vanished immediately when he saw her bandaged arm. "You're hurt... are you okay?"

"Just a scratch." Lenya glanced at the gauntleted hand that clasped gently around her arm. "But yes, I'm fine. Covered in smelly, tainted blood, but fine."

Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. The 'fine' part, obviously. Not so much for the covered in darkspawn entails part."

She appreciated his concern, but had no time or patience to humor him. "More important, though, is that I need you to go back to our camp and get our things. We need to move on; this place isn't safe anymore. And it is tainted, as you may have noticed."

"Yeah." Looking over to the people across of them, he frowned. "What about them? We can't just leave them behind just like that."

"We won't." Lenya sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we will travel with those humans to ensure that they arrive safely in Denerim. And to make sure that we do as well, if you get what I mean."

"It might be me piling darkspawn for the last hour, so my brain feels fuzzy from their stench, so... help me out here?"

She smiled at him and wiped a stain of blood from his cheek. "As fun as it sounds, I think going in blades blazing and screaming '_For the Grey Wardens' _won't get us past the guards. A more subtle entry in a group of refugees and merchants, however, _will_. Which is why we need our equipment. Take Oghren and Zevran with you to help with that."

"Wow. That is... thoughtful, dear. And clever thinking. But are you sure you want to leave immediately? You haven't rested and with the battle just now–"

"I'm _fine_! So stop fussing over me, I still can go on." Her hand on his cheek wandered up to his forehead, smoothing creases of worry away. She leaned up to peck his lips. "Or maybe I simply want to test the fabled Warden stamina to its limit."

"Oh?" As if summoned, the assassin appeared beside the Dalish, grinning. "I reckon your fellow Warden would love to see that. ...If for another purpose than simply walking."

"Shut up, Zev." Lenya rolled her eyes, not in the mood for his gratuitous sexual innuendo. "You better help Alistair to break up camp."

He tutted, only more amused. "You are no fun, lately. But as you wish, my dear."

Lenya watched them leave. "Hmm," the deep chuckle behind her startled her. Silent as the dwarf had been, Lenya had already forgotten about his presence. "A lot has changed since we last saw each other, apparently."

"Indeed, it has," she answered, smiling. The night became momentarily less bleak and brightened with firelight, as Wynne set the darkspawn pile ablaze. The stench of the smoke made her gag as her eyes watered. _Yet another reason to leave quickly_. "Let me help you to pack up the rest, Bodahn. We need to get moving."

He inclined his head to her. "As you wish, Warden."

.

.

* * *

.

"Here."

For a moment, Zevran thought Lenya would rather _bite_ into the bottle of wine than take it, if her glaring at it was any indication for her abysmal mood. Or perhaps a better sign was when she snapped at the young girl for daring to touch their provisions just minutes before. The poor thing had just wanted an apple, and Lenya treated her as if she were the archdemon in person.

While he felt sorry for the girl (and snatched away an apple for her eventually) he wasn't exactly surprised about Lenya's thin-skinned reaction. The past days of travel had been all but easy since the muddy and uneven road had made their approach to Denerim cumbersome and slow with the wagons in tow. And the unforeseen Darkspawn ambush with two more casualties only added to everyone's foul and grim mood. Especially Lenya's, since she blamed herself for not noticing their attack earlier. Zevran shook his head and chuckled quietly. For someone constantly griping about the human caravan, she certainly cared a lot about their safety.

"Rough days, no?" His approach for conversation was met with silence and more glaring, this time directed at him instead of the bottle that she held in her hands.

_Ah, progress._

She sat on the bare ground, at the edge of camp, covered by the darkness of the night. The flicker of their firepit was distant, yet still gave them enough light to see. Zevran sat down next to her, the earth cold and soft beneath him, in spite of slowly rising temperatures. It was times like this when he missed Antiva" the soft breeze scented of flowers instead of mud and dogs and the warmth of Antiva's sun, which seemed completely absent here in Ferelden. Summer slowly approached and yet it still rained frequently, something he would never get used to. Ferelden was odd and so were its people, except for a select few, perhaps. One of them still made no sign of speaking, so he raised his voice instead.

"Is it about the belt bag you accidentally switched?"

She scoffed, her head turned away. "It wasn't just a belt bag, idiot. It was the place where I stored _all_ our money. But instead of having that, we have Morrigan's herbs and herbalism equipment now. Super."

"Oh, there can never be enough herbs, no?" Another glare of her, but it had lost its prior force. "Everyone makes mistakes, dear. Not even a deadly sex-goddess like you is free from them."

She groaned, annoyed. "Seriously? I thought we were long past that?"

"Past well deserved compliments speaking the truth? Ah, humor me, dear. But what I wanted to say is don't blame yourself for everything. Certainly switching the bags was–"

"Stupid?"

He chuckled. "I was going to say unfortunate, since the money wasn't lost on the road, but remains in Morrigan's safe hands. I can't imagine someone in Redcliffe would be foolish enough to dare steal it from her."

Lenya sighed, more dejected than angry now. "It's still not here when we will need it."

"Indeed. Though you can be sure there will be enough jobs in Denerim to earn money. I can't help but think that my impending return there is ironic." His last visit had been months ago, a brief time before his assassination attempt. Reporting back to Loghain that he had failed wouldn't be the _wisest _thing to do, but it was still oh-so tempting, if only to see the expression on his face.

"This journey is a never-ending mess. I hate it." Picking up a pebble from the ground, she hurled it into the shrubbery to the side, visibly frustrated. "We are far behind schedule due to the damn wooden wagons being so slow. Honestly, only humans can build such unstable crap for traveling. Our aravels are far more stable and better built than _this_. And the noise they cause. Have you ever noticed how _loud_ a bunch of humans are? The camp is packed with crying children and bickering women and I haven't beeen able to rest for days now. Honestly, I should have never agreed to this whole journey to begin with. I knew it was doomed and insane from the start. Damn the Arl and every one of the humans in Redcliffe."

He listened patiently to her rant as it came to a conclusion, then asked, "Feeling better now?"

"No." Lenya frowned first at him, then at the bottle in her hands. "What is this and why are you giving me that anyway?"

"A bottle of the Arl's finest wine. I found it lying around in his cellar, all alone. Can't have that, yes?" A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I figured I would need either alcohol or to sleep with you to loosen you up a bit, and since I'm not keen on bearing the brunt of the wrath of your human lover, nor that of my lovely bard, alcohol it is."

"So you are trying to get me drunk? _Seriously_?"

"Well, yes, since I'd prefer to leave the 'sleeping with you' part to our dear Alistair, which hopefully will soon follow. It is about time you and your Grey Warden take a good tumble in the sheets. Or, as our smelly, stout friend would say: no matter where or when, as long there are no pants involved." Zevran sighed at her dubious look. "You have been on the edge for days, no, _forever_ now, my dear. Believe it or not, it was noticeable long before you yelled at the child for taking a mere apple out of the satchel."

"Believe it or not," she mirrored his words, "sex doesn't solve everything."

He chuckled. "Oh, I was taught otherwise. You would be surprised how relaxed you feel after–"

"I'm don't want to talk about that with you. Not after you–" Gnawing on her lower lip, Lenya halted her words.

"Still holding a grudge against me for what happened in Redcliffe? I already told you that I'm sorry and it wasn't my intent to interrupt you both. Quite the opposite. I would gladly lock you both up in a room and throw the key away for two days minimum to get rid of this massive sexual frustration between you two."

"It is not that - well, not _only_ that. It is just... frustrating. _Everything_." Her steely gaze upon him softened. "Sometimes I think you are doing it so that you don't get emotionally involved, despite your... audible activities with Leliana. It is far less complicated that way."

"Yes, indeed. We enjoy each other's company." Despite the uplifting tone of his words, Zevran noticed a sinking feeling inside and couldn't fathom _why_.

"I am not like that, I can't do _that_ without love." Lenya took a deep sip out of the bottle. "And now where I love, the whole tangle of feelings it brings with it is utterly confusing. What we have is not enough, not like it was before - and that's frustrating, since I somehow feel bad for wanting _more_."

"Why?"

"Look around you, Zev. Everything is a mess right now. Darkspawn at every turn, the land blighted. So I don't need to add to the overall chaos we are currently in."

"Ah, excuse if I repeat myself, my dear. Darkspawn and the Blight have been there before. It is not really all that different from other times. So why now?"

"Maybe I am. Different, I mean." Lenya took a long pull from the bottle and scoffed afterward. "Seems as if all the preaching about duty has finally gotten to me. Or maybe for all my bravery, I'm just a coward hiding behind this arbitrary reason. Pick one."

Zevran lowered his head, to meet her downward gaze. "You are afraid of ?" To him it sounded like a ridiculous notion, but for Lenya it made sense, as inexperienced she was in everything concerning physical pleasure. "Well you seemed to enjoy yourself in Redcliffe with Alistair, if I'm allowed to say that."

She laughed without humor. "That is what you would call caught up in the moment, but it's less easy when you have weeks to actually think about it. I don't know, Zev. It is just... I have never felt such attraction to someone on the emotional and physical level, and now it is hitting me on the head with full force. It is a bit overwhelming, you know?" Pausing, Lenya looked up to the night sky, the stars and moon covered by thick clouds. "I know you prefer the casual approach to... this, but is it always like this? Surely you have loved before?"

He stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words and breath, as Rinna appeared before his vision where Lenya had been. He blinked to clear his sight and swallowed, hard, to regain his composure. "An assassin... must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can, when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless."

"This sounds... sad, somehow. If perhaps easier, at times." She heaved a sigh. "You know... I thought love was foolish, too. I used to laugh about the girls of my clan when they kept fawning and giggling about their young crushes. And now I'm one of them. Ironic, really. ...Only that it feels like far more than a crush."

Suddenly the clouds overhead moved in a gust of wind. They gave way to the light of the fat, waxing moon, which lent a silvery sheen to Lenya's skin. The tattoo on her forehead stood out in sharp detail in the soft gleam. She closed her eyes, her features relaxed, as she seemed to relive pleasant and perhaps not so distant memories.

"And there you have your answer, my dear." Zevran smiled, as she reopened her eyes. "Sensuality isn't about thinking, but _feeling_. So stop worrying too much and finally start enjoying what you have. You know how to do this, right?" Normally it wasn't his nature to beat around the bush and avoid clear words, but with Lenya a more subtle approach seemed needed.

"What?"

Or not. "You know what you like, no? What turns you on? How you want to be touched?"

"Whoa, I haven't had enough alcohol to talk about that." A blush crept across the tip of her ears down to the cheeks. Amusing how easily the otherwise fierce Dalish could become flustered at this topic.

He tilted his head, one eyebrow raised as he observed her. "Wait, you have never–" Lenya's lowered gaze and added flush was more than enough of an answer. Zevran, however, was taken aback by the sheer existence of this unthinkable fact. "Wow, that is a... first. And a tragedy, indeed."

"I was never interested in it, okay?" Lenya blurted in anger, the hand curled tightly around the neck of the bottle. For a moment it looked as if she wanted to throw it at his head, the way she kept glowering at him, but then she eventually put it back on the ground.

"Well, my dear, better late than never, no?" he said in a leveled, easy tone, trying to calm her down again. "I may not be an expert for love, but without boasting, I certainly am one for all kind of bodily pleasures."

"Bodily pleasures?" Lenya snorted, emptying what little was left of the wine. "Seriously? This sounds so stupid."

"You can call it how you like, of course. The more important part of it is _doing_ it, anyway. Since our dear Alistair is none the wiser when it comes to sex, it is your task to guide and show him what you like, how to please you. For doing so, however, you first need to know your sensitive spots, of course."

"He is... doing fine, thanks!" She snapped at him, which ended in an annoyed groan. "And... I really need more wine, if we are to... continue this. Whatever _this_ is." Grinning, Zevran handed her his own bottle which he had barely touched. Lenya didn't hesitate to take a deep gulp.

"So you are saying that I should– In order to, well, take the next step?" Somehow it was endearing how she stumbled over the simplest words.

"Touch yourself? Why, yes." He stretched his limbs and smiled. "There is nothing wrong with that. Also helpful, my dear. Not only to learn the reactions of your own body better, but also to get rid of pent up tension." Tsking, he leaned closer to her. "Sometimes I do wonder what your clan taught you."

"how to be a hunter, perhaps?" Lenya crossed her arms, became more guarded again. "As I said before, I never put much value to that. Other things were far more important to me, like honing my hunting skills."

"Had it also honed your senses?" He smirked at her confused expression. "You might be aware that we, elves, I mean, have in comparison to the humans far better sight and hearing. Yet that isn't where the keen perception ends, as all elven woman and men I have been with have been more sensitive to my touch than humans. Or dwarves. It is one of the few perks of our race, I suppose."

"Wait... you are telling me that my training as a hunter even adds to this... trait?" Lenya blinked in disbelief. "I've never heard of this before."

"Ah, it is not exactly what they teach little elven boys and girls, my dear." He chuckled. "But yes, your years of sharpening your senses to hunt may have intensified this quite nice elven trait even further. There is only one way to find out, however. "

"Oh. So this could be why–" Her mouth fell shut to stop the words, though it did little to hide the amazement written all over her face. Some pieces appeared to have clicked together to a whole picture for her, at last.

"Or you have already found out and weren't aware of the reason? Interesting."

"I–" Lenya tensed, swiftly correcting her open body language. "Men? You have been with men?"

_Ah, she tries to distract. And not in a subtle way either._

Zevran decided to humor her. "You must understand that my history is... varied. After all, I grew up amongst whores, my dear. So sex is best when done well, and truly that is my only rule." He clucked his tongue, amused by her sudden rapt attention to his words. "Do I prefer women? Yes... yes, I believe I do, but a certain open-mindedness is sought by the Crows in their recruits. For very good reasons."

"You really didn't have a choice?"

"I wouldn't call it _that_, exactly," he said, grimacing slightly. "And not only because the words '_choice_' and '_The Crows_' are mutually exclusive. I did what they wanted, seduced whom they wanted, independent of such trivialities like gender. I have had to do many things in my work as an assassin, some pleasant and many not so. Does this bother you?"

"Why do you care what I think about your bed companions?" Lenya shrugged. "It is your life. Who am I to judge what you do with it?"

"Says the woman who spared my life, after I tried to kill her." Zevran laughed out loud, yet it died down all too quickly again. "I do wonder though, what your plans are for me after your Grey Warden business is over. As a point of curiosity."

"As I said before, it is your choice. I don't want you bound to this oath you have given, nor force you to stay with me to see it through till the possibly deadly end. It will only get more dangerous and more messy from here on out." Looking up, a smile tugged at both corners of her mouth. "But I always can use a friend. Blight or not."

He shouldn't be so surprised to hear it from her, not after all she had told him. Or the level of trust she'd bestowed upon him after all these months. And yet, in spite of the glaring evidence, Zevran couldn't help but doubt her. It was easier to expect ulterior motives than to truly believe in such an impossibility as a simple reason like friendship. Words were one thing - easy to form and twist to reach a set goal, as none knew better than Zevran himself - but to really _mean_ the spoken words was a another foreign dimension to him. "I'm glad to hear this, my dear."

Standing up, he extended his hand. "Now then, Lenya. Ready to head back, before your beloved Warden comes with his blade blazing to free you from my evil claws? Can't have that, yes?"

She took his offer to help her up, though not without looking at him with suspicion. "Lenya? You suddenly learned to use my name? How come?"

He chuckled. "Let us say, I am trying to do something new. No harm in that, is there?"

"No." She shook her head, smiling. "Quite the opposite. I like it."

"Good to know."

.

~V~

.

They had barely threaded into the still bustling camp again when Alistair steered directly toward their Dalish leader.

To Zevran's amusement, the Warden was utterly oblivious to the many pair of eyes following his steps. The women traveling with them ever since they saved the caravan from the darkspawn didn't even attempt to hide their ogling. Especially not now when the man was all sweaty and heated from the exertion of chopping woods, the toned muscles visible underneath the lighter tunic. Alistair's vision, however, was narrowed down to one person, and one person only.

"Lenya... where have you been? I was worried."

She opened her mouth to answer, but Zevran was quicker. "Don't worry, my dear friend. She has been with me."

His head whirled round , his eyes narrowing in a literal sense at him. "That isn't exactly reassuring."

"Again, don't jump to conclusions, my friend." He couldn't help but lay out this bait, certain of him taking it. "We just talked."

"About what?" Oh, it was all too easy, really.

Beside Alistair's head, Lenya glared, mouthed silent threats to decapitate him should he choose to answer now. But how could he let such an opportunity pass? "Oh, nothing of importance, actually." Zevran paused, enjoying Lenya's premature breath of relief. "Just about how your beloved should learn to touch herself, in order to be able to guide and show you the sensible spots of her body better. I'm nothing if not a helpful friend for her curious inquiries."

Alistair gaped. For more than a mere moment, his brain seemed unable to connect with his mouth. Which, in Zevran's humble opinion, it rarely did. Here it was meant in a more literal sense, as his mouth plopped open and only strangled sounds came out. It seemed as if the man tried to attempt the whole scenario in a more visual way, to be able to grasp the complete, well, _concept._ _Fun._

Lenya, however looked ready to launch herself at him, so Zevran took one or two steps back.

Just in case.

"W-what?" Ah, the Warden finally found his speech again. He hectically altered his gaze between Lenya and him, his posture tense. The elf chuckled. Always nice to see how Alistair had lost nothing of his predictability. Suddenly the human relaxed and, most unexpectedly, laughed. "You are having me on, right?"

Considering the fact of Lenya's steadily growing and palpable wrath, Zevran chose to humor him, if only for the sake of his own health. "Yes, but of course. You have seen through my jest, dear Alistair. I'm an open book for you, it seems."

Rolling his eyes, the Warden turned his back on him, his attention back to Lenya. "Can we talk, love?" Alistair pushed her aside after her nod of agreement, his voice hushed. It wasn't polite to remain standing there and eavesdrop, but it was the human's fault to forget about the elves' extended hearing, not his. And that in spite of his Dalish lover. He also hoped for Lenya's sake to finally hear him asking for more intimacy. Maker knew she deserved and needed some relaxing. While Zevran heard fragments of whispered words, they sadly only contained 'Denerim' and a 'sister' and were thus meaningless to him.

Someone lay a hand on his shoulder, and he inwardly cursed himself for being so inattentive to his surroundings. As he turned around and gazed into his lovely bard's face, the regret about it was already forgotten again. "Ah, Leliana, my dear. So nice to see you."

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if she knew _exactly_ what he had been up to. Zevran wouldn't be surprised if she really did. "Zev," she _tsk_ed and waggled her finger like Wynne. The grin blooming in her face showed that, unlike the mage, she wasn't serious. "What did I told you about eavesdropping?"

"Alright, you caught me, _bella_. I confess my crimes. All of them. Yes, I indulged in severe eavesdropping and making fun of Alistair. ..._Again_." He mirrored her grin, his tone flirtatious. "Will I get punished now?"

Alas, Leliana ignored his request. "...Only do it when you can be sure to remain unseen."

"Do what? _This_?" Leliana shrieked as he swatted her backside, though her glare didn't last long. "I don't mind public, my dear, and you should know this by now. Here, however, I was just trying to help."

"How... so?" Her tone showed she didn't believe him. Walking over to the firepit, Zevran sat down next to her.

"You are certainly aware of our dear Wardens situation. They are a bit stuck right now. Alas, not stuck into each other, as they should be."

"Sadly we played our part in that _not_ happening," Leliana paused with a sigh as she tore a chunk of bread from the loaf to eat it. Through her silence he could hear how one of the women told her child a story to calm it down. Something about Andraste, which was ironic, considering they were on the search for her remains. "And the current environment isn't exactly the most romantic to rectify this," Leliana continued after a sip from her water flask. "Especially when you regard their inexperience."

From Wynne's direction came a snort. Without her looking up from her book, she noted with a shake of her head, "And here I was called meddling. Oh, the irony."

Zevran had the retort of them being more subtle than her already on his tongue, but swallowed it down again. It needed a more charming approach. "Ah, my dear Wynne, fret not. We are just trying to help."

"I don't need to remind you there are bigger things at stake than the love life of our Wardens, I hope."

"No, certainly not." He showed the mage his most disarming smile. "But if things remain as they are, they will get chomped on by the archdemon before they even have a chance of ...relaxation. You can't deny that they are in dire need for it."

Sighing, Wynne shut her book and stood up. "I don't understand your keen interest in this and I honestly don't want to know either. I, for my part, have learned that leaving them alone in these matters works best. You ought to do the same, Zevran."

He nodded with a grin. "I shall be punished for my sins later, yes. I reckon the dear former lay sister beside me will be gladly take over the task." Zevran chuckled at the mage's resigned gesture and turned to Leliana to share his triumph. The bard sat silently in front of the fire, staring into its flickering light. "_Bella?_ Everything all right?"

"Huh?" She blinked and glanced around, confused. "Where did Wynne go?"

"Into her tent, I suppose. You didn't notice her leaving?" Zevran inched closer and put his arm around her, suddenly worried. "She was right beside you, dear."

"I'm sorry. I... was just thinking."

"No need to apologize, but what is wrong?" He brushed his thumb over the velvety skin of her palm, heartened when she gently squeezed his fingers. "I noticed that you have been awfully quiet the past few days."

Leliana didn't answer directly, nor looked at him. Instead, her gaze lingered without focus, as if caught in a distant memory. He knew such moments all too well, himself. It was hard to pay attention when the ghosts of the past howled more loudly than any other sound. "With each day... we get closer to Denerim."

"This is good, no?" Despite his cheerful tone and words, Zevran knew what she really meant. "You think she is still waiting for you there?"

"I don't know. Marjolaine... she is... dangerous, cunning. She can be everywhere in Denerim and at the same time, nowhere. Even after all these months." Letting go of his hand, she let her head sink into her hands."It is hard to explain and probably doesn't even make sense."

"No, I understand it well enough." _Even better than you think._ Putting his fingers under her chin, he made her look up to him, his tone soft. "Don't worry, my dear. If she is still in Denerim, we will find her, if you wish to, and we will handle her as _you_ wish to. You are not alone and I won't let her hurt you. Never."

He stared at her, amazed and scared alike by the words he just had spoken. They slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them and it threw him for quite a loop. Even more odd was the fact that there was no double meaning within, no safety to their emotional bareness. _Dangerous_. Zevran backed away from her face. He instantly regretted his motion as the hurt flickered across her face.

"I haven't truly decided yet, what to do should I actually meet Marjolaine. It is... complicated. But thank you, Zev. I appreciate your concern. Really."

"Always, my dear." He ducked his head, trying to catch her gaze again and turn the conversation back into lightheartedness. "But before we do that, we direly need to find a room for our dear Wardens in Denerim no matter where it is, as long it has a bed in it and we manage to steal their pants beforehand." Zevran winked at her. "So are you with me?"

Her amused laugh was answer and reward enough.

* * *

**Note: **_Anam Cara= A person to whom you could reveal the hidden intimacies of your life. This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging. When you had an anam cara, your friendship cut across all convention and category. You were joined in an ancient and eternal way with the friend of your soul. _(Taken from wiki)


	94. Blood Ties

**_A/N: _**_Onward to the third year of OEaH. (OMG) Here is hoping I will actually finish this monster this year, lol. Thanks for all who are still reading and commenting, especially to my ever faithful beta tklivory. Have an extra long chapter with lots of stuff happening/covering in sense of the overall DA universe and more. Enjoy :D _

* * *

**_I burn to make you understand_****_  
_****_One wrong word and it all may come crashing down_****_  
_****_For the fates are devious by heart_****_  
_****_They envy you your dreams, so they'll let you drown_**

_- Poets Of The Fall - Heal My Wounds_

* * *

.

**Chapter 87: Blood Ties**

.

Denerim was a loud, stinking mess.

Whatever Lenya had expected of Ferelden's capitol, the reality was worse. During the last days of their journey the sun had taken its rare but prominent spot within the clear blue horizon and superseded the usual grey, thick clouds. The heat, however, made the sickly sweet stench of the garbage and _something else_, something Lenya preferred _not_ _to think about_, even more apparent. The picture of Denerim the Beyond had conjured for her had been flattering in comparison.

Getting into the city hadn't been all that hard, due to the caravan following in their wake. Their change to civil clothing and the hooded cloak surely helped as well to keep their identity as Wardens hidden. The market square bustled with busy, chaotic activity, thronged with people, and banners and canopies flapped in the dingy air, their colors bright against all the stone and wood.

"They say you can get anything here. I once got pick-pocketed."

Alistair startled her out of her thoughts, less overwhelmed than her by the sheer size and mass of people scurrying around. Maybe this was due to him being human and therefore more used to the foreign concept such a large city was to her.

She felt utterly lost and was glad to have him at her side. In fact, ever since the guard at the southern gate had proclaimed how elves belonged in the Alienage and joked about Lenya being Alistair's 'plaything', his hand hadn't left her shoulder. A sweet notion, certainly, if a bit unnecessary since his closeness made her sweat even more underneath the thick cloak and woolen clothing.

Her face itched, as if ants were crawling under her skin. After a full-fledged debate with her beliefs, the dye mixture covering her _Vallaslin_ had now become a physical burden, as well. Creators knew _what_ Leliana used for its ingredients and she regretted deeply that she had ever agreed to it. Maybe it was a fitting punishment from Mythal for her outright blasphemy of the Dalish culture.

She sighed. "Well, this can't happen to us anymore. Thanks to me."

Bodahn paid them two sovereigns for the successful escort, along with the offer to store their armor and equipment in his cart for the time being. Lenya only hoped she had made herself more than clear what she would do to him should he even _think_ about selling a single piece.

Not that much of the armor was still intact, anyway. The constant assaults by the darkspawn hordes on the road had left its mark, though fortunately more on their equipment than on their skin. Still, they would need a lot of money to repair and replace the many broken pieces of their inventory.

"Unfortunately, yes." Alistair smiled, purely for her sake. "But we have survived worse, love, so don't beat yourself up about it. Bodahn's money should be enough to get us some decent rest and a meal in a tavern. We'll need to hunt for jobs to earn money tomorrow, not to mention to find this Brother Genitivi as quickly as possible."

Lenya had no idea whatsoever how to manage that. She had felt overwhelmed at Redcliffe, but Denerim was a whole new level of experience. The incessant footfall and voices around her didn't make it any easier to hold on to sensible thought.

"It is a miracle we made it into the city at all," Wynne noted and wiped the sweat from her brow. She appeared unsteady on her feet, since she lacked her staff to support her. "Zevran's little act nearly cost us dearly. We are trying _not_ to draw attention to ourselves, remember?"

"Ah, but I didn't do anything, my dear Wynne. That guard simply stumbled over my feet. Such a clumsy fellow, _tsk_." That made Lenya smile in spite of herself. She had walked in front of Zevran, so she hadn't seen how he managed to push that arrogant shem out of balance. Only that it _did_ happen, since the human landed with a loud clatter and a string of profanity on the ground, face first. She was certain, however, that Zevran did it for the guard's 'plaything' remark.

Her smile widened to a grin. "Oh, I'm sure with all that plate armor on it is easy to fall at times." Alistair shot her a disbelieving look, while Wynne rolled her eyes in resignation. The mage looked older than normal, her face traced with many deep lines, even under the bright light of the midday sun. They had camped before, not knowing when or _where_ they would actually find some rest, but apparently it hadn't been enough for the mage. Of all their companions she seemed to be the most weary, which wasn't really a surprise considering her age and unusual condition. "Wynne, why don't you find the inn and get us some rooms and rest for yourself?" Lenya handed her a sparse note with the tavern's address written on it and kept the other for herself. One of the women they rescued had family working there, so if they were lucky this meant free rooms or meals. Maybe even _both_.

Wynne breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, rest would do these old bones good right now, thank you, child."

"I can accompany you if you like. If I recall correctly, the Chantry is not far from the inn. I want to visit it later to check the job board and possibly gather information about Brother Genitivi." Leliana smiled at the Dalish. "Unless you want to–"

"Ugh, Creators, no!" She made a face. "The less I see of that building, the better."

"I second the sentiment, really," Alistair said, softly chuckling."Though that brings us to the question of what are we going to do, Len?" Oghren chortled as Zevran arched a not so subtle, suggestive eyebrow in his direction. Lenya chose to ignore it, as well as Zevran's hand hitting his own face when Alistair added, "Browse the market? Search for jobs?"

"...Getting your nug greased?" Oghren said, in a by way manner, and shrugged as Lenya glared at him. "Just saying."

"How about searching for your sister?" She nudged his side. "You have been thumbing that note for a while now, you know?"

"Brasca, you are both giving me a _headache_."

Alistair's eyes narrowed at him. "Well maybe you should leave then. Leliana isn't here anymore, in case you haven't noticed."

"But Lenya is and that is reason enough for me to stay." A grin twisted at his lips. "Also, miss your hearty family reunion? No."

"Well, super." Lenya knew she wasn't the _only_ reason why Zevran didn't go with Leliana and Wynne. The obvious annoyance Alistair showed toward him was the other motivation, and gladly received by the elf, at that. Some things never seemed to change, apparently. Alistair gulped, suddenly anxious like a deer in front of a bow. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, to be honest. We have plenty to do, and she... might not even be home, right? And what would I have to say to her, anyway?"

People pushed roughly through them and gave the small group a caustic look for standing in the way of their business. While she normally didn't give a _halla_'s ass about what other people did or thought, it wasn't helpful to their goal to stay inconspicuous. "_Atish'an_, we are in the middle of the marketplace, so can we just move on? You have been telling me all week about how you want to visit her, to make yourself known, if only to warn her of the Blight. It is important to you, don't deny it."

"Yes, but–"

She wasn't buying his excuses. "I can accompany you into her house, if you would like." Smiling, she added, "You know, moral support and all that."

His expression softened, the tightness around his mouth vanishing. "Yes, I... would like that." Enveloped by the warm sunlight at his back, his eyes had a speck of gold and sparked with humor. "Though we better omit the beheading _this_ time, okay?"

Lenya took his hand into hers, uncharacteristically bare but warm as always, and gave it a squeeze. "No promises."

Together they made their way through the throng of people, further into the heart of the market place. The smell of garbage and sweat mingled soon with the scent of freshly baked bread and flowers, an less than savory mixture. Everyone seemed to be in a rush and always on the move, the whole city hurrying as if nobody had enough time. As people slipped by around them, Lenya noticed that the market was bright with clear colors, hued in the burning midday sunlight. With contempt, Lenya observed how in the merchant's stalls the flat-ears served the human costumers, their bearings hunched and obsequious like she had seen it in Redcliffe castle. It made her sick to her stomach.

A groan from Oghren made her avert her gaze from their too-thin faces. "So we're going to follow those two lovebirds around now? Sodding great."

"Oh, I don't know, my smelly friend. You might see something nice for your dwarven lady in the market." Zevran waggled his eyebrows at him. "You know, something that further softens her feisty heart for you, as your, ah, rough charm has achieved, no doubt."

"Hah." For a brief second, his raucous laughter drowned even the most bustling sound out. "Unlike the boy and Missy, I already had my tumble."

"You–" The elf blinked at him and his wasn't the only head turning toward him, though Lenya was more discontented about being the topic of discussion more than the disaster of a conversation. "But she–" One thing she had to give Oghren credit for, in spite of his... _everything_, was how he managed to make Zevran speechless. That was an art in itself.

"She loves playing hard to get, ol' Felsi." The dwarf snorted, visibly spirited by everyone's astonishment. "Always had been her favorite game. Can't say I blame her for it. Gets the blood flowing to the right parts, if you catch my stone."

"Not that I feel utterly flattered by your fascinating company, Oghren," Alistair raised an eyebrow, tone utterly sarcastic. "But why are you following us, instead of choosing the tavern?"

"Heh, maybe to watch how long you'll still be able to walk, boy. Your stones must be blue as sapphires by now."

The other eyebrow shot up to accompany the one already risen, then shifted quickly to an open-mouthed gaping. To save the situation, Lenya pointed at the closed gate not far from them, a lone guard standing in front of it. "What is that?" Maybe not the most subtle approach to change the subject, yet it was definitely better than continuing this conversation about... man-parts. Creators help her, if she had to endure another sexual joke, she would throttle Oghren or Zevran to death, bare-handed, even if they were companions and friends.

"That, my dear, looks like an Alienage. A closed off one, to be exact." Zevran either took the bait or had enough pity to do so. Lenya actually didn't care which was true.

"So they not only behave like cattle, but are also confined like cattle?" She shook her head, letting out a derisive snort. "And people wonder why we Dalish are still a wandering folk, closed off from and avoiding any other society. Anything is better than _that!"_

It was Alistair's hand upon her shoulder that helped the tension within vanish. "You won't hear me argue about that, love. Just don't–" He didn't have time to finish his sentence, since Lenya stormed toward the guard.

"Hey you, _shem'alas!_"

The guards' eyes narrowed visibly upon recognizing her lithe, elven form. "What do _you_ want? The Alienage is closed off and I would be cautious about your tone, knife-ear. Your kinfolk aren't exactly popular at the moment."

"–do anything _reckless_..." With a sigh, Alistair rushed to her side, but this time it didn't help to tame the anger inside. It wasn't even the shemlen's presumptuous speech, but more the fact that she'd been compared to these fawning... flat ears that seethed her tainted blood. For her, it was downright insulting.

"They are _not_ my kinfolk!" Alistair noticed her agitation, and took a step forward, getting in her way. Damn that human, he knew her too well.

"Well, goody for you then, princess! You still look like the ones who had the gall to attack the arl's only son and kill him in cold blood." The guard scoffed, his tone bleeding with scorn. "Then again you knife-ears all look alike to me."

"Ah, nothing about refreshing racism to brighten one's day, no?" Zevran intervened, in such casual fashion one may think he talked about the weather. "As a faithful man of duty and well-versed Denerim citizen, you don't happen to know where we will find this house, my dear guard?" He showed the man the note with the address. Where or when the elf had slipped it out of Alistair's possession, Lenya had no idea.

The guard however, only stared at it with contempt. "Why should I tell you?"

Zevran leaned in to the man, which caused his hand to wander to the sword at his hip. The elf remained unimpressed. "Can't you not spare a brief look? We are a bit lost and could use some help from such a knowledgeable man such as yourself." Lenya didn't escape the subtle mocking nuance in his voice and had to stifle a laugh.

"We'd... better go. Now!" Alistair's unusual commanding tone startled all to compliance and Zevran finally turned away with a shrug.

"Ah well, too bad."

"Whatever was th–" Lenya started to say, though an elven girl coming to halt right before her, stopped her words. She looked no older than eight or nine summer, her face and overall form too skinny and grimed with dirt. Peering up at the Dalish with teal eyes, the girl smiled. "I heard you are searching for something? I can give you the directions."

Lenya was caught off-guard, momentarily unable to answer beyond a stare of puzzlement. Again it was Zevran who raised his voice. "Ah, yes, we search for Blossom Lane, little miss."

The girl nodded and made exaggerated motions to explain the way. "Not far from here - a flower merchant's been there for _years_, that's where it gets its name. Just go down this alley to the end and then turn left. The next row of houses you see will be it." She grimaced. "Not the best neighborhood, though. Hope that helps! Denerim can be confusing for outsiders."

"So much for the light red curtains and dark wood I saw in the Beyond." Lenya turned to the girl. "But thanks, I don't have the time or patience to search for it all day. "

She smiled and whirled around to go, but Zevran stopped her. "Ah, my dear little Miss, are you sure you don't have something that rightfully belongs to my friend here?"

The girl froze on the spot, her little fist clenched around an object in her hand that hadn't been there before. Looking down on her belt, Lenya noticed her pouch was missing and glared at the child. "You little brat, you _robbed_ from me?" Not that there had been much in the pouch in the first place, but that was beside the point.

Trembling after her state of paralysis, her bright eyes filled with tears as she handed Lenya the purse back. "I –I'm sorry. I... just can't go home. I ran away when the fighting started, so many died and then they closed off the Alienage. I hope every day that my mommy will come back, but she doesn't. She said I should be waiting here, should stay in Denerim and learn about the elven way, while she is traveling with her lady to Highever."

"Stealing and lying _isn't_ the way of the Elvhen," Lenya scoffed, but it had lost its force.

"I didn't lie..." The girl protested in defiance, lower lip pouting. "But the people say the darkspawn will come soon, too. And no one is going to save us, now that the Grey Warden are evil and working with the monsters."

Alistair took a step forward and knelt down to her. She flinched back as if expecting to be hit and frowned at him when no such reaction followed. Quite the opposite, he smiled at her, much to her confusion. "What is your name, girl?"

She blinked and swallowed, hard. "A-Amethyne, ser. W-will you report me to the guards? Please don't, I need to wait for mommy when she comes back, but I have been so hungry. That's why I took the money. I'm sorry." From Zevran's direction came a long sigh. Like Lenya, he didn't seem to fully believe the girl's story, yet remained otherwise silent and just watched like the Dalish.

"No, I will not," Alistair answered. "Though stealing is bad. You shouldn't do it, especially someone as young as you." Rummaging in the coinpurse on his belt, he brought out a piece of silver and handed it to her. "Here, take this. It isn't much, but it's all we have left now. Go to the Chantry: they'll help you and give you shelter until your mommy returns."

Amethyne's eyes grew wide and her hand shook, as she took the coin. Looking down, she stared at it and then Alistair in disbelief. "W-why are you doing this?"

"Well..." Tilting his head, one side of his mouth quirked up. "Let's just say the Grey Wardens aren't evil and you shouldn't believe everything others tell you. You're a smart girl, I think you can figure out which is the truth, right?"

Her face lit up. "You're a Gre–"

"Shht!" Alistair winked at her. "Little secret. Now go." For a moment the girl gaped at him, then nodded and ran off into the tangle of people, vanishing within.

"A whole silver? You gave her that much?" Lenya crossed her arms, waiting for an explanation that swiftly came.

Standing up, he shrugged. "This was my last spare money, yes. Spare as in, we don't need it to survive. The girl, however, does. We can work to replenish our income, the girl can't. Not without putting herself in danger like this. If it had been other people caught her on her stealing, I don't want to imagine what would have happened." Looking out into the throng of people scurrying over the marketplace, he sighed. "I hope she learned her lesson."

"Ah, how _nice _of you, my dear Alistair. Even more endearing that you truly believe that the girl will follow your advice," Zevran said, shaking his head. "Even if she did, are you naïve enough to believe the Chantry would really help her?"

Alistair frowned at him. "Well, it _is_ kind of their job to help the people in need, isn't it?"

"The needy and helpless _humans_. That is the fine, little difference here, my friend. They will dump her back into the Alienage sooner than a tithe can fall into their collection bag. No one cares for an elven girl, not even your precious Chantry. If she has no relatives in this city, she is on her own. That is why she steals, probably working together with a larger group of urchins. She only tries to survive in a city that doesn't care one whit for her existence." The elf shrugged, attempting to take the gravity out of his words, though it succeeded mildly. Maybe this all was too close to home for the otherwise nonchalant elf.

"That is how life is, my friend. You can't save everyone."

With that, he turned away from the bulky human toward the supposed lane. Lenya followed, in the hope that Alistair would wake out of his consternation soon enough to do the same. She heard Oghren pat him on his back and offered him some of his booze. "Have I mentioned that I really, _really_ hate the Chantry?"

Zevran chuckled. "Not in the past fifteen minutes, no."

"Good."

"So do you want to pursue this path given to us and find out about the gang waiting for us, or are we going to ask someone else for directions?"

Halting, she rolled her shoulders, feeling the strain within. "A day without fighting would be nice, so perhaps we _should _get a second opinion on what we had been told." Not far from them stood a durgen'len merchant in front of his stall, praising his '_fine dwarven crafts, direct from Orzammar.'_ The last place in all of Thedas Lenya want to see _ever_ again, though the durgen'len from there seemed to be a decent source for information. "What about him?"

Not caring for Zevran's answer, Lenya walked over to him. At her approach, the dwarf showed her his best radiant smile. "In such a time, surely a lady such as yourself could use some extra protection on the road. I have only the be–" Suddenly he peered past her to the trailing and unlikely pair of Oghren and Alistair. "–Wait. By the stone, Oghren? Is that _you_?"

"Heh, in all the glorious flesh, Gorim." He grinned at the merchant. "By the way, you messed up your sales pitch. You were just getting to the good part, too. See, this is why warriors make bad merchants."

Taking a few steps back to stand beside Alistair, Lenya's gaze wandered between the two dwarven men. "Is this a durgen'len thing or do you know each other?"

"Yup. World is a sodding tiny pebble, it seems. This nug here is Gorim, former bootlicker and bedwarmer of the late King Endrin's kid. Threw me out often enough for calling the king a nug-licker. Wuss, heh." Turning towards the merchant, he added, "I always wondered what they did to you after Trian got offed. Not very much, though."

Gorim lowered his eyes, the face struck with guilt. "There wasn't much I could do when they exiled Lady Aeducan. I pleaded for mercy, but Bhelen had the upper hand and enough of the assembly behind him. I heard he eventually even got what he wanted, through the help of the Grey Wardens."

Lenya and Alistair shared a look. "Exile? They sent her to the surface you mean?"

"My sort of exile wasn't... hers. She was sentenced to death for killing her brother, a murder Bhelen ensured she got the blame for, even though he'd schemed about it for years. Exile in her case meant to be sealed in the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until she was overwhelmed and killed. A fitting death for a warrior, they called it. I called it something completely against tradition and justice! But I didn't have enough power to stop it from happening."

"Into the Deep Roads? _Alone_?" Lenya felt positively ill as every bit of the memories of the Broodmother and Hespith she had suppressed all these months came back to the surface. "Are you durgen'len _insane_? She–" Remembering that it may not be the best idea to give such secrets away, Lenya bit her tongue until it hurt, to keep herself from speaking.

_Now does she feast, as she's become the beast._

Blinking at the voice in her mind, Lenya stepped back, stopping only when she hit the solidity of Alistair's chest. She didn't notice herself shaking, until his arms came around her. He understood her reaction and was equally disconcerted.

Oghren scoffed. "Still asking why I don't miss Orzammar, Missy? It's a sodding political pit, full of snakes. Those brontos of the nobles would sell out their own grannies and siblings, if it gave them an advantage." He paused. "Oh wait, they sodding _did_. Surface still makes me queasy sometimes, since there is so much of that stuff, err, air, but overall, sodding great here. It's like a big, bright world of filth without a ceiling. My kind of place."

Gorim seemed to notice Lenya's appalled reaction, and scrutinized her for a moment. "You know the Deep Roads." It wasn't a question. "You are... a Grey Warden. Both of you."

"Huh." She quirked an eyebrow, secretly glad about this change of topic."Last time I checked I hadn't written it all over my forehead."

"No, it's just... you have a certain aura about you, Warden. It's hard to describe why, yet your sort are easily recognizable to us dwarves."

"Nor the word 'taint," she continued, her unimpressed self again. "Since we're trying to remain undetected by Loghain's scum, I have to kill you now to keep it a secret."

"W-what?"

"...Unless you tell us the direction to this address. And maybe give us a discount on your wares, too."

"Heh, Missy apparently learned a thing or two in Orzammar herself. Funny, that." He turned to his fellow dwarf. "If I were you, I'd agree. You don't want to see her angry. Things get pretty messy then."

Gorim's eyes narrowed. "So it was _you_ who put Bhelen on the throne?"

"I didn't know about all... that at the time and quite frankly even if I did, I wouldn't have cared. He seemed to be the most sensible choice and I need the troops against the Blight. I still do, in case you haven't noticed there is still a Blight raging on." Her stance relaxed with a sigh. "I'm sorry for your loss, however. Let us say it is better for everyone involved if she found a quick death down there. Also, I wasn't serious about the killing thing, but a discount would be nice nonetheless. The fool of a dwarf accompanying us broke his armor beyond repair."

"Hey, tell that to the ugly bastard of an ogre that attacked me. Just gave it what it deserved: Oghren's axe in its stinking head."

"Yeah, I'm sure your victory about it will be sung for Ages." Beside her Alistair chuckled, while Zevran held a dagger from Gorim's stall in his hands, observing it from every side. "Need a new weapon, Zev?"

"Ah no, my dear. I just wanted to admire the dwarf's unique work on steel. Say what you will, it is rather marvelous. And I hadn't had much opportunity to look at it before, after all." He was being polite, to her and to their rather miserable financial situation. He needed a new one, since his old dagger had broken when he'd rammed it into the hurlock's head.

Gorim's expression softened. "Well, I'll see what I can do, Wardens. This isn't my business, so I can't hand out discounts left and right, even if I want to. I'll discuss it with the father of my wife."

"_Wife_? You're a _married_ sucker? My condolences to you then." Oghren grin grew wider. "Heh, you didn't lose any time getting over yer Lady, I see."

"I'm no warrior anymore, Oghren. I was injured in my travels here and my leg healed crooked, which left me unable to fight. But I have a new life now. I married into a surface family. My wife is lovely and her father is the best smith in Denerim." Gorim looked up to Lenya and Alistair. "I can, however, help you with the directions, as I know Denerim well enough by now. Come back for the rest later and we'll see what we can do about the pricing for armor and weapon. I want to help you, after all. I'm still a dwarf, so you don't have to explain to me how important what you do is for Thedas."

"Believe me, to me neither," Lenya retorted and handed him the note. "Though someone needs to beat the fact finally into that _shem'alas _Loghain's skull."

"You ought to look out for the City Guards. A human named Rendon Howe is running them now, and he's the regent's right hand and Denerim's new Arl. Came somewhere from the north," Gorim told them while studying the note. "Rumor says that he is not at all innocent on the attack on a noble family in Highever, but it is not my place to comment on that."

"Noble family in Highever?" Alistair perked up. "You don't mean the Couslands, do you?"

"Yes, that was the name." The dwarf nodded. "I remember people talking about an ambush. None survived. Makes you wonder, since that human became the new Arl of Highever so quickly. But as said, I'd rather not get involved in human politics."

Lenya would love to do the same, but it seemed more and more that she needed to clean up a few places first. "Oh, how charming. Remind me to save the shemlen a place on my sword. Now about the directions–"

"Yes. It should be easy to find. Down the alley where the flower merchant has his stall and then turn right. The next row of houses should be it." He gave her the note back. "Be careful though, it's not the best part of Denerim."

Alistair inclined his head. "You have my–our–thanks for your help."

"May the stone be with you, _Warden_." He whispered Alistair's title, seeing another customer approaching his stall.

"We should get moving!" Doing as she said, Lenya steered towards the lane, the others following. The girl had spoken the truth, save for a minor change that probably would have led them into an ambush. She rolled her eyes. How very creative and _not at all_ to be expected.

Lost in thought, she turned the corner as a huge man clad in expensive plate stepped in her way. "I know you!"

She glowered at him, not happy at all about the unwanted interruption. "Excuse me?"

"You!" Glaring past her, his withering gaze fixed upon Alistair's equally large form. "I know you from Ostagar!" Her annoyance ever increasing, Lenya tried to simply ignore the lunatic, who had obviously more than one screw loose. Unimpressed by her neglect of attention, the knight of insanity pointed at her.

"Don't ignore me! I demand satisfaction!"

"Heh, someone has been drinking and it hasn't been–" Falling silent with a snort, Oghren corrected himself, "All right, it _has_ been me, but that's not point here. That human has lost more than just a few stones, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't," Lenya said, then reluctantly veered to the man. "I don't give a damn what you demand, shem! Now be on your way!"

"No!" The bearded idiot was yelling now, much to her chagrin. "You're a Grey Warden! Duncan's apprentice. You killed my friend - and good King Cailan. For this I demand revenge in a duel!"

Suppressing the urge to slap her forehead or to reach for the sword on her hip and stick it in his face, Lenya bit on the inside of her mouth. "I did no such thing, as I am not who you are me taking for." She fluttered her eyelashes for added effect. "I'm no Grey Warden, I'm just a simple–"

"You... knew Duncan?" Alistair blurted out and her drive to kill swiftly moved from the human to her fellow Warden. She loved him truly and deeply, but sometimes she still felt the urge to throttle him. And not only for old times' sake.

You... lied!" The knight roared, ensuring that about every head in Denerim turned to them, watching the spectacle unfolding. _Fantastic._"You almost had me there, but I recognize you too clearly. I will not be played the fool."

"Heh, I think it is too late for that." While Oghren still found amusement in the human's insane antics, Lenya had had enough. She didn't want to fight, nor to know what his problem was. She only knew that she neither had the time, nor the patience to deal with it.

Bolting forward, the Dalish poked his armored chest. "You might want to address this wish for a duel toward Loghain, since unspent idiotic energy be better exercised there. As it is, _that_ human is spreading lies about Ostagar! Loghain's charges against the Wardens are false."

"So you would compound slander on top of treason? You _dare_ to smear Teyrn Loghain's word?"

"Because it is true!" Alistair spoke up, heat and anger in his voice. "Use your Maker-damned brain and tell me _why_ the Grey Wardens should help the darkspawn? Andraste's blood, is _everyone_ in this city sodding nuts?"

"Ah, you really want an answer to that, my dear Alistair?" Too preoccupied with eying the group of guards watching them, Lenya paid no heed to Zevran's quip. Thanks to Ser lunatic here their identities were about to get revealed in record time. Things had gotten out of hand rather astonishingly fast, even for her taste.

For a brief moment, nobody moved or spoke, the atmosphere tense. Lenya's hands wandered to the weapons belted on her hip, hidden underneath her cape, the motion a pure reflex. The knight glowered at Alistair, who held his stare with ease, infuriated at the accusation as he was. "I do not like your tone, ser. But... you may be right," the man said at last, relaxing his stance. "I have... heard of the Grey Wardens' prowess. And you seem... more capable than you did at Ostagar. I won't throw my life away; too many people depend on me. And I doubt guards would pose any challenge to you."

"Wow, there is some sense left in you after all, human." Lenya piped up. "I'm amazed beyond words."

He ignored her. Which seemed to be a common pattern for all the humans here. After seeing how obedient and cowering the elves in this city behaved, Lenya was far from surprised.

"But by word and deed here you have condemned yourself, ser."

"Whatever. Can we go now, _Atish'an_?" Bestowing the knight with the same treatment, she marched ahead with the natural assumption that her companions would follow suit. Instead of becoming angry, however, the man inclined his head, giving his consent to her demand. "Be on your way, Wardens. If I find proof that your words were untrue, we will meet again." With that, his bulk disappeared into the mass of people. Not as much as he may have wished, due to the glaring mixture of shiny plate and midday sun, but Lenya couldn't care less.

By now it like it would take a miracle to reach the supposed address of Alistair's sister.

And the interruptions were still not over, for it was Zevran calling for her to stop. _Again_. "Oh Lenya, before I forget–" She barely had time to catch the jingling object thrown in her direction. "My humble part on easing your hard life, dear." Looking down to her hands, she saw a pouch, filled to the brim with coins.

"Where... _how_?"

"You certainly remember our not so friendly guard, no?"

"Don't tell me you–" The grin the elf showed him stopped Alistair short, before he continued with more anger. " Pickpocketing a _city guard_? Are you insane?"

"Ah, my dear Alistair, I'm just trying to help." He shrugged the concern off. "For the many things we need to replace, we'll need money. The money's source should be a minor triviality."

"And to be honest, that shemlen deserved it." Lenya couldn't hide her amusement any longer. "Oh, I love you, Zev!" Alistair's head whirled round at her, and she felt the need to clear it up with a smile and the look she reserved for him alone."Not _that_ way, _Atish'an_. ...Still, Zev, while this will cover the cost of staying in the tavern, you ought to be more careful from whom you... acquire our funds. Or else we'll have other problems than a racist asshole of a guard."

"This might put a damper on my plans to go for a drink into the noble's tavern I just saw, but as you wish, my dear."

.

.

* * *

.

"This is it?"

More uncertain than ever, Alistair frowned at the front of the grubby cottage. The house was one in a row of narrow, crooked buildings, its roof sharp-pitched and lumpy. There were no dark wood and red curtains fluttering in the wind like in the Beyond, no open door expecting them. The only thing that remotely moved were the lines of freshly washed laundry taut in between two rotten wooden beams. Buckets, some filled with water, some empty, were set in rows next to the entrance, the smell of soap and starch covering up the less savory scents of the dirty streets behind them.

Lenya had a bad feeling about this encounter as they walked up to the house. There was not another demon waiting inside, trying to kill them, and yet there was still so much potential for hurt. Alistair had been excited for days to meet someone of his family, but this woman was a complete stranger. Hence her reaction to the news they intended to deliver was very much unpredictable. He still stared at the front door with creased eyebrows, unmoving, as if unsure whether to knock on it or run away. Zevran looked as if he wanted to say something, but to his credit remained silent.

"Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist? My sister. That sounds very strange... 'Sister.' _Siiiissster_." Now he was babbling. Alistair always did that when the nerves got the better of him. Instead wasting words and time to convince him to go inside, Lenya simply stepped forward and took his hand, waiting for his mind to understand the meaning of the gesture. His fingers enclosed her palm as he finally did, some tension ebbing away with the breath he let out.

"No beheadings, love." Back to humor, his favorite coping mechanism for, well, _everything_. Lenya decided to humor him with a crooked grin.

"No promises. ...But I'll try."

"Err... we will wait here and enjoy the beauty of the landscape, yes?" Ignoring Zevran's quip, she advanced forward, keenly aware of the huge bundle of nerves at her side.

~V~

.

Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dim light in the house. The windows were covered by criss-cross lines of damp laundry, the small flames in the fireplace the only source of light and warmth. The place was as cramped as it looked from outside, the interior sparsely decorated and worn with years. The smell of damp cloth and soap made the air humid and stale, while the bare floorboards were splashed with drips. Lenya already regretted her decision to go inside when no one answered their knocking.

"Err, hello?"

Alistair looked as if wanted to bolt outside as the silence stretched. Before he could give in to this impulse, a haggard, tall woman came from the back of the house. Maybe the house was more spacious than the cramped facade let it look like. "Yes?" Her eyes momentarily wide, the woman tilted her head, confused. "Have you linens to wash? I charge three bits on the bundle, you won't find better. And don't trust what that Natalia woman tells you either, she's foreign and she'll rob you blind."

As she stepped more into the flickering light of the fire, Lenya thought that she looked nothing like Alistair. Especially not like the sister he had imagined to be real in the Beyond. The woman was not unlike the house she inhabited, worn with years and more than a bit grubby. Her light-brown hair had been hastily bound back into a ponytail, but strands of it still fell into her too-angular face, covering it. Lacking an answer, her ice-blue eyes narrowed as red-knuckled hands moved to her hips. As noticeably bewildered and terrified as Alistair was by her appearance, this motion somehow managed to kick him into action again.

"N-no. We – I'm not here for laundry." The woman's thin eyebrows drew together even further and she heard him swallow. "My name's Alistair. I'm... well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose I'm your brother."

Lenya blinked up at him, surprised. For one who hesitated and searched for excuses to not face or confront her so much before, he certainly didn't lose any time now. A daring approach and if she was reading the human's body language correctly, not one received well. "My what? I am Goldanna, yes... how do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

This was destined to end in disaster. Lenya suddenly had the need to flee or to launch herself at the woman, whichever was the quicker solution. Possibly before that human had time to rip out Alistair's heart and stomp on it with full force. Alas, there wasn't an escape out of the situation now. "Are you sure this is the right address?"

It was nothing more than a feeble attempt to shake Alistair awake from the new and all too real nightmare, but better than doing nothing. Perhaps it also was her seeking a mistake, for this human had nothing in common with Alistair's gentleness. Everything about her was raw-edged; her face all hard angles and her form worn down by years of hard labor. Goldanna's expression was harsh and distrusting, bitterness oozing from every pore of her presence. "Y-yes, yes. I'm quite sure of it in fact," he finally answered Lenya, tearing the heavy silence of the moment apart.

The woman remained in place, arms crossed, back straight and eyes glaring as Alistair approached. Hands stretched in front of him, as if to show he meant no harm, the words tumbled out of his mouth. "Look, our mother..." It was too late for a retreat anyway, so the warrior in him sought the frontal confrontation, though his stance looked as if he would rather hide behind his currently missing shield. "She worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago, before she died. Do you know about that? She–"

You! I _knew_ it!" Goldanna cut him off, pointing with barely contained contempt at him, her hand slightly shaking. "They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lyin'!"

""Wh-? T-they told you I was dead? Who? Who told you that?"

"Them's at the castle!" Goldanna spat, scowling, though she wasn't even looking at him anymore, mind away in some distant, bitter memory. "I _told_ them the babe was the king's, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way! I knew it!"

"I'm sorry. I… didn't know that. But the babe didn't die. I'm him. I'm… your brother," Alistair explained, his tone soothing in an attempt to calm her down.

Alas, it had the opposite effect. Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, those red, thin hands bunching on her hips as her face tore open around a vicious sneer. "For all the good it does me! You killed Mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn't last long, and when I went back they ran me off!"

Lenya fixed her with a stare, the heat of irritation slowly worming its way to the surface. All her hard life, the understandable bitterness resulting out of it gave this shemlen _no_ right to talk to Alistair this way. "Is this all what matters to you, shemlen? Money? Before you stands your brother, your own kin, and you treat him like this?"

"That so? Well, he isn't any brother I didn't have before he walked through that door. Unless he can make himself useful, he can just walk back on out of it, can't he? And who are you, anyway?" The human threw her a glance normally reserved for discovering dirt under one's boot. "Some knife-ear carrying around his riches, keeping his bed warm?"

"Hey! Don't talk to her like that!" His hunched position disappeared as he bristled, shoulders squaring. "She is my–" He stopped, as if unwilling to give it away to Goldanna. Lenya noticed a hitch in his voice, if only detectable to her better hearing."- my fellow Grey Warden and –"

"Ooohhh, I see. A prince _and_ a Grey Warden, too." Not caring for the rest of his explanation, she glared, her eyes pale slits of disgust. "Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?"

Unsure what to do, Alistair struggled with his emotions, unable to form further words. Lenya felt herself fuming with rage more and more, the hands at her sides flexed into fists. Knowing the limits of her patience well enough, it was only a matter of time until she gave up on waiting. She didn't know what she would do, but it certainly wouldn't be something nice. And this human shrew deserved every single– a shrill cry of a baby tore through the fog of her wrath, and the tenseness in this place. Lenya's head snapped up, reflexively trying to locate the source of the noise.

"I don't know you, _boy_," Goldanna scoffed, momentarily heedless of her infant in need. "Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? _Nothing_." Her tone were low and vicious, and clearly she intended to hurt him. Her mouth curled into a sneer, righteous indignation dripping from every word. "I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

Lenya made the mistake of looking at Alistair and her heart shattered at the view. Mouth slack and the color draining from him, he stood in the middle of the room, helpless and stricken like a beaten puppy. "I... I'm sorry, I... I don't know what to say..."

While Goldanna's stance gave the need away to tend for her child, she didn't move one bit. "They tricked me good, didn't they? I should have told everyone! Like they'd have believed me… bu–"

That was it. With a shriek, Lenya launched herself at the human, using the element of surprise to tackle her down on the floor, blind with rage. "Someone ought to cut that acidic tongue of yours, you greedy bitch!" Alistair was behind her in an instant, prying the Dalish off from a shocked woman scrambling backward. His voice formed words that didn't reach Lenya's consciousness, as she kicked and screamed to get back to Goldanna. More than the anger was the hurt inside, the picture of Alistair struck down with words worse than any physical wound, his hopes destroyed. She couldn't bear it, needed a release for the cluster of emotions, and the one causing all the hurt was the next best thing for it.

Goldanna was back on her feet and trying to regain her stone-faced bearings, but failed. "Out! Get out! Now!" she screamed, outraged by the unexpected assault. "Don't you dare ever come back!" With that, she whirled round on them and stormed toward the back rooms of her house, to finally tend to her baby's needs.

"We should do as she says," Alistair's grip around Lenya was still unrelenting, keeping her in place. "It is her house, after all." Now it was the desolate tone of his voice that ceased any of her remaining struggles, leaving her slack.

"And there is nothing for me here."

He finally let go of her and without a single look in her direction, literally fled from the place as quickly he could.

.

~V~

.

He was almost around the corner of the alley when she managed to catch up with him.

"Alistair, wait!"

He turned to her with a crooked and fake smile in place, years of practice allowing him to hide behind it. Once again his hopes and dreams been been smashed underneath the foot of a bitter reality that refused him the acceptance he sought. "Sorry. ...That was just not what I had expected, to put it mildly." He chuckled, but there was no amusement in it, his gaze filled with a stinging sadness that ripped right through her heart. Alistair scoffed at himself with practiced self-deprecation. "I'm such an idiot. I was expecting her to accept me without question. That's what family is supposed to do, isn't it?"

In more than one way he reminded Lenya of the elven girl they had met a little while ago. All alone in the world that wasn't even accepting their existence, and waiting for the one person who would. Only it wasn't true in his case. Not anymore. "You don't need her. Even if she is your sister, she knows nothing about you. There are other people who care for you."

His face was hidden in the shadows of the tight buildings on each side, the streets so narrow that the roofs almost touched each other. It reeked like stale piss and misery, the growing stillness only added to the forlorn atmosphere. "Such as?"

Lenya couldn't believe it, didn't trust her ears. Wretched pain and anger seared through her being, causing her to yell at him. "I do, you idiot!" It was as if the one single visit, the one single rejection of that callous bitch made him forget about the whispered words of love, the kisses between them, and the acceptance _she_ showed him. It hurt. "I care for you. Is that suddenly worth nothing anymore?"

"I–" With a desperate sigh, he rubbed his hands over his face. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Family is more than just blood, Alistair!" Disturbed by the volume of her voice, a flock of birds sitting on a roof soared into the sky. For a brief moment their flapping of wings drowned every other sound out. A big rat scurried past them, using the chance to flee from the unwanted company of the fighting Wardens. "Or the arbitrary ties of kinship!"

"I... know." He couldn't even meet her eyes, staring at the filthy ground instead. "It's just - I need some time alone. I'll go back to the tavern for now. I'm sorry." Abruptly he spun around and walked away from her, his shoulders slumped, every step oozing defeat.

Lenya trembled as she watched him leave, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Before she could descend into the dark feel of helplessness, of failing to mend the damage of belief that human had caused in him, her other companions approached. "I take it you both are finished? I cannot say I'm surprised by the result of this visit, my dear. People do what is most charitable to themselves, not to others. And a–"

"Shut up, Zev!" Lenya cut him off, the anger and hurt tasting bitter on her tongue, exacerbating her tone. "You don't know him. You have no idea what it meant to Alistair to–" Stopping short, she kicked an empty, rotten bucket, flinging it across the gutter. "I don't get humans. Why do they do this to each other? In my clan we always cared and helped each other, family or not. But the shemlen! They are so different, so cold. How can I ever overcome my disdain for them, when everything I hear and learn is eventually made true by their callous actions?"

"Hmm..." Zevran came closer, embracing her lightly, his voice warm. "Plain and simple? The world is full of assholes, my dear. Everyone is out for themselves." He brushed her cheek. "Besides, nobody said you should change yourself for others. You are fine just as you are and if anyone is too stupid to see this, it is their loss. Not yours."

"Aye, Missy. Piss on them, when they piss on you. Heh, after you've hacked them into pieces, of course." Oghren flashed her a grin, blurred through the tears in her eyes. "Need a drink?"

She stepped away from the elf, fixed her crumpled clothes and wiped away unshed tears. "Thank you. You are the best ragtag clan a Dalish Warden could wish for."

"Oh, are we a clan now?" Zevran laughed, amused. "I like that. Now we need a fancy memorable name. Maybe the Fearsome Darkspawn Slayers..."

"Heh, are we going to frolic around trees then? …Naked?"

"...and the dwarf who always, _always_ should keep his pants on," Zevran added, lips twisted upward. "Come to think of it, it may be a bit too much of a mouthful."

Shaking her head, Lenya couldn't help the smile that came to her face. She didn't mean to say it out loud, yet it was nothing but the truth, even if she still felt horrible due to Alistair's reaction to the fiasco of this visit. It was hard to control the impulse to return to that house and – _no_. While hurting Alistair had become equal with hurting her, she had no right to do that. No, that shrew should simply continue to 'enjoy' her life as it was. If Lenya was honest, she felt more than a small amount of gloating. Because due to the fact Goldanna had rejected Alistair so very thoroughly and short-sighted for the change of money, that human had forsaken any further chance of betterment in her life. Which was a much better and more subtle punishment than ripping her face to shreds. Petty, maybe, but a consolation to her, nonetheless.

"We should go. I need–"

"Warden!"

Momentarily frozen by the unexpected call-out of her title, her hands automatically wandered to the weapons underneath the cloak, without turning around. "What did you call me?"

"Sodding guards!" Oghren was already in attack position. Zevran slipped easily into a wary stance as well, his eyes fixed on the men behind her.

"Oh, your arrival did not remained as unnoticed as you likely hoped. Especially not after that knight yelled your title across the whole marketplace." The man sounded more amused and much too casual for one who was about to attack her. Lenya took a breath and concentrated on the clatter of armor, her best clue to figure out the number of guards accompanying him without turning around. Any rash move now would mean the beginning of a fight, a battle she couldn't afford to lose.

"Don't try to arrest me. You will regret it!"

"Oh, I have no doubt of that, Warden." _That_ caught her off-guard. Turning around, Lenya saw a grizzly, middle-aged man approaching, a battle-hardened soldier, no doubt. And yet, he had no weapon drawn, nor did his stance betray a readiness to fight. Still, she remained cautious. "Loghain's claims are false."

He snorted. "I know. And even if I believed the 'official story' of what happened at Ostagar, I'm no fool. I know what you are capable of, and I'm certainly not deceived by your appearance. You can bet if I asked my men to apprehend you, they'd all run and cry big, sobby tears in their courtesans' bosoms and leave me all alone to be skewered."

With a chortling, rough laugh, Oghren relaxed his bearings. "I like this human."

He inclined his head to her and Lenya found the tension inside ebbing away. "Name is Sergeant Kylon, Warden. I do have work for you, if you are interested."

The human was odd and yet a welcoming change in this city. He didn't believe the lies others fed him and preferred to think for himself. "Finally a _sane _human. I already gave up hope on meeting one here. Still, why should I work for you?"

Sergeant Kylon smiled, knowingly. "Think how the common citizens will see it. A Warden keeping order, tempering the undesirable element. It might make people think about your order. Plus I pay well. Do a good job, and I'll see you get a couple of silver in your pockets... maybe even some gold."

Lenya sighed. She was in no mood to run errands, yet also aware that they needed the money in the long run. Considering the smug expression in the human's face, _he_ was aware of that, as well. Reluctantly, she gave in.

"Fine, I'll do it. What is the task?"

.

.

* * *

.

It felt good to get rid of the dirt from the road.

And yet, even after the thorough scrubbing of skin and hair, Alistair didn't feel _better_. The cold water, which was all the tavern owner could offer, was not to blame. He knew well enough what caused the emptiness and forlorn feeling inside. Another rejection, another shattered hope to add to the pile. By now he should be used to it... but he wasn't. Every time, it was a stab into his heart, and every time, he still wished for better.

Taking a deep breath, Alistair pulled the fresh tunic overhead and belted his sword on again. Just because he momentarily didn't clad himself in armor, didn't mean he should leave his room unarmed. Denerim was a dangerous place. Especially if Howe, Loghain's right hand, was truly in charge of the guards now, he would need a way to defend himself and the others. He wasn't exactly in the mood for company yet, but his growling stomach left him no choice.

Threading down the stairs to the main hall, he saw Leliana sitting at one of the tables in the corner, scribbling down some notes. The afternoon had just started, so the tavern wasn't as bustling as it would be at a later hour. Only a few people were present at that time, aside from the guests eating their meal, and they were of the sort of Alistair preferred to stay away from: obvious drunkards, cut-purses and men gambling their time away rolling dices and making rude comments in the direction of a distressed and overworked serving girl.

Needless to say, the tavern–though clean–wasn't located in the best part of Denerim. An advantage of its rather shabby location, however, was that they could easily stay out of Loghain's way and save some sorely needed money, since the owner had guaranteed them free board and lodge for the rescue of her niece.

Leliana looked up, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw him. "Alistair!" She waved him over and he complied, albeit a bit reluctantly. Patting the place next to her, she frowned at him. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still with Lenya, on your way to visit your sister?"

"I was." Her question unsettled him, since she was the one who'd notice his return first. Since the rather outdated room arrangement of the owner intended for them to share a room, that was. Something he planned to fix later on, but first things first. "Wait... Lenya isn't back yet?"

Leliana shook her head. "No, but I didn't see you return, either. Granted, I fell asleep for a while, but I surely would have noticed her. ...Which still doesn't explain why _you_ are here now."

Alistair sighed. "Well..." The barmaid stopped by their table and interrupted him, serving Alistair a fair portion of pottage with a chunk of bread. It was by far not enough to still his Warden appetite, but sufficient for the worst hunger left by the road. He nodded with a smile and waited until the woman was gone again. "I needed some time alone."

Folding her notes to stash them away, she rested her head in her hand, while he started to eat. "That bad, huh?"

He wolfed the rather tasteless, tepid mass down so quickly it made Leliana chuckle. Done with the stew, Alistair grimaced. "Worse, actually. I thought as my sister, she would accept me without question, but instead I only found a bitter, cold woman wanting nothing but my money. Which I didn't even have, so she threw me out." One side of his mouth quirked slightly up. "Well, okay, that part came after Lenya launched herself at her, and I needed to pry her hissing form from Goldanna, to be honest."

Leliana smiled. "She is very protective of you. Hurting you is equal to hurting her. That is what family does, right?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Take care of each other." She leaned over, touching his hand. "I'm sorry it didn't work out with your sister like you hoped it would. While I condemn what sounds like caustic behavior toward you, that woman is a complete stranger. She doesn't know you or about your life, nor do you know about hers. And if she is not willing to let you in, then it is her decision you have to accept, but even more her loss. You are a wonderful man, Alistair, but family isn't a circumstance destined alone by blood."

"I'm aware of that. Still it would have been nice to have a real sister. All the years I imagined how it would–" He shook himself. "No, never mind, I was stupid."

"Maybe you have simply expected too much and by that overlooked what you already have." Leliana paused to inhale deeply, her eyes wandering off into the distance of the dim-lit tavern. "You know, my mother died when I was very young. Lady Cecilie, whom my mother served in Orlais, let me stay after her death. Sometimes I think it is unfair that I have more memories of her than of my mother. But that woman cared for me, taught me the art of dance and conversation, even if she didn't have to. She could have thrown me out as soon my mother was dead, but she didn't."

Alistair's eyebrows drew together. "What do you mean?"

"Your sister isn't family. You might share a bond by blood, but sometimes that is all."

He laughed bitterly. "Like my father..."

She squeezed his hand again. "Exactly. Sometimes there are other people, who care more for you than the ones who actually _should_. Those are the ones that deserve to be called family. Not your sister, nor your father." Her eyes met his, smiling. "I care for you, Alistair. We all do. But we all know who cared the most. Who indeed _is_ family for you."

"Lenya..." he breathed, without thinking. "I mean, I knew that and still I was so fixated on the idea of having a real sister, that I made an ass out of myself. Again. Seems to be a pattern of mine, somehow."

"Well, I planned on going to Chantry anyway, to get some information on the Brother. Care to join me?"

"Is that why you're dressed like this?" He pointed at the tattered Chantry robe she wore. "You still have this old thing?"

Leliana shrugged, smirking. "I had a feeling it would come in handy again someday. And while you accompany me, we could keep an eye out for Lenya, or perhaps even run into her. That way, you keep me company and won't lose time to apologize to her should we meet her."

"...Okay, let's go."

.

.

* * *

.

The closer they came to the high-towering stone building, the more Alistair had to force himself to keep walking. Maybe it was due to Lenya's influence that he looked less favorably on the Chantry itself anymore, or maybe it was simply the years he'd been forced to spend in one.

Possibly a mixture from both.

While he waited for Leliana, who slipped inside without notice, he listened to the preaching of the Chant of Light. One of the elder sisters, standing not far from the chantry's entrance, was reciting the verses loudly for passersby. A grin came to his face as Alistair realized that the elder woman's version sounded quite a bit different than what he remembered, much to the chagrin of her fellow chantry sister.

"The Veal holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her bacon and her shield, her foundation and her – "

The other sister interrupted her with a sigh. "There is no veal in the Chant, nor bacon, sister! …You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Ignoring the critic, the elder woman only heaved her shoulders to a shrug. "Well, I'm hungry. It is almost mealtime, isn't it?"

Alistair had to stifle a laugh. He definitely liked _her_ version of the Chant better.

"Hey, Warden!"

Whirling round to the voice, Alistair gazed into the grizzly face of a city guard.

_Well, great_.

It seemed as if they had been discovered even more quickly than Oghren could empty a mug of ale. He instantly changed his posture to a wary stance, keenly aware of the flood of people around them. "Don't look at me as if I'm a Maker-damned ghost, I'm not here to arrest you. I just saw you traipsing about here."

"And you just decided to say hello?" He blinked, bewildered, at the uniformed man. "How... nice. How did you even know about us being here?"

The guard shrugged casually. "Like I said to your fellow Warden, you're not as subtle as you think you are. Also your likeness was passed around the senior guardsmen at the palace. The artist of the sketch did a horrible job, so relax, it doesn't look like much like you at all. Then again, I wondered why you haven't been with the other Warden of yours."

"You've met Lenya?"

"Oh, meeting isn't quite the word. Looked a bit pissed to me. Don't know or care if you are to blame for your fellow Warden's mood, really. But her presence and glaring alone was enough for the moronic whelps on my side to keep a safe distance while they were browning their pants."

He chuckled, fondly. "Yeah, that sounds like her."

"You both seemed like an capable pair, at least to the ones who prefer to think for themselves and not swallow every lie fed to them. As long you don't cause trouble in the marketplace, I don't care about your presence here."

"That is an surprisingly sensible notion, actually."

"Yeah, it's nothing but common sense, which many unfortunately lack. The flood of refugees lately should have made it apparent that there's a Blight going on, and the civil war in the Bannorn is getting worse as well. Don't know how much you both can do, but what I know is: If it weren't for you still being alive, we might as well roll over for the darkspawn horde. So I'd have to be _insane_ to arrest you."

The unexpected vote of confidence felt good, especially after expecting hostility from the man first. "T-thank you."

"Don't get too overjoyed, though. I'm actually here to ask you if you can follow your fellow Warden, tame her temper. I offered her a well-paid job at the Pearl, to kick some mercenary scoundrels out. I empathized the notion, 'if possible not completely dead.', but with that lady's mood–"

"The Pearl?" Alistair looked at the guard in inquiry. "What is the Pearl... and how do I get there?"

"Maker, a man _not_ knowing the way to a whorehouse," he snorted. "That is somehow... ironic."

For a moment, Alistair didn't know what to do first, to blush or stare at the guard in shock. So he did both concurrently. "W-whorehouse? You sent her there? _Alone_?"

"To kick some ass, not to work. At least not in _that_ way." The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And she isn't alone. The other elf and the dwarf are with her."

"Oh, that is _so_ much better!" Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alistair was aware that his voice had become shrill. He couldn't help it: the thought of Lenya with Zevran _and_ Oghren in that kind of place twisted his stomach. And the pictures his mind conjured were all _very_ unpleasant.

Other than an arched eyebrow, the man thankfully ignored his anxious antics. "The way is quite easy to find, Warden. Just follow the lane down to the end of the marketplace, then turn right through the alley and straight ahead until you see the very obvious building."

"I-" His gaze wandering to the chantry, Alistair hesitated for a moment. Leliana wouldn't know where he vanished to, but he needed to find Lenya. Now.

And so he ran.

.

.


	95. Cradled In Love

_**A/N: ** This chapter is very much NSFW. Read (and squee) at your own risk ;) Thanks to all for your unwavering loyalty to the neverending madness that is this story. This is for you, waiting so long for this. You are all awesome. Special thanks to my beta-genius **tklivory** for putting up with my grammar ridden drivel for so long already *hugs* Enjoy ;)_

_._

* * *

_**And you stay, stay with me when I break down  
Like a dream come saving  
And if words should fail here, I'll just read the way you sound  
'Till I know the meaning of love and life  
And it could be I'm understating what it means  
That you're standing behind every word you say  
To make my day slowly dawning  
I want you to know you're the heart of my temple of thought**_

_- Poets Of The Fall - Temple Of Thought_

* * *

.

**Chapter 88: Cradled In Love**

.

To Zevran, being in a whorehouse reminded him of home. He'd grown up in one, after all.

In comparison to the resident brothels in Antiva however, the Pearl had a rather sparse, rough charm. Granted, there were also flowing fabrics, dimmed, colored lights and the giggling of the prostitutes as he passed them by, yet it seemed to be practical instead of frilly, like everything else in Ferelden.

Zevran had been here once before, previous to his taking leave of Denerim to attend to, well, the blond and fiery reason of a Warden who had now ironically brought him back to where he started. Purely on business this time, alas. Even if he _wanted_ to return the favor of the working women and men ogling him, his attention was fixed solely on the group of mercenaries in front of them. Crowd control, as Lenya had called it, while the Dalish stood glowering at what they called the leader of the 'White Falcons'.

"We're the toughest, meanest, and _loudest_ mercenary band from the Free Marches," the dark skinned man boasted as he laughed Lenya off. "And _you,_ little girl, want to tell us what to do?"

Obviously not the brightest bulbs in Ferelden, either. Or else they would have followed Lenya's not so friendly demand to leave the establishment without trouble. Well, it would be their loss and his amusement to see them either changing their minds quickly, or losing a few limbs in the process of doing so.

"Yes!" Her voice had reached that low kind of tone that indicated a severe degree of annoyance, which also meant a growing danger for her opponent's health. "And I don't like to repeat myself, _alas'bora!_"

"Oooh, that is too bad for you, sweetheart," he said in the most mocking way possible and turned around to his men to bathe in their amused approval. "Since I don't like little wenches disturbing me while I drink with my men. Unless..." He made a crude swaying gesture with his hips. "...they are _really_ nice to me." Much to Zevran's surprise, the Dalish remained cool, not even blinking an eye.

"And look who we have here." Behind him, Zevran heard steps approaching. "Come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my lord husband and then vanishing without a trace?"

"Ah, Isabela," he said with a smile on his lips and without turning to her. "I can assure you that was only business. Why am I not surprised to meet you in a place like this?"

"Likewise, Zev." She came to halt beside him, her form as deliciously curvaceous as ever. "Here to enjoy Ferelden's attractions, like my crew? Or playing bodyguard for your sweet little lady there?"

"Oh, I can guarantee she is quite able to handle herself." He grinned, allowing himself a glance sideways to her. "Isabela, my dear, you will no doubt be amused to discover that I am traveling with a Grey Warden."

"A Grey Warden? Her?" Even after fixing his eyes on the mercenaries again, he knew that she was observing Lenya more closely. "Now you have piqued my interest."

As if on cue, the Dalish had drawn her short swords, one in each hand. Her stance shifted to one of a predator on the prowl, equally dangerous and gracious alike, eliciting a low hum of approval out of Isabela. "I see what you mean, Zev. Most intriguing."

Alas, the fools in front of Lenya were less impressed by and more oblivious to her change of manner and mood. Another of the men - burly, mostly bald and as amused as his leader - dashed forward. Grinning, he pointed at her blades. "Careful, what you be doing with those, lovely. Someone might lose an eye if you keep fumbling with them."

Lenya didn't answer, at least not verbally. With a quick flick of the wrist, she severed the two fingers pointed at her from the man's hand. Blood gushed out of the wound and the man doubled over, screaming in pain. "Or a hand?" she remarked, as she hovered coolly over his writhing, incoherent form.

At that, the leader rushed forward, but her other blade kept him easily in check. "I would think _twice_ about your next action now, as it could be your last." She lowered the tip of her sword to his crotch and added pressure. "Or you could lose something precious to you. I was tasked to get you out of here alive, but no one said completely _whole_. And to be honest, I always wanted to know what the body parts of human scum like you are made of."

Zevran tensed, his own daggers drawn ever since she had unsheathed her blades, ready to attack. Isabela's amused chuckle and the now more muted wailing of the injured man tore through the tense silence of the moment. "Very well, we're leaving," the leader finally said. "Clear out, men." Two of his comrades stepped forward and heaved the bloodstained human to his feet.

"Not so fast," Lenya objected to their sudden hasty movements, sword pointed at the leader's throat. "Empty your pockets first. All of you."

"You... are _robbing_ us?"

She smiled, overly sweet and clearly sardonic. "See it as a donation to the good cause. You can even report me to the city guard, if you like. ...Oh wait, they're the ones who sent me. Too bad, really." With a smug grin, Zevran came to her side, making sure they followed her demand _this_ time. Afterwards, they slunk away like beaten dogs, muttering curses under their breath. The bouncer of the brothel took over at that point and ensured they _really_ found the exit. Once they were gone, the Dalish finally relaxed and made a face. "Great. I hack off a few fingers and it looks as if there had been a massacre caused by darkspawn. ...Just without the taint."

"Didn't our friendly guard captain said we should stay away from bloodshed, my dear?"

Lenya rolled her eyes at him. "I remember his exact words had been: _'Not completely dead if possible.'_ So the way I see it, those humans are well off."

"It is refreshing to see another woman who answers to no one."

Her eyes wandered between Isabela and him, instantly wary again. "Friend of yours, Zev?"

"Old acquaintance, more like." Zevran made a sweeping gesture toward the woman beside him. "This is Isabela, queen of the eastern seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn."

"Charmed, Warden," Isabela said, genuinely interested in the conversation, which was quite a feat and compliment to Lenya's person. "I have seen many of your kind in my journeys and there is always something... odd about you."

"Odd, eh? That is certainly the nicest description of Wardens I've heard lately." Collecting the pouches the mercenaries left behind, she throw a smaller one over to Oghren. "Since I will pay in no way for your drinks here or _anywhere_, use this. Your money for alcohol is limited to what is inside and I won't bail you out if you overdo it. I hope I've made myself clear?"

"Heh, love you too, Missy." The chortling dwarf rushed off to the bar, in a speed quite unusual for the stout warrior.

"Name is Lenya, by the way." She turned to him, glowering. "And we, Zev, apparently need to have a talk about how giving away my identity in Loghain's city may be a _baaaaad_ idea."

He was about to answer as the proprietor of the Pearl entered the main hall. Sanga, if he remembered correctly, was a non-nonsense, brisk woman with a great love for her business. At least that had been the impression she had left with him during their last, brief encounter.

Crossing her arms, the woman surveyed Lenya critically. "So you're the one Kylon sent to get those pesky mercenaries out? Tell him I owe him one, though I wish it could have been less messy. I do understand, however, that those men were not to be reasoned with, unless there were weapons involved. So you have my thanks, Warden."

Lenya groaned. "Is there anyone left in Denerim who _doesn't_ know who I am?"

"Hmm, you are quite famous, sweet thing. The self-chosen secrecy is unneeded, anyway. The fire in your eyes and purpose in your step tell me that you could easily silence any of your dissenters."

Now her glare turned toward Isabela. "_What_ did you call me?"

"Lenya is a bit, ah, sensitive with nicknames, my dear Isabela."

"Ah, I see." She smirked toward him. "And you are the only one who is allowed to do so?"

If only Isabela knew how deliciously wrong she was with her assumption. Chuckling, he leaned in to her. "Not quite, my dear. Her fellow Warden, however, is."

At that, her smirk turned to knowing grin, before heading to a table in the corner to sit down. "So, are you two staying now that your business is done? May I interest you in a game of cards or a drink, Warden?"

Lenya looked down on herself and grimaced. "I'd rather leave, to clean up. Didn't have time for that until now, so it is at the top of my list."

"There's no need for that, Warden," Sanga chimed in. "I can provide you a room and fresh water, where you can get rid of the filth and blood." She shrugged at her surprised look. "Service for service, that's my motto. Although the service usually cost my guests money. Count yourself lucky that I see it as a one time thanks for _your_ service." With a mere wave of her hand she sent a servant running to start filling the bath.

"Wow, I feel so special now." Despite her griping, Lenya took the offered towel and steered after the woman to her appointed room.

"This leaves only the two of us." Isabela leaned over in a leisurely manner and started to shuffle her deck of cards. "You do still know how to play Wicked Grace, right? So are you in for a game? Unless, of course, you are here for... other activities, sweet thing. For old time's sake."

"Ah, no. We had our fun, Isabela. Let's leave it at that." It startled him how _quick_ he was to decline this alluring offer and couldn't even pinpoint _why_.

"And you used to be more fun, Zev." She looked at him, dubiously. "I did not realize that someone else has claimed you."

For the flick of a moment, Zevran had no answer. Then he managed to correct his stunned posture and expression to laugh her untrue observation off. "_No_, my dear. I simply still remember the time your husband tried to kill me. I had to flee across the rooftops completely unclothed. Given how many things, human or not, have tried to killed me lately, I feel no need to relive that particular memory."

Isabela grinned, slyly. "Yes... _pleasant_ memories, indeed." Shrugging, she divided her attention toward the cards again. "But as you wish, sweet thing. How about a game, then?"

"That depends. Are you still cheating to win?"

"_Tsk_, cheating is such an ugly word, Zev. I only like to seize all the opportunities given to me."

"Ah, Isabela. I have truly missed your company." Chuckling, he leaned over and snatched the hidden trump card out of her sleeve with ease. "But if you don't mind _I_ will deal the cards."

.

~V~

.

"How can I hel–"

Sanga was given no chance to finish her pleasantry as Alistair raced right past her to the table where Zevran and Isabela had placed themselves.

The elf arched an eyebrow at the breathless man, waiting for him to recover. _This could be interesting._ "Lenya..." He brought forth in between snapping air, which indicated he ran the whole way to get here.

"Curious, my dear Alistair, how she is always the first and the last thing on your mind."

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, something between growl and a gasp. The step Alistair made forward showed he wasn't putting up with Zevran's usual jest and mockery. Too bad.

"So, you are the other Warden?" Isabela gave him a shameless once over and grinned. "Now I see _why_ you are the one allowed to give her nicknames. ...Oh, the names I would have for _you_."

Other than a single irritated look into her direction, Alistair remained calm, his anger focused on Zevran. "Where. Is. She?"

"Most serious, I see." The elf raised both hands in defense, his tone even. "But if you truly need to know, Lenya is in the last room, at the end of the hall. Right side." Alistair finally let go of his collar to rush towards the given direction.

"I notice you omitted the fact that she is most likely naked and all alone in that room, Zev."

"Oh, did I?" he answered in fake shock, and blinked at her for added effect. "I'm so forgetful at times."

"Hmm, so you are trying to hook them up?"

"Trying? _Needing_, more like." Shaking his head, he tsked. "_Brasca_, if you had traveled with them, you would know how much the both have the dire necessity to hook up. Or rather _into_ each other. They _really _need to get it out of their systems, believe me."

Sanga crossed her arms, visibly displeased by the news. "You are aware that I will need that room tonight, when business is bustling? I can't reserve it for the Wardens all night."

He chuckled. "I'm not sure if our dear Alistair needs _that_ long, if you understand, my dear lady."

Isabela's eyebrows shot up in disbelieve. "A virgin? Him?"

"Chantry raised, long story." Zevran turned toward the owner again. "How much does it cost until you say you won't disturb them until they leave the room, no matter when?"

"No matter _when_?" Sanga bristled, but quickly calmed down again, glaring at him. "I have a business to run here."

"Why, yes, I am aware of that." Zevran flashed her his most charismatic smile, though considering her stony expression his abundant charm seemed lost on her. "It could be easy money for you, dear lady, as they could leave the room in the next ten minutes. Where is your sense of adventure?"

"Or in the next ten hours. My sense of adventure is hidden by my sense of business. Two sovereign and we have a deal. Up front. Otherwise I will kick them out in a hour, no matter _how_ hooked they are into each other."

"Two sovereign? Ah." That _was _a steep price for one night. Even the finest whore in Antiva didn't cost that much, and he certainly didn't have that kind of money on him. "May I get back to the tavern to fetch–"

"Up front. _Now_." Sanga cut him off, harshly. "My house, my rules. No exception."

"I'll pay," Isabela said, matter of factly. Zevran gaped at her, taken aback. "What? I'm here until tomorrow and it will be interesting to see if the legends of the Warden stamina are true. And to let such a fearsome slayer of darkspawn die a virgin would be a shame."

"That is valid for both, actually. And you have my thanks, Isabela."

"For this, sweet thing," she said, her voice low, as she dealt the next round of cards. "The drinks are on you."

.

.

* * *

.

The cold water didn't bother her.

Lenya was used to frigid temperatures. In her youth with the clan and the months of travel as a Grey Warden, there had been no luxury such as a steaming, hot bath, after all. Instead, she had a problem with being here, standing more than half-naked within a brothel, with the door unlocked. Her swords lay next to her on wash stand, ready for use should anyone dare to even open it a crack. Her feeling of uneasiness also stemmed from the undeniable knowledge of _what_ the rooms were for, and that some were currently being used. She shuddered and it wasn't only due to the cold water on her skin. The concept of such an establishment had been alien and weird to her, and still was, even after Zevran's fervid explanation.

Objectively seen, the room had an overall warm, pleasing atmosphere. The tinted, dimmed lights hued its surroundings in a red-golden glow, the wide bed in the middle inviting. The fact of _why_ it was decorated and furnished that way, however, made her want to hurry her washing and be dressed as soon as possible again. The provided water had adopted a murky color from the soot and blood from her skin by the time she felt clean enough to leave the water. Rubbing her hair dry with a clean linen, Lenya reached for her tunic as the door flew open. Startled as she was, Lenya didn't think on grabbing her weapon, but chose to cover herself with the fabric first.

"Oh..."

That was all the intruder said, yet was sufficient to relax her. Turning around, she gaped at his shadowy form, confused. "Alistair? What, by the Creators, are you doing here?"

He didn't answer at first, his breathing a bit ragged. Aware that he was staring, he whirled around, clearing his throat. "...I could ask you the same, you know?"

Lenya let out a breath she didn't know holding and rolled her eyes. "A wild threesome with invisible people. Cleaning up, of course, you idiot."

"I– sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"Funny, that is the _second_ time I have heard that from you today." She sighed, the tension inside ebbing away. "Granted, this is not the best place for a quick wash, but it was offered to me, so I seized it. ...Which still doesn't explain why you are here."

Thankfully, Alistair had the mind to close the door. "I heard about your task here and was worried."

She snorted. "About what? That I elope with some elven prostitute, leaving you behind? Or Zevran? Maybe even Oghren?"

"No, I–" His shoulders slumped. "I didn't think, I guess."

"Oh, _that _is news. ...Look, Atish'an, you can be an idiot, but even then you are _my_ idiot. I still love you, even if you drive me insane at times."

"How comforting." He let out a quiet laugh and shifted awkwardly on his feet. "I do want to apologize for earlier, though."

Slowly, Lenya approached him, half-naked and with only thin fabric pressed on her chest. "Are you going to continue staring the door down, or will you turn around and look at me for that?"

"I, err, would rather not. You are... distracting and I need to say this, before I remember your lack of clothes and forget how to form words." A pause. "...Damn, too late."

She couldn't help but laugh at his all too obvious distress, her voice soft. "It's okay, _ma vhenan._ We are alone here."

"Which isn't exactly helping in this case."

"Then I will keep a respectful distance and gaze sternly at your back."

"...Okay." Alistair drove a hand through his already mussed hair, his eyes fixed on the old wooden door. "You were right. Of course you were. What you said about family, I mean. Goldanna is not and never was my sister, not beyond a bond of blood, anyhow." He sighed. "You know, I think in all these months after finding out, I had enough time to picture how it would be to have actual _family_. You have seen it in the Fade, embarrassingly so."

"This isn't something to be ashamed about, _emma lath."_

"Perhaps not, but I solved the situation after we left Goldanna's place with my usual lack of grace. I-I was just so hurt and lost, when I found out how little the picture in my head of my sister had to do with the reality." His shoulders tensed. "That I had been rejected again, by the one person I deemed to be _family_, who would accept me without question as such. It was... brutal, impossible to grasp at first. But even more than that, I regret that I pushed you away, when you reached out to me. Again." Alistair swallowed and Lenya wondered if he was aware that she was slowly moving toward him. "Len, _you_ are the one I should call family. You're already what I always wished Goldanna to be. You have been there for me, believed in me, and most of all, accepted me for _who_ I am. Despite my many, many shortcomings and–"

The words died on his lips, abruptly very aware of her arms snaking around him. "Didn't you say you'd, err, remain standing over there?"

"I lied."

"Oh," he uttered, dumbly, which turned into a strangled gasp, as she leaned more into his back and tucked at the hem of his tunic.

"_Na dar ma lin'vhen, emma sa'lath a ma atish'an."_

He didn't dare move or speak, as her hands wandered under the tunic, reveling in the feel of his twitching muscles underneath her fingertips. And the soapy scent and warmth of his skin. Just as she closed her eyes, he found his voice again, albeit sounding more husky. "W-what did you say?"

Letting go, Lenya rounded on him, looking up to him with a smile. "Basically: To me, you are perfect."

He inhaled sharply, the throat working. "You are–"

"Almost naked?"

"I was to say 'you are amazing', but now that you mention it..."

It was kind of cute how he forced his eyes to not trail lower than her face, though unneeded. Lenya pushed away the bothersome fabric to plant a kiss on his collarbone, her fingertip tracing the curve of his jaw. "I don't mind. I trust you." This was all the encouragement he apparently needed. Familiar arms secured themselves around her waist and lips met the crevice of her neck, making her sigh in contentment. Too many hours, too many _days,_ had passed without an intimate moment, and Lenya hadn't realized what she'd been missing until their experimental night in Redcliffe. Now she couldn't help but crave more of it, of him. It felt good, _right_.

Arching her back into his embrace, she felt coils of heat radiating over her skin at their proximity, the beginning of his arousal pressing into her belly. Her hands clawed at the fabric of his tunic, as he started to nip her earlobe. "I _want_ you."

The words gave him pause. Head rising quickly, Alistair looked at her, breath erratic. "Here? N-now?"

"Weeell," Lenya drawled the word out to cover her own surprise about saying it out loud in the heat of the moment. Which made it no less true, because Creators be damned, she _did_. But to think about her desire was a wholly different thing than to truly articulate it toward him. "We are alone. In this room. With a bed."

The silence stretched awkwardly between them. Whether he was too shocked to reply or had finally became visually aware of her current state of near nudity was hard to tell. Considering the direction of his gaze, however, it was _much_ more of the latter case, amusingly so. _"Atish'an?"_

Rather than answering, Alistair crushed his body against hers, cupping her cheeks and planting his mouth on her lips. The passion of his kiss took her by surprise, though that made it no less welcome. He tilted his head and her tongue slid forward, sinuously gliding alongside his and then into his mouth, deep and crushing. He returned the kiss, joined to her for a long moment. His fingertips traced up and down her sides, brushing lightly, like a whisper, against the swell of her breasts. Lenya sighed into the kiss that he reluctantly broke off out of a need for oxygen. The air inside the room simmered, burning hot between them. Less shyly now, he took her curves in and heat followed wherever he looked.

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," Alistair whispered, seemingly captivated with her, as if in a dream. As much as Lenya enjoyed his attention and how his gaze raced like a trail of fire over her skin, she wanted his touch. Moving toward him was enough to break the spell he was under, and he closed the gap of his own accord. Lifting his hand, Alistair traced a hesitant path across her collarbone with the backs of his fingers, before reversing his hand and lowering it. Gently, he cupped one breast and almost worshipfully weighed it in his grasp. Lenya leaned her forehead on his chest, unable to stop the moan that escaped as he added pressure, his thumb flicking over her nipple.

"I like that," she rasped and Alistair took the words as an invitation to mimic the motion with his other hand, more bold now. In spite of this confession and the growing heat in her stomach, Lenya was beginning to grow tired of standing. Due to their difference in height, she couldn't kiss or touch him how she wanted to and it frustrated her despite his rapt attention to her body. Stretching herself, she curled one leg around his own, in the hope he understood the purpose of the motion. It took a moment until Alistair got the clue, but then he lifted her up with ease. Finally on one level, Lenya didn't lose a second in reclaiming his lips, arms and legs wrapped firmly around him. She was silently thankful for his ability to take them to the bed, despite the diversion of their tongues. Softly, he settled her down onto the mattress, their lips never parting. Lenya pulled impatiently at the bothersome tunic he still wore. He was still too dressed and that needed to change. Quickly.

Finally she broke off the kiss. "Off!" she demanded, pointing at the annoying fabric separating her from his skin. Alistair answered with a chuckle, letting go to obey her order and freeing himself from the boots as well. Lying propped up on the bed, Lenya watched him. Minus Redcliffe, she had only seen him shirtless a couple of times before now. But that had been at a point where she still thought of the human physique as odd, not alluring or attractive. So much had changed in a mere matter of months. It seemed like both, a blink and a lifetime, since they'd met other, and it hadn't been easy or straightforward at all. It had been more like a painful struggle of emotions and identity, learning to trust each other and eventually learn _who_ they were. But, in the end, it had been worth it.

"What? Is something wrong?"

His voice snapped her back to attention, aware that she was staring and of his ensuing insecurity. "Nothing..." Lenya skidded to the edge of the mattress of the four poster bed, grinning up to him. "Just enjoying the view." Alistair flashed her a crooked smile back, both proud _and_ relieved about her reaction. He seemed to be awfully self-conscious about the many scars criss-crossing his chest and arms - which was unnecessary.

"You are gorgeous."

Without haste, she ran her palm along the planes of his stomach, over to his back. "And fuzzy," she added, amused by another detail different between human and elven men. Not that she had much experience to speak of, but she had seen Tamlen and the other hunters shirtless countless times before, either while bathing, or for treatment of injuries. None had been _this_ toned, however, their lean build a stark contrast to his raw power. The colored light hued his form in a soft, red-golden glow, his face and body etched with the hard-edged lines of male desire. It was likely one reason why he was so uneasy with her lingering gaze, his chantry upbringing certainly being another.

Her eyes met his, a wordless plea to sit down next to her, which he did. Brushing her still damp locks aside, he placed a smooth kiss on her shoulder blade, right onto the scars from a bear attack, which had never properly healed. Leaning back into his arms, Lenya savored the feel of skin on skin, wrapping around her like a cocoon of warmth. For the first time, there was no fabric in between them, no barriers at all. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest, caused more by anticipation than anxiety.

Alistair framed her cheek and caressed it with the back of his hand. The other cupped her breast again, then wandered down to her outer thigh, gripping it lightly. "I love you." There was a raw vulnerability in his voice and many emotions loaded in those little words. "So much." He nuzzled his lips against her jaw and she turned more to capture his mouth. Not wanting to break the ardent kiss heralding a change of pace after the moment of peace, Lenya pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top.

She felt him grinning as if he'd expected that of her. His amusement, however, quickly got cut off by the sharp intake of air at the oh-so delicious intimate contact. Alistair wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her even closer. No space remained between them anymore. Hip to hip, chest to chest, as it should be, as if it were always meant to be that way. After a moment of perfect contentment, Lenya placed a kiss on the hollow beneath his still too oddly round ears. Sliding down with her body for better access, she traced her lips over the taut line of his throat and the broad expense of his chest. Finding a particular long scar below his ribs, she licked along its contour, liking the rumbling sound he made and the taste of his skin. It must have been the one their battle with Flemeth left behind, the day he nearly died.

She shook off the inappropriate trail of thought and marked her way over his toned abs to his navel with titillating swipes, learning him. Groaning, his hips bucked upwards, fueled by pure instinct and a craving for friction with her being so close to his hardness. Alistair could easily flip her over if he wanted and take control again, but he let her have full reign. His erratic touch at whatever little he currently could reach of her body, however, already gave away a certain frustration, his breathing more shallow than before. "Len..." he gritted out, more like a plea and undoubtedly enough to make her look up. He was divine. The cheeks flushed, lips half-parted and the specks of gold within his eyes darkened with raw want. "Come here."

Instead of heeding his wish, Lenya grinned wickedly at him and took hold of the waistband of his breeches. "I'm no expert–" she began, but the rest of the sentence vanished in a surprised squeak as Alistair took matters into his own hands and pulled her up. No longer holding back, he traced his way down her throat and collarbone, all lips and teeth and tongue and hot breath, until his mouth found the swell of her bosom.

"Oh..." Lenya leaped and heard herself moan in a way she didn't recognize. Encouraged by the sound, Alistair licked a wet trail in between her breasts to the other, sucking. She grope a fitful of his hair, back arching further as a fierce surge of heat rippled through her. He glanced up, his lips twisted in more than a smug manner.

"I'm no expert in this either," she repeated, her chest heaving. Talking had become harder. Especially when her tongue was constantly getting claimed for another use entirely. "Though as far..." Alistair leaned his head forward, in an attempt to capture her mouth again, while she was distracted. But she evaded him, letting him only brush her lips, to finish her sentence. "I know...we..." This time he was quicker and all his cruel teasing made her even more short-fused than usual. "Creator-dammit, pants off," Lenya snapped eventually. Alistair stilled to gape at her, before falling into a snorting fit of laughter.

It shifted the tense desire into something more playful again, accentuated by Alistair's words, voice low. "Mmm, so bossy," He swatted her backside lightly, eliciting a squeal before Lenya glared at him. "Sexy." She felt his breath hot upon the shell of her pointed ear, the humor gone. "Lenya. I want yo–" Now he was the one with the unfinished sentence, as her hands decided not to wait and acted instead, moving down between their bodies. Grasping his length through the fabric, she gave it a short, tugging stroke and was amazed by his immediate reaction. Lenya had no idea _how_ to touch him there, but considering the rocking of his hips and the shuddering that followed, she wasn't too far off. Pressing down the heel of her hand, she kissed him, all tongue and slick lips, swallowing the groan rippling through him. Even more exciting than his fierce reaction was how much it thrilled her to elicit these emotions and sounds out of him with a mere flick of her hand. Even through the fabric, she found the new sensation of him underneath her palm delightful: hot and positively rigid, yet so very sensitive. She loved how his head tilted back at her stroke, eyes closed, lips parted, his whole body tense and lost to the world. The sight made the heat rush from her stomach to in between her legs, oddly, despite the fact that it was _her_ doing the touching.

Filing it away as yet another interesting discovery, Lenya tried another experimental rub, but he grabbed her wrist, stilling it. Alistair panted, chest heaving up and down in a fast tempo. Unable to speak or catch his breath, he threw her a warning glance, but it was more a half-lidded glaze than a peeved look. With his hands, he got a firm hold on the flare of her hips, and set her beside him on the bed. Lenya raised a questioning eyebrow, until she saw that, while unsteady on his feet, Alistair stood to get rid of the last piece of fabric. _Finally._ Lenya licked her lips, the surge of anticipation sending butterflies to her belly, and more downward. Normally he'd have hesitated or squirmed with getting undressed right before her curious eyes, but her teasing had been apparently enough for him to not care anymore. One tug and his breeches accompanied the heap of clothes already on the floor. _Oh..._ Eyes widening slightly at the newly revealed sight, Lenya struggled for air, her mouth dry. Everything about him was built from the same mold, which was fitting and intriguing, but also partly... worrying. Different physiques and all.

He noticed her gaze and frowned, suddenly self-conscious again. "Are you okay?"

"More than that. Come here." She smiled, trying to reassure himself, and perhaps herself a little as well.

Alistair hesitated, the frown deepening. "Umm... shouldn't you be rather – ah..." Even naked and very much aroused _right in front of her_, he still couldn't articulate it.

"On top of you? I trust you to not crush me, really."

"Are you–"

"Yes," she interrupted him with a hiss, wanted nothing more than for him to be close. Her body's demands pounded inside her skull, causing her temper to flare. "Now get me out of my smalls!"

That set him back on track, thankfully. The ripping sound that followed indicated that he took her sentence a bit _too_ literally. Lenya shot him a sour look." I liked those ones..."

"Sorry," Alistair smirked, entirely unrepentant. "Always wanted to – " Falling silent, his eyes feasted and unabashedly roamed over her body, in a way that made her blush all over.

Innocent chantry boy, indeed. She wasn't buying _that_ any more.

Alistair wet his lips, all glorious and smug in his nudity, but her attention was fixed on a particular, mostly unfamiliar part of his body. Lenya couldn't help but wonder about the feel of him in her palm without the fabric in between. And, oh, how it _twitched_. Amusing.

Finally moving again, Alistair encountered some difficulties while rearranging himself on the bed with her underneath, hopefully without suffocating her in the process. _Yes. Yes_, her mind cooed at the bare and raw closeness, as he eventually found a position comfortable for her and him, propping himself up. He was all mass and muscles and heat over her, wrapping around her form like a blanket. Alistair's muscles flexed and he trembled, overwhelmed like her by the blissful sensation of skin on skin. He kissed her, hard and wholly ferocious, but at the same time gave as much as he took. Her senses were thrumming, pulse racing beneath her skin, as quickly as his breath and heart next to her. It was hard to think and even more impossible to speak. Shifting underneath, her knee brushed against his length, causing him to freeze in momentary concentration, gasping. Lenya felt his fingertips sliding against her inner thigh, tracing upward, oh so torturous slowly. Frustrated, she pushed herself up, as much as his weight upon her allowed, but the motion did little to alleviate the keen ache. Completely captivated, Alistair placed a series of moist kisses along her chest, sealing the fact that she was going to kill him out of sheer –_ Holy Creators fucking balls... _Her mouth left a sharp whimpering sound, so unlike herself. Her whole being hummed in tune, sighing and yearning for more of his touch. After a long, agonizing moment, Alistair finally did her this favor.

"You...feel.." He groaned into her neck with hot, labored pants, unable to suppress it. "Want... _need..._ you."

_Yes. Yes. Oh, yes._ Lenya didn't trust her voice, so she nodded her consent. Alistair sat up on his knees, the air suddenly so cold without him close. She spread her legs wide, wriggling herself in place. His hands grasped both sides of her hips and then he stopped, frowning with what looked like second doubts. As understandable as his sudden hesitation was, it was _terrible_ timing. Gathering what little sense his caresses had left in her, Lenya looked up to him. _"Atish'an?_"

He took a deep breath through his nose, making himself speak through sheer willpower. "Don't want to... hurt–"

"You won't."

"I've never–"

"Don't care." Lenya took his hand and let the backside ran over the outlines of her vallas'lin, then placed a kiss within his palm. "_Na dar sa'len. _I trust you." He was unaware of the meaning of the gesture, unsurprisingly so, yet nodded in comprehension. He gripped her hips again, trying in earnest now, completely focused.

She wanted it, so much, though here the disparate bodies and their mutual inexperience took its toll. Alistair froze in horror at her little distressed sound, shaking with the effort to keep his hips still. "I– " Every fiber of his being seemed to want to burrow himself in her, and yet it was she who kept him from drawing away.

Creators, she loved him.

"It's okay. Just slowly, _ma'vhenan._" Lenya exhaled to relax. The lines of Alistair's face were etched in deep concentration to heed her wish, the eyes tightly shut while he moved further into her. He leaned in, claiming her lips and offering a much needed distraction, until none was necessary anymore. Alistair cried out in unison with her, his hands grabbing the sheets beside her head, clawing it. It was mind-numbing, wholly exhilarating and all-consuming – the heat, the pressure, to feel him so intimately close. Lenya exhaled, waiting impatiently for the burn to turn into something sweeter. Above her, his whole body was tense, rigid. His arms trembled with his own weight, the need to keep himself upright and quiet in motion. Reaching out to brush his cheek, Lenya smiled, trying to ease the tension. Eyes never leaving his, her fingertips wandered over his broad shoulder, down the arm to his hand. She threaded her fingers through his, and then let him push their joined hands back onto the mattress.

Together. Always.

His fingers tightened almost painfully around hers and he began to move, slow and with a great deal of control. Pushing into her again, he hissed a litany of sweet nothings, utterly lost within her, breathing harshly into her neck. The motion that followed was where the burn finally turned into a good, pleasant one for her. Lenya kissed him deeply, feeling the coiling of tension in her body, the shiver that ran through her thighs and up to where they were joined. She never felt more vibrant and more aware of her body and his than in this moment. They were finding a symbiosis together as quickly as they did on the battlefield. His next thrust she met halfway and moaned. It was a perfect moment in a world where no one existed but them. She drank his soft, breathy sighs, her legs wrapping around his hips, yearning for more delicious friction. Her tongue swiped around his, reveling in the elation steadily rising inside. But suddenly he ceased all motion and shuddered, violently so. Lenya's eyes flew open, confused, until she noticed a new flood of warmth within – _Oh_.

Panting, his head dropped to the pillow beside them, before the weight of his body followed, leaving her high and dry, bereft.

"Alistair?"

The muffled but distinctive whimper coming from him was his only sign of life.

.

.

* * *

.

.

He would not look up. No.

Alistair felt her hand in his damp hair, trying to coax him to do so.

_No. No. No. This didn't happen. This...ugh._

If the mattress would have a hole, he would crawl into it, favorably _forever_.

"I–" Lenya was still stroking his back, waiting too patiently for him to heave his head. Maker, she deserved better than the bumbling idiot he was. He wanted it to be perfect and it _was_, until he had to ruin it. "...finished." Alistair let out another whimper into the pillow. "I'm sorry."

The ensuing silence made him look up in spite of himself, the sight of her tousled and entirely flushed from their love-making stealing his breath away. Lenya blinked, finally understanding. "Oh. ...That good?"

Holy Andraste's ass, _good_ was _the_ understatement of the ages. The feel of her around him, hot, so wet, so incredibly tight – wait. His brain made a confused full stop at the lack of apparent hostility. "You don't hate me? I... wanted it to be right, for you to enjoy it until... oh–" His eyes widened at the mess created in her lap. Reaching over to the floor, Alistair snatched a discarded towel up from the ground. That was the least he could do. She was in front of him as he came up again, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss.

"I _did_ enjoy myself, silly."

"But I–"

"Nobody is perfect, love." She smiled at him. _Smiling_. How could it possibly be that he had found such a flawless, wonderful woman in his dumb luck?

In his moment of wonder, Lenya stole the towel from him, cleaned up and threw it heedlessly to the side. "But how about you finish, what you started with me? I'm still a bit, well–"

She wanted to – _oh._ He could do that.

Sitting up on his knees, he leaned over, caressing her cheek. "How?"

"You already had some some fantastic ideas of your own, so–" Lenya let the sentence hanging, but there was no reason to end it, for he understood well enough.

Alistair kissed her, achingly sweet and languish, taking his time with that overpowering _need_ now sated. Softly he urged her to lie down, his body flush beside hers, the remembrance of it so very fresh in his mind. He took one egoistic moment to revel in the sight of her naked, perfect form, before threading down her throat, pausing for a swipe at her ear. "I love you." He enjoyed the little quiver his breath caused and his heart threatened to burst in his chest at the vulnerability and trust she showed him.

Lenya deserved this amount of attention, and more.

He wanted to learn her, to brand every sound, taste and smell of her body into his mind, especially what turned her on. Lenya however, was more impatient. Discovering he had his knee propped next to her heated core, she pushed her hips toward it, seeking friction. He chuckled as she hurled what sounded like elvish profanity at him when he deprived her of this option. He _did_ offer another, since her action made it obvious that he had left her alone in her need while he wallowed in self-pity. Instead of berating himself for the stupidity, it fueled his resolve to remedy his fit of egoism. Everything was still so new and exciting, and the one time, while utter perfection and bliss, did not make him magically to an experienced man. But as Lenya said – when she was yet capable of stringing together words instead of these wonderful delicious little sounds – he had a vivid imagination of his own, and finally the possibility to act upon the wild pictures running rampant in his head for weeks and months.

He stilled her hands, repositioning them on the mattress as they searched for him. This was all about her, the woman he loved and cherished. He smiled into her skin as her hands eventually forgot their goal as he dipped his mouth _there_ and scraped his stubble _here_. The feel of her underneath his lips and fingertips was magnificent in its contrast: hard, taut planes alternating with smooth, sensual curves. And oh, was that a scar? She bore many of her own, which wasn't too surprising given her fierce temper and deft dance with her blades. It made him insane, in more way than one. But Lenya would never stay behind him or anyone, her mind entirely her own, stubbornly and frustratingly so. And yet, he wouldn't want it to have another way. Alistair licked along the faint ridge on the upper side of her rips, next to her breast.

_Ah, yes..._

His hand, never losing contact, fluttered over her toned arm to the soft, supple flesh. Even with all the (too brief) time spent with her underneath him, her breast pressed into his chest, her nipples grazing, _teasing_ his skin as she arched into him, the feeling of them in his palm was just as amazing. He doubted that would ever change. They were rather small in comparison of _others_ he had seen, or rather glanced at, but absolutely perfect. Everything about her was, especially the texture of that particular rounded skin in his mouth. It made him want to thank the Maker personally for this fantastic invention of breasts. Yes, totally awesome. Not so awesome was how the Chantry made a sin out of such activities, but it was their loss. Alistair suckled, catching the nipple lightly between his teeth, and enjoyed the reaction to the delicate nibbling. _Something to remember..._

She writhed in the sheets. "Alistair..." The way she uttered his name went straight to his groin. _Huh, interesting. _Apparently, he wasn't all that done w–

"Alistair!" Okay _that_ sounded less friendly now, if not less sexy, though it confused him since he didn't know whether to run away or kiss her senseless. For now he decided to do the latter. As he parted for such pesky but needed things like air, Lenya glared at him. Gloriously flushed and panting, but glowering nonetheless. The reason for it could be the way his fingertips only roved over her impeccable formed backside and thighs, instead of – _oh_. As always, Lenya had her own head and much less patience, which was why she placed his hand where, well, it hadn't been before. _Yet._

She knew what she wanted and didn't shy away to let him know this, too. And it made him love her even more.

"Please..." Again, his brain utterly failed him. The whispered plea of a word ignited his being more than any fire spell could. "Atish'an..." Lenya pushed herself against his all too motionless hand and for a moment he felt as if he'd combust in flames.

Sitting up on his knees for better, well, _view_, Alistair was momentarily confused by dark-blond curls and multitude of folds. The vision of it thrilled him, all glistening and slick, her heady scent making his head spin. ...But where to touch, exactly, in a way pleasurable for her?

"H-how? Show me." Did he _really_ just said that?

Lenya took his finger to a point of a tiny nub, pressed it down and hissed instantly a string of 'don't stop' to keep his finger circling. His mouth popped open, completely entranced by the mewling sound his motions drew from her. Given, he had touched her there before, even had been _in _her not long ago. But it all had been frenzied and hazed, without the clarity of mind and sight he now possessed. At least for the moment, since every flick of his finger, every cry of her sent a electrifying jolt to his groin.

Oh yes, he was definitely _not_ done.

It was impossible not to look at her. Alistair found himself captivated by the expression on her face, so completely focused and simultaneously distanced, as if miles away on her steady chase for release. He leaned over to cup her cheek and smooth the creases away, while his other hand fulfilled her rising demand for his touch.

And yet again, she surprised him.

Lenya's arms flew around him, pulling him close, nails digging painfully into his shoulder blades. She groaned cascades of breathy sighs into his ear and bit his neck, rather hard. Her whole body shuddered, then turned completely tense before coming apart with a single outcry. She was about to fall back into the mattress, boneless - and motionless - but he caught her and held her in his arms.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the only sound in the room her uneven breathing and their racing hearts. Peaceful. Perfect. In fact, he wouldn't have cared if the Archdemon and its whole darkspawn army paraded through the door, because not even that would have ruined this moment.

It was Lenya who disentangled herself from his embrace first, if only to look at him. She was utterly beautiful with her tousled mess of hair and heated cheeks. "You... okay?"

She smiled, still panting. "More than that."

"Good." Alistair felt no small surge of pride for being the one who'd made her feel that way - after failing spectacularly the first time.

Looking down, her smile widened to a grin. "You are poking me."

"Oh. Um, sorry? You've just been so – wow."

Well, _that_ was eloquent, even for him.

Lenya shook her head, snorting. "I love you. And this here." She kissed him, nibbling playfully on his lower lip. "And if you give me another moment, we can try a second round."

"S-second– " He gasped. All air had suddenly escaped his lungs, utterly dumbstruck. That was it. He'd died and gone to the Maker. Only the Maker was a naked elven goddess who wanted to– "R-really?"

Instead of answering, Lenya pushed him flat on his back, smiling. "We have enough time for once, _Atish'an_. For us, I mean." She straddled him and leaned in for a quick peck on his mouth. "And unless the Archdemon is going to march through the door, I intend to use it."

As much as he tried, Alistair couldn't find a single flaw in her logic.

.

.


	96. Morning Tide

_**A/N:** This is more a silly filler chapter than anything else. I'm aware of this, so no need to tell it to me, heh. Anyway I hope you like it in spite. Thanks for your loyalty to this never ending thing and special thanks like always to magic beta **tklivory** *hugs* _

_Also special call-out to Natzo who gifted me with an awesome-tastic art of Lenya, to find here: bit. ly/152hQEc (remove the space in between and copy and paste it to see the wonderful grumpy Lenya-artsie :D) Thanks so much! _

**.**

* * *

.

**Chapter 89: Morning Tide**

.

Lenya was absolutely festooned with blankets. Much to Alistair's chagrin, she hugged them to herself.

All two of them.

Every attempt to free at least one from her to cover his chilling backside had been futile, as she stubbornly clung to them and never let go. Curled up as she was, her small form should only have taken occupied less than half of the bed, but somehow she managed to claim _more_ than the half of it, snoring softly. Apparently, Lenya was an utterly and completely _egoistic_ sleeper.

He supposed he should have been mad about this rather unfortunate circumstance, but he just couldn't. Not when the grin in his face was so wide and obviously stuck that way, and especially not due to the fact he lay there in bed next to her in the first place. Naked. After what had been easily the best night of his entire life. Maker, if they never left this bed, he would be a happy man. Alas, things were not as easy as he wished, what with the Blight still raging and the looming civil war. The thought caused his smile to momentarily dim. Inwardly he damned the circumstance of them being Ferelden's last Grey Wardens and not just a simple couple allowed more than a few hours of close togetherness. Without their companions watching over and analyzing every of their gestures and steps. And without the threat of his heritage dangling over their heads like a sword ready to strike every minute.

Sighing, Alistair cuddled up against her back, only to lose more space in the bed in the process. Her previously curled legs stretched out to the sides as Lenya let out a quiet mumble. While she did inch closer to him, she also pushed him closer to the edge of the mattress, making him wonder how a person so small could use up so much space. For a moment it annoyed him, until she turned to face him, sprawled one leg over his own and rested her head on his chest. Even fast asleep she was instinctively seeking his closeness and contentedly sighed as she found it. It still amazed him, everything about this. The little things of intimacy he didn't know he'd missed in his life until he had discovered them with Lenya. His finger traced a line from her cheek down to her collarbone, his lips softly brushed her hair. It was too dark in the windowless room to see her face, but she was breathing evenly, calm. No nightmare haunted her temporary stay in the Fade and that was all what mattered to him now. Not the Blight, not his heritage, nor their other companions. Just her being next to him was important, everything else _had _to wait.

.

~V~

.

The next time he awoke the room was much brighter than before.

Someone must have changed the burned out candles in the lamps while they slept, and Alistair hadn't even noticed the intrusion. The thought was a not wholly comfortable one and a subtle reminder of where they actually were. The Pearl. He had lost his virginity in a _brothel_. Considering how his Warden Brothers had tried everything to lure him here once and ultimately failed, the irony of it wasn't lost on him. Alistair chuckled, the motion caused the tips of her hair to tickle his chest. Like it had when she was above him, nails digging into his flesh, with her hips moving and moaning his name. Those were entirely comfortable thoughts in contrast to the prior ones. Not longer a fantasy of his mind either, but an actual remembrance of last night, a vibrant memory etched into his skin and senses. As Lenya shifted away from him with the mumbled words "Stop poking," he knew that he had perhaps gotten too carried away by them.

Alistair took the hint to get up, albeit reluctantly. The air, while stale and bearing more than a trace of yesterday's events, was chilly on his bare skin without her warmth close to him. As quietly as possible he padded over to the privy and was surprised to discover two buckets of fresh water and clean towels at the washstand. He hurried through his much needed ablutions, impatient to return to his very private fortress of coziness.

Apparently aware of the additional light in the room and him being awake, Lenya had both blankets drawn over her head, a displeased groan from under it the only sign of life. For a moment he couldn't help but to watch the adorable bundle of blankets that she was, the grin automatically returning to his face. "Still tired, love? Even after you slept like a rock?"

An unintelligible grunt emerged from under the fabric, which seemed _Lenya-ish_ for "yes," if he had to guess. Crawling back into the bed, he turned to her hidden form, still grinning. "Also I'm sure somewhere is blanket-hogging a dire crime, not to mention _evil_. Imagine me in camp now and you keeping all the warm blankets to yourself. I would freeze to death in no time. You don't want that, right?"

"At least you would shut up," came the muffled and even more peeved reply. _Ah yes._ He chuckled. _Lenya, the everlasting romantic and morning person._

Alistair leaned in to her and tucked at the edge of a blanket to lessen her iron grip on it. "However, I'm willing to forget your crimes, if you are sharing them now." Grumbling, Lenya let go and resurfaced from under them. The surge of affection upon finally seeing her face, still drowsy and hair all tousled, hit him hard and unprepared. And as she cuddled up to him and shared her warmth with him, the heart in his chest felt ready to burst. Waking up with her was perfect and something he could no longer imagine going without. Alistair smiled at her, his face so wide that it almost hurt. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Hmm," she only hummed, still somewhat sleepy.

"How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer at first, then made a face, even as she settled herself back into his arms. "Sticky."

Right. Every other woman would have probably told him anything _but_ this, though those women were not Lenya. A circumstance for which he was most grateful, even if her reply threw him out of the loop. Then again, it often did. "Oh. ...Sorry?"

"Well, that is nothing you can change, I guess?"

"Umm, no?" he answered, unsure exactly how to react to this. He knew what she meant, but that made her query no less awkward.

She gave a shrug that he felt more than saw. "Then there is nothing to be sorry about. As long as it is you, it's okay." He placed a kiss on the backside of her head. "Besides, Zevran told me about that before and –"

"You talked with Zevran about this?" He wasn't sure what to think about _that_. "About _us_?"

"I'm not exactly the most experienced person either, _Atish'an_. Mind you, I was well aware that babies don't magically spawn from the Beyond, or that when a couple disappeared in the woods it wasn't exactly for the purpose of hunting. I still had some questions that the embarrassing one-time explanation of sex in my youth by Ashalle didn't answer. And Zev has been a most eager teacher to fill in the gaps of my knowledge. At least for the theoretical part." Lenya heaved her head up to look at him, the smile smug. "You, however, have been most delightful when it came to the _practical_ part, love."

He chuckled. "I'm glad to hear it, my lady. Though I must say I'm a bit disappointed by the lack of lightning striking me down for indulging so thoroughly in the carnal sins. All the talk from the sisters of the monastery for nothing, it seems."

She propped herself up on her elbow, amused. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Lightning first, then the end of civilization as we know it. I'm a bad, _bad_ man." Alistair was aware of her hand snaking down his chest, and her body pressing closer. "Forgive me, Maker. For I have sinned." Playfully, he nipped at one pointed ear and enjoyed the ensuing shiver. "And I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"Careful, dear, your god may still be planning to strike you down," Lenya answered in a low purr and leaned in for a languish kiss. Maker, at this rate, they would never leave the bed. Not that he was complaining.

"Sure, but if you get hit by the lightning _afterwards_, it hardly seems like an effective deterrent."

"True, I guess. Bless your Maker for being such a scatterbrain." Grinning, Lenya placed a series of kisses down the column of his throat. His arms wound around her, pulling her in. Alistair felt himself growing hard, the combined sensation of her skin and hot breath too delicious for him. Of course she noticed, it was impossible _not_ to, flush as she lay above him. Instead of shifting away, her only reaction consisted of a smile, curving around the sensitive skin of his throat while still nibbling at. "Enjoying the conversation, hmm?"

Alistair let out a snort. "You are on top of me. _Kissing_ me. What do you think?"

"That maybe getting off my ass might help to make you feel less pokey. I'm not bothered by it, mind you, but we _do _have to leave bed at _some_ point."

"Says who?" He gave her backside a light swat for a good, mischievous effect before reluctantly removing his hands. She squealed before glaring at him.

"I'm serious, _Atish'an_. There is still the Blight. And if not that, then our companions running rampant, or the harsh shem lady owning this brothel. Didn't you wonder why she left us alone for so long already? Creators, I haven't the slightest idea if it is day or night, or for how long we, well, did what we did."

"I don't care." That was her line normally, whenever someone brought up the dreaded topic of duty. Now the reaction was his, surprisingly so, even moreso since he _meant_ it. Alistair didn't want to go back into the harsh world filled with battles, death and demands. At least not yet. "Screw duty."

"Oh? Could it be that I have been a _bad_ influence on you, _ma vhenan_?" Smirking, Lenya sat up on her knees, obviously intending to get up. "I like that."

"Me too." His hand came around her wrist to keep her from leaving, and he sealed her lips with his. The kiss was slow and sweet; more a celebration of being _together_ than anything sexual or arousing. That moment had passed along with their teasing, the lines now clearly defined again. What was left was the insurmountable amount of love he felt for her, right now. Finally releasing her, Alistair sighed and rested his forehead on her shoulder, eyes closed. She understood without words, as always, the reason for his reluctance to part with her and simply stroked through his hair. For a long moment, he remained still in her arms, until Lenya turned to him, smiling.

"Don't worry, _Atish'an_. We will have enough time for us after this, no matter how deep we are standing in fallen enemies. Of that I will make sure."

Laughing, Alistair shook his head. "You are such a romantic. But you know that our little group is going to talk, right? They will do that. Even more than before, I mean."

She snorted. "If they do, I will feed them to the next darkspawn I see, and lop its head off after it is done with its meal."

Somehow he had no trouble picturing her doing this. "And this is why I love you." His fingers curled around her chin and made her look up to him. In her eyes he saw the love and trust looking back at him, the future he never thought possible to have. Maybe it still wasn't, with all the all-encompassing darkness and duty surrounding them. The taint running through their veins.

Lenya frowned as she noticed the smile vanish from his face. "A copper for your thoughts? ...Or a kiss?"

Alistair appreciated her attempt to lighten his mood, touched by how easily she'd noticed its shift. He cleared his throat, and took a deep breath to push the grim thoughts back from whence they came, though one word did get stuck in his mind.

Future.

Such an abstract concept for a Grey Warden amidst a Blight. And yet he _wanted_ all of that. To wake up beside her every day, no matter the time or place, for as long as the taint it allowed.

Future. With her that weighty word finally had a meaning.

"We had better get up, or we never will." Her sudden movement pulled him out of his thoughts, and he watched her reclaim her clothes from the heap on the floor. Alistair inched to the edge of the bed himself, but instead of getting up like her, Alistair remained sitting on it.

"Lenya?"

She turned to him, confused. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Huh?" Her frown deepened. "For what?"

Alistair smiled, uneasy, and suddenly regretted blurting it out without thinking. "For being you. For everything. I'm... simply grateful to have you in my life."

"Oh, _that_ came across last night just fine, love."

A hint of amusement twitched the corner of his mouth. "Is that so?"

Lenya rolled her eyes at him, more in jest than annoyance."Fishing for compliments?" Then she slipped the over-sized tunic over her head, which covered her from head to knee. Somehow her dressed state made it official that their time of intimacy was now over, even though he was still stark naked and too preoccupied with his own thoughts to really change it.

"No...I –" He stopped with a sigh. "That wasn't I meant. I mean... for all of it, including being here with you, and not only because of what happened last night."

"Sex? You _do_ know you can use that particular word without having to wash your mouth afterward, right?"

"Right." He shook his head, snorting."Would you please listen to me for a moment?"

Lenya shifted her weight from one foot to another, humoring him with an extra-attentive pose. "I'm all ears, _Atish'an_."

"I love you. That in itself is... _wow_. Not that I love you, because how can I not? You are an amazing, witty and genuine woman. Refreshingly and frustratingly blunt and headstrong on top of that. One must be a fool not to fall for you and... you drive me insane, in more ways than one." He took a deep breath, her questioning gaze not exactly helping him get the words out.

"...You aren't proposing to bond formally now, are you?" Somehow the confusion in her face had shifted to pure... panic? It took him a moment to understand _why_ she stared at him like a deer in front of a bow, eyes wide.

"No, no, _no_," he rushed to say, then added with a grin to ease the tension, "Beside you won't land me _that_ easily, Len. I know I'm quite the prize, after all."

Chuckling, Lenya walked over to him and allowed him to pull her into a hug again."Good. It would be boring otherwise."

Alistair inhaled the scent of her skin, still mingled with own. His fingers gently traced down the line of her jaw and looked up to her, suddenly serious. "You know, all my life I've felt alone, even with others around me. I always thought that no one understood me, or cared for me. I will be forever thankful to Duncan for freeing me from a life I never wanted, for showing me acceptance I never knew before." He smiled. "But most of all I'm grateful he brought you to me, into my life. I never thought it would be possible for me to find someone who would love me and making me feel all..._this_. I wasn't sure it could happen, in fact. And now, it has. I-I'm _happy_."

When Lenya didn't respond to his bumbling, but heartfelt confession, he looked for her eyes to gauge a reaction, only to find them closed and her smiling. Leaning in, she gave him a brief kiss. "Silly, you don't have to thank me. I'm glad it is you. And that you are the first man with whom I have shared this with."

His lips quirked up against hers. "Sex, you mean?"

She cast a glance at him through lowered lashes, her lips brushing his cheek lightly, like a whisper. "Hmm, such a quick learner, you are. I look forward to how you are going to put this ability of yours to good use."

While his brain still failed him due to her unexpected _purred_ innuendo, Lenya was already on her way to the washstand. Finally recovered, he stood up from the bed as well, only to get hit by dripping wet cloth in his face. Lenya's ensuing fit of laughter indicated that he was her intended target. "But for now, love, we need to get ready and head out. Unless you want our companions storming through this very door to find you still naked, that is."

Sighing, Alistair resigned himself to her unusual sense of duty, and started to dress. "I hate it when you make sense."

.

.

* * *

.

Fully clothed and armed outside of the room they had taken over the night before, Lenya shifted uncomfortably.

Her body ached in places she didn't know _could_ ache. It wasn't much more than an annoyance, a momentary discord of her body due to the novelty of the experience. Yet it had been also the reason why she had urged them to hurry, instead remainig entwined in his arms, using duty as false pretense to leave.

"Are you... okay?" Sighing, she stopped. Of course he would notice. For a moment, Lenya wondered – now that they had ripped down the last boundary of intimacy– if she could ever keep a secret from him, or tell him little white lies, when needed. As attuned as they were to each other –taint connection and all– she wasn't quite certain. Not that she _wanted_ to lie, but she also didn't want to discuss every _little_ detail with him. Sometimes silence was golden, though unfortunately such a state seemed impossible with a talkative man like Alistair.

Smiling, she eventually faced him."Yes, my brother?"

"_Brother_?" He raised a suspicious eyebrow at her. "Where is that coming from all of a sudden?"

"Well, you _are_ my Warden brother, right?"

"Err, yes? And if we speak in official Warden ranks, you are my sister. But I wouldn't do _that_ with my sister, so I'd prefer not to refer to you as such." Alistair made a face. "It's a bit weird."

"I do remember you called me family yesterday, though."

"Yes and you know how I feel about y– wait, I see what you're doing. You changed the topic and are trying to distract me. Clever, really. So what is wrong?"

_Damn him._ Lenya groaned, annoyed. _This stupid, attentive, handsome human oaf._ "Fine. Look, sex is great and I love it, with you, that is. Last night was perfect and I actually understand now why Zev talks about it so much, but I feel a bit... funny." She grimaced. "I guess it's because I'm not used to it and–"

His eyes widened. "Did I hurt–"

No. _No_." Lenya sighed. "See, this is why I didn't want to tell you. You are so sweet and considerate, but you don't need to fuss over me _all_ the time. I'm a big girl, _Atish'an_. I can handle it."

"Of that I have no doubt, love." He closed the gap between them, ducking in for a kiss. "Is this why you wanted to leave so quickly?"

She nodded and shifted from one feet to the other. "I know us and where it would have led if we hadn't left. And I don't feel up to it, at least not right now. I guess I didn't want to disappoint you. So it is better to return to the others and–" She cleared her throat, feeling the tips of her ears burn. "Can we please stop talking about it and leave this horribly decorated hallway and the obviously actively used rooms behind? This is getting increasingly awkward now." Behind the wooden door right beside them was frantic moaning audible, making it apparent that they were still standing in a brothel.

"I made you flustered?" Alistair laughed out. "Wow."

Lenya glanced sideways, a bit peeved by his reaction. "You make me feel a lot of things, actually. I just haven't had time to sort them in yet."

"Hey." She felt his fingers under her chin, making her look up. "I'm new to this myself, remember? But I would never do anything you don't want and enjoy, too. I'm not that kind of man, Len."

"I know." Lenya let out a breath she didn't remember holding. "And I lov–"

"'scuse, me." A curvaceous woman pushed herself through them and knocked at said wooden door, before yelling through it. "You're the last, Parth. If you don't have your shriveling dick out of her in ten minutes I will leave your sorry ass on dry land." Laughing, she added, "Actually knowing you, you only need _five_." Waiting, she leaned herself on the door in a leisurely manner, arms crossing over her chest in a manner which only accentuated her busty features and deep cleavage even more. On closer observation, Lenya was confused to see that she wore no breeches at all, her dark skin barely covered with the long but flimsy tunic. The woman didn't seem to mind, her bearings oozed pride and confidence.

"Oh look who we have here." Her brown eyes lit up with recognition and amusement as she regarded them. "The Wardens in person, returned from a _looong_, wild night. Seems the rumors are true, after all. Interesting."

"W-wild night? Rumors?" Alistair repeated, dumbstruck.

She pointed at his neck and smirked. "Bite marks. A clear sign you both had fun and that you already know how to please your woman. A natural talent, eh?" By now, Alistair was beet red and self-consciously covering his neck with one hand.

"Isabela, right?" Lenya wasn't even aware of the step she made, until she stood in between her and Alistair. She felt an inexplicable surge of irritation. "You were here with Zev yesterday."

Isabela smiled at her, unfazed by the sudden tension in her voice. "Hmm, I'm honored you remember me, Warden. Though I wasn't here for, nor _with_ Zevran. My men needed to blow off some steam before we sail far away from the Blight."

"Oh, so that man behind the door is your–" Alistair blurted, pointing.

"Crewman, yes. I'm the captain of 'The Siren Call', the ship waiting for me at Denerim's harbor. What did you think, sweet thing?" Isabela laughed, but the amusement faded quickly. "No. I never have affairs with my crew. Once they see you naked with your ass up in the air, they think they don't need to take orders anymore." She shook her head."Men, ugh. You have to be twice as tough to get half as much respect."

Alistair blinked, visibly uncomfortable. "I'll, uhh, try to remember that the next time I see a darkspawn. No bare asses. Noted."

"Darkspawn?" Isabela chuckled. "Is this the only thing men think about these days? What about the good old obsessions? Breasts, firm buttocks, wet frocks?"

"Hmm, wet frocks," Alistair trailed off with a happy sigh, which earned him a glare from his fellow Warden. Lenya respected Isabela's attitude actually, for it sounded reasonable. She only had to remember the mercenaries' demeanor yesterday, to recognize the truth in her words. Yet at the same time she couldn't push away a nagging feeling of annoyance at the human's overall flirty presence. Somehow it was as if Zevran stood in front of her, only as a woman. And Lenya wasn't quite sure what to make of _that_.

"It's a pity I have to leave so soon. I'm sure you, Lenya, would greatly benefit from my abilities."

The Dalish blinked, surprised that the woman remembered her name. "Abilities?"

"My style of fighting," Isabela clarified, pride in her voice. "I fight with quickness and wit, rather than with brute force and strength. As do you. At least, from what I gathered of your stance and way of moving during the clash with those fools yesterday. The purpose in your steps and quick reflexes are easily recognizable."

"Thanks... I guess." Notwithstanding the praise, Lenya felt uncomfortable with the way the human was looking at her. Like a prized animal, or a meal to be devoured.

"Wait, are you..." Alistair swallowed. "..._flirting_ with her?"

"If you have to ask..." Isabela shrugged and her lips quirked up, amused. "Why, feeling left out, sweet thing? I have a big ship, which definitely has room for you, too. Maybe I could entice you to leave your Order and sign up as one of my crewmen? Oh, I would have good use for your strong hands at my... helm."

"Are implying that we should– with you? All together?" He cleared his throat, driving an agitated hand through his hair. "Wow. And here I am, awake and everything." Lenya knew his body language well enough to recognize his current trail of thought, even without looking directly at him. And she did not like it.

Gripped by a sudden ferocity, she closed the little gap in between Isabela and herself, the tone harsh. "Just to make this clear, human. Neither do I swing this way, nor do I share. Food, yes." She stopped, raging. "_Perhaps_. But Alistair? Fuck, no."

"I did not meant to cause offense, sorry." The woman raised her hands in defense. "By all means he is yours. It was simply a bit of harmless fun, Warden."

"Err, can you actually speak as if I'm in the room. Because I _am_."

Lenya's eyes narrowed at her, ignoring him. "_This_ is your idea of fun?"

Isabella smiled, wryly. "If you sail with a bunch of hooting and drooling males for months, it indeed is, sweet thing. However, I would prefer not to linger on this. I have enemies enough and I would like to avoid making more."

"Whatever." Urging him to go, Lenya practically shoved Alistair out of the hallway and toward the exit. She no longer wanted to be close to that woman, nor in this place.

"Good luck with the Blight. I think you'll need it," she heard Isabela calling after her, but she didn't turn around, too eager to leave.

.

.

* * *

.

The light outside was blinding at first. The midday sun stood high up in the cloudless sky and shone brightly against the row of buildings behind them.

As busy as she was with glaring at her lover, Lenya couldn't care less. "What. Was. That?" She accentuated each word with an angry poke at his chest.

Blinking, Alistair backed away, intimidated and confused by her fierce reaction. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, don't dumb with me, _alas'bora_. You know exactly what I mean! The dreamy sigh and all that flirting with that human? Does that ring a bell?"

"Are you _jealous_, Len?" Much to her overall frustration, his bewilderment quickly changed into a sly grin. "Not that I have much experience, but I'm certain this is how jealousy looks like."

"No, I–" Wait, why did she find herself suddenly in the position to defend her own actions? Lenya threw her hands up. "You are maddening! Remember, it was not I who was drooling over the possibility of leaving with Isabela a moment ago, Blight be damned. Stupid human and her stupid curves and ample bosom, I will never–" Eyes widening, she caught her words before they could continue to tumble out, appalled at herself. "Creators, _listen_ to me. I sound like the women I used to laugh about. I _hate_ you."

His grin grew wider. "No, you don't!"

"Let us just return to the others. This is inane and has never happened." Before Lenya could stalk away, she found herself in his embrace, his lips locked on hers.

"I think it's cute, actually." He remained so close to her that his breath tickled her face.

"Cute?" she asked in a voice reserved for irritation, and Alistair adjusted.

"And hot." Smiling, he kissed her again. "Though you are aware that I have no interest whatsoever in Isabela or other women, I hope? I'm all yours."

She resigned with a sigh. "I don't own you, _Atish'an_. Jealousy is stupid."

"Maybe. Still all yours," Alistair repeated with more resolve, smothering her protest. Lenya felt his fingers brushing over her chest, threading down the hips to her backside, and resting there. "And for the record, your curves _are_ sublime. I hope I made that clear last night. If not, well, I need to ensure you understand it _next _time then."

It was frightening how much power his words and actions had over her. Lenya needed a moment to collect her thoughts, completely scattered as they were by his whispered, low voice. "I –"

"There you are, Warden. I had wondered where you've been." Lenya turned toward the interruption and saw the human guard, Kylon, grinning at her. "Well, at least now I know _why_ you haven't reported back yet, in spite of your success in the Pearl. In more way than one, I see."

Startled, Alistair finally removed his hands from her bottom and backed away from her. Lenya's eyes narrowed at him. "None of your business."

"True, so let's talk _about_ business then." The human shrugged, the faces of the four guards accompanying him forcibly blank. "Scrapes, bruises, and a few broken things... but no deaths. You showed restraint and made the mercenaries leave." Kylon stepped closer, nodding with approval. "Well done, as expected." Which remembered Lenya on the fact that he was one of the few humans outside her group who ever had shown her respect. "By the way, isn't that your dwarven companion who is lying there in the corner?"

Frowning, Lenya whirled around to the place where he pointed and recognized the shadowed form as Oghren. Occupied as she had been, his snoring presence had completely eluded her attention. Walking over, she kicked his form, voice annoyed. "Wake up, you utter moron!" Not only had Oghren managed to lose his clothes and the pouch she had given him, but also his weapon. _Fantastic._

"Bah, can't a dwarf even sleep in–" Oghren blinked up to her and laughed. "Aye, Missy, nice to see ya."

Whoever had robbed him blind at least had had the decency - or sense of civic duty - to leave him his underwear. Which was only a mild improvement over his near-naked, way too hairy appearance. It was as if Arai – _no_, she refused to complete that particular trail of thought. "Can't say the same. Get up."

"I would have preferred to continue ignoring him," Alistair piped in. At Lenya's sour look, he added, "What? It's not as if you gave me the chance to tell you, as busy as you were with yelling at me."

Ignoring Alistair, she glared at Oghren. "And _you_: what, by the Creators, happened? How did you manage to lose not only your clothes, but also your weapon? You are the worst, Oghren!"

"Heh, love ya, too, Missy." The dwarf grinned at her. Entirely unperturbed by his state, he scratched his hairy, round belly, thinking. "There was ale involved. A lot of ale and–"

"No, actually, I don't care!" Lenya cut him off, fed up by his carelessness. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

Behind her, Kylon snorted. "Welcome to my world, Ward–"

"You!" A group of armed men entered the scene and Lenya recognized them immediately. The same mercenaries she had spared the day before.

So much for mercy.

One of them stepped forward, his bearings haughty, certain of his superiority. Already Alistair was moving in position, even before their leader had spoken the first words. "I don't give a rat's turd who you are. _Nobody_ gives orders to my men but me. A little lesson in respect is in order. Anyone who hurts one of the White Falcons answers to me!"

Kylon let out an exasperated groan, which perfectly summed up how Lenya felt about the newest development of events. "Don't bother to spare these louts. Things are about to get messy." He yelled orders to his guards, right in time with the sound of blades drawn, and the first attack.

She whirled away from a brute charging at her and the two-handed sword he brought down in a heavy swing. Fortunately, he wasn't particularly skilled or fast, giving her enough time to unsheathe her own weapons and strike back in deathly precision. Slashing out with her blades in quick thrusts and stabs, Lenya sensed another man behind her. She dodged out of harm's way just in time and used the momentum to cut across unprotected limbs to disarm and disable the next. Without intent, Lenya found herself back to back with Alistair and moving in synch with him. She was aware of his missing shield and even more of an unarmed, near-naked Oghren _somewhere _in this chaos, which only fueled her resolve to end the battle as quickly as possible.

There was an awful crack and the single archer of their group went down with a howl, dropping his bow. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Kylon being the one responsible for his timely and brutal death. Oghren charged at the leader in all his unprotected glory, springing onto his back and wrestling him down, bare-handed. If she'd had time to spare outside of her own fighting, Lenya would have stopped to stare at the spectacle in disbelief. Instead, she switched positions with Alistair to deal with the remaining two mercenaries, feeling confident with him at her side. Blood stained the dirt with dark red as the men on the ground bled out, the rest of them quickly following. The sound of a neck cracking and an unfinished scream heralded the end of the leader's life, and Oghren's triumph.

Chortling, the dwarf kicked the twisted body. "Heh, no one can handle mighty Oghren."

"I'm inclined to agree," Lenya brought out in between short-breathed huffs and pants. "You are absolutely _insane_, _durgen'len_."

"Thanks, Missy," he answered, clearly pleased with himself, and picked up the two-handed weapon next to the dead man. "Now that's a sodding fine axe. See, weapon problem fixed."

"The clothes problem is still intact, however," she muttered under her quickened breath, while experimentally flexing her muscles and limbs. It was her way to check for missed injuries and cuts. Glad to find none – save for a couple of bruises– the Dalish turned to her fellow Warden. He had been awfully quiet in motion and words once the fight was over. She felt a surge of panic at seeing him clutch his arm with the other hand."You're hurt, let me see."

"It's not deep cut, don't worry, love. I guess I'm simply not accustomed to fighting without a shield anymore."

"Hmm, then we should pick up sparring again, I think. There are still a few tricks I could show you with the sword." Lenya fell silent with a frown. _Creators, why did suddenly everything had to sound so suggestive?_

"Heh, I'm sure the boy is eager to show you his sword tricks too, Missy."

Instead of being peeved at Oghren's predictability, she smirked at the dwarf. "Oh, I look forward to that, as well."

Kylon cleared his throat, the sound reminding her of his presence. Except for one unfortunate fellow on the ground, the guards around him were largely unharmed. One was limping, another one held his side, but it was nothing medical treatment and time couldn't fix. "And people actually _voluntarily_ attack you? Are they just stupid?"

She shrugged, unable to hide the smirk on her face, as dry as his comment was. Lenya was truly beginning to appreciate this human. "I fight for my life day after day, and this for almost a year now. I guess if you do that, you get a hang of it."

He snorted. "Quite the understatement. Anyway, Warden, here's the payment I promised. And a little extra, since I now have one less group to watch out for causing trouble."

"Huh, so you wanted to pay me for not killing them, and now I get a bonus for doing so? Curious."

"I might have more work, if you're interested. I need to head back to the Market District. The back alleys are just too dangerous for me." He sighed. "And now I need to explain to his noble father that being a guard _is_ actually dangerous." Kylon nodded at his uninjured men who picked the body of their fallen comrade up. "Wish me luck and you shall have the same, Warden. I'm sure you will need it with so many people opposing you. I will do the best in my power to smother those slanders against you. As for the job, you know where to find me."

"Thanks." Lenya waited until the humans were gone and turned to her companions. "Let's get you to Wynne, _Atish'an_. And you, Oghren, to some clothes. Quickly."

.

.


	97. Second Chances

_**A/N: **Wrapping up Denerim and lots of character stuff. That is the base and motto of this chapter. Especially thanks to awesome beta tklivory. Enjoy :) _

* * *

_**I've heard the rumors, started fires,  
I sowed a sordid lot of plays for keeps for what I need,  
Behold the demons that I freed,  
I've tried my best at wearing the hard hat,  
but healing doesn't seem to happen  
when you hide away the seed**_

-Poets of the Fall, _Roses_

.

* * *

.

**Chapter 90: Second Chances**

.

"Okay, who do I have to kill for a hot bath?"

The ensuing silence in the tavern told Lenya that her question was perhaps a bit misplaced, especially with her being still covered in the blood of the mercenaries. "Sorry," the Dalish added as an afterthought toward the wide-eyed, elderly owner of the tavern. The woman looked about Wynne's age, though her dark hair was only streaked with a bit of grey, and the wrinkles in her face not quite as deep.

"Err, we can arrange it shortly, if you are willing to pay a bit extra for the amount of work needed. Twenty silver, dear." She smiled at the Dalish, little crinkles formed around her gray eyes. "If you don't mind me asking, is it possible that you somehow attract trouble?" Behind Lenya, Alistair and Oghren laughed out in unison, though they remained quiet otherwise.

"I didn't start it, in both cases." Lenya waved her off and rummaged in her pocket for the money. "And in one it saved your niece's life, if I remember correctly, human." She handed the woman the payment while her eyes searched for their companions in the dim light. At that time of day only the regular guests and notorious drunkards were present, though its empty state did little to lessen the overall stench of cheap ale and old sweat.

"And you have my thanks for that, dear lady." The tavern owner nodded. "Your bath will be ready in about two hours. I will dispatch any help I don't need otherwise to prepare it for you."

"Ah, this reminds me of a joke, actually," Zevran said, a huge grin on his face as he strode out of the shadow. "A human, an elf and a half-naked dwarf come into a tavern after a night in a brothel–"

"Shut up." Despite her grousing, Lenya stepped closer to him and embraced him. "Thank you."

"I'm not surprised that you figured out my friendly scheme," he smiled into the hug. "Though I confess, I had a little help."

Lenya let go of him. "You did?"

"Indeed. Sanga, the brothel owner, priced the room you, ah, inhabited, quite highly. Let's just say she seized the opportunity handed to her on a silver platter and she would have been a fool not to. Anyhow, in the end it was Isabela who all too willingly paid the steep price." He turned to Alistair, smirking. "I simply did the needed pointing."

Alistair's mouth popped open. "Oh. So you–"

"Yes, indeed. Never tell me again I do not care for your well-being, my dear Alistair." He waved him off in mock-hurt. "_Tsk_."

"Err, yeah. Thanks?"

"You are quite welcome. I also have some herbs from home I could give you to chew for energy, should you feel tired during– "

"Hello? Boundaries?" Alistair glared at him. "Does the word mean anything to you?"

"As for volume, you ought to try arching your – "

"Not listening. La la la la." Alistair covered his ears, a blush visible even underneath all the red of the drying blood.

Lenya arched an eyebrow at the smirking elf. "You are doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"Your accusation hurts me deeply, my dear." He _tsk_ed. "I'm simply trying to be helpful. But your fellow Warden is still so finicky."

She glanced sideways to Alistair to see if his willful ignorance still lasted and added with a smug grin of her own, "Oh, in private he is _not_, I can assure you." She was pleased to see how the smugness got wiped out of Zevran's face, replaced by surprise. "And yes, that is all I have to say about that topic. Friends or not, it is none of your business."

"Aww, you are an evil, _evil_ woman, my dear. Did I mention that it cost me all my unmatched charm to keep Wynne from running after you both?"

That got Alistair's attention back. "Why?"

"Ah," Zevran halted, his gaze momentarily wandering off to Oghren. The dwarf had taken a seat at one of the table, bloodstained and half-naked as he was. Unsurprisingly, he didn't seem to care about his appearance, though the waitress completely ignored him. "These are matters best discussed in private. While you had your well-deserved break with your beloved Dalish, my friend, we weren't exactly idle. Let's just say that Leliana discovered what she sought, and it has proved to be even more than she bargained for. And our dear Wynne wasn't particularly excited to learn about your little detour and _looong_ hours of absence, especially with the latest piece of information gathered."

Lenya crossed her arms in defiance. "Well, tough luck, then. Last time I checked, I wasn't her property, nor accountable to her."

"Ah, yes, this is indeed true, my dear. However, I'm sure you are aware of how apt our mage is in wielding the words 'responsibility' and 'duty' like a sharp sword."

"That bad, huh?"

"It wasn't pretty, my dear Alistair. But fear not, as I am on your side when we are facing her."

"Oh, I feel better already."

"Glad I could help." Zevran chuckled, yet it was short-lived. "I believe Wynne and Leliana are still upstairs, going through the information we gathered. I was in fact only taking a break when I saw you arrive. With a near-undressed Oghren at your side, no less. How could you do this to my poor eyes, my dear?"

"It certainly wasn't me, but his own usual idiocy." Lenya shrugged, then looked at him, suspiciously. "You were taking a break? I bet you sneaked out and left the work to them."

"Such harsh words again? _Tsk_, I begin to believe you didn't get enough sleep last night, to be so caustic this morning."

"That I didn't." She flashed him an unabashed grin. "No."

He mirrored her expression, visibly pleased that she played along with him. "Good. All the money would been a waste otherwise."

"I beg to differ, love. You were getting enough sleep in comparison to me with your evil blanket-hugging–" Alistair started, before his mouth snapped shut. "Oh. _That_. Yes, err..." He cleared his throat. "...We... should go upstairs. _Now_."

"My, so _eager_, my dear Alistair?" At that, Alistair's steps only quickened even more, which earned the assassin narrowed eyes from Lenya.

"You know, I promised him to feed every companion making fun of us to the darkspawn." She paused for added effect, while steering toward the stairs. "If you know me, Zev, you are aware that I _keep_ my promises."

"Oh?" Zevran laughed out, humoring her at her low tone. "Then I had better keep that in mind, my dear."

.

.

* * *

.

"Maybe we should come back later?" As fast as Alistair had rushed upstairs, he was _still _staring at the closed door without a move to open it.

"You are still hurt, _Atish'an_." Lenya looked up to him and the cut on his arm. "This wound needs to be cleaned and healed."

He shrugged with his healthy side. "It's not that bad, really. And what's another scar? You seem to like them, after all."

"I prefer you being whole. Uninjured, healthy and strong." Lenya frowned. "Creators, will everything out of my mouth toward you now sound like an innuendo?

"I don't know?" Then he added with a grin, "Maybe?"

Amused, Lenya shook her head and she stretched herself to reach his lips. Alistair ducked his head to meet her halfway and sighed into the kiss. It seemed both reassuring and encouraging for him, and the gesture he apparently needed. Ever since entering the tavern, his posture had been tense, painstakingly aware of everyone knowing the reason of their absence. She could easily distance herself from the curiosity and teasing of their companions concerning their night, but he still struggled with it. Her fingertips lingered soothingly on the nape of his neck, as she drew away to speak under her breath. "This is between you and me, _Atish'an_. Not them."

"I know...but –"

Lenya smiled, brushing softly along his stubbly cheek. He didn't need to spell it out for her. "I know."

"Ah, don't mind me. Just give me a sign when you are ready, my dear Wardens. I'll be standing here. _Waiting_."

This time, Alistair whirled round to him. "Shut up, Zevran."

"That's my man." Laughing, she waited for him to open the door.

.

~V~

.

"There you are."

Focused as she was on the papers sprawled in front of her, Leliana didn't even look up at them - unlike Wynne, whose disapproving stare Lenya could feel without _seeing_ it. The elderly mage had placed herself in a chair near the crackling fireplace, documents folded in her lap.

"About time, I say."

Lenya sighed, annoyed. "If you have something to say, Wynne, now is your chance. After that I'll stop listening."

"I do." She took a deep intake of air and brushed the crinkles in her robe away. "Have you any idea how irresponsible it was for both of you to simply vanish like that?"

"Yes, maybe it was. I don't know." Lenya shrugged, not really caring. "But I was at the Pearl to finish a job in the first place, to earn much needed money for equipment. My longer stay there wasn't exactly planned, but even if it had been, why is that so much of a problem to you?"

"We have lost so much time due to your...dawdling. Time you could have easily seized for more important things."

"More important? _More_–" the Dalish started to bristle, though Alistair's intervention let her fall silent.

"It's only been a night and half a day, Wynne. It is not as if we vanished for a week, and the Archdemon hasn't paraded through Denerim's gates while we were, err, gone." He gave her an disarming smile. "See, I still know my duty. Kill the ugly and huge darkspawn dragon. This hasn't changed."

"Hmpf, I see," Wynne answered, still critical. "Then I hope you haven't forgotten about Arl Eamon's condition and his importance to our cause either?"

His face fell, the humor gone. "No, how could I?" It wasn't really a question, the desolate tone more an indication of him remembering other, darker things than the Arl's magical coma. Without conscious thought, Lenya's hand found his. He squeezed it lightly, as if to thank her for the supporting gesture.

"Give them a break, Wynne." It was Leliana speaking up, much to Lenya's surprise. "Hurling accusations at them for taking a much needed time out won't solve anything. You know well enough how much pressure weighs on their shoulders, so there is absolutely no need to add to it." With that, the bard diverted her attention back to the text she had been so engrossed with, though not without noticing Lenya's grateful smile into her direction.

"I concur, _amora_." Zevran frowned briefly at the word that seemed to have slipped out unintentionally, before recovering. "We should rather concentrate on the task at hand." He gave Leliana a significant look, but Lenya couldn't decipher its meaning.

She averted her eyes from him. "I can't say...I'm looking forward to it."

"Okay can someone finally tell me–u–what all this ominous talk is about?"

Wynne let out a long sigh before glancing up to the Dalish. Deep shadows lay under her blue eyes, a detail which had escaped Lenya's notice. "Perhaps I was too harsh in my judgment. For this I apologize. So much depends on you and you just _vanished_, in Loghain's city, no less. Well...and as the hours stretched with no sign of any of you...I was worried."

"No harm done." Alistair said, slightly smiling again. "Also we can handle ourselves."

The mage arched an eyebrow at their bloodied appearance. "That I see."

"Except that you _still_ have the cut that needs treatment,_ Atish'an_."

"We found Genitivi's house, thanks to Leliana's source," Zevran piped up, intending to steer the topic in the right direction again. "And we went there to investigate this morning. What we discovered was, ah, quite unexpected. Upon entering, I immediately noticed something amiss, for the room smelled rank, of decay."

"Genitivi's apprentice was a fraud, exchanged and placed there by some extreme cultists," Leliana continued. "To get rid of any people asking question about the urn, or Brother Genitivi."

"Ah, perhaps they should have chosen a better liar then, for this man failed terribly in it. Even a fool would have uncovered his contradicting lies in about a minute. He attacked us not a moment later, but I did quick work and slit his throat."

Lenya glowered at the elf. "Oh great. How about waiting with it until you had the necessarily information?"

"There was no need, my dear. He didn't know more than what he involuntarily had told us and was about to murmur an elemental spell. I couldn't risk waiting any longer."

"Besides," Leliana said, "we found a further lead in the other room. Genitivi's notes...and the _real_ Weylon. Murdered and left there to rot." She made a face. "Poor sod, never stood a chance. Genitivi, however, remains missing."

"So, the long journey to Denerim has been for naught?" Alistair exhaled, annoyed. "Now that is just great." Lenya looked at him, not at all able to suppress her best '_told-you-so_' expression.

"Not at all, dear." Wynne smiled at him. "We have worked through his notes ever since our return and it appears that Genitivi did indeed know the whereabouts of Andraste's ashes. Near a village called Haven."

"Haven?" Lenya's eyebrows drew together. "Never heard of it, but then again we Dalish didn't care for such things as secluded shemlen villages. Or villages in particular."

Alistair shook his head. "I haven't heard of it, either."

"Well, I have." Everyone turned around to Leliana. "Just before you entered I was reading a text that spoke of such a place in the south of the Frostback Mountains." With the book still in hands, the bard stood up. She compared the writings within to a map of Ferelden sprawled out on the wooden floor. "If I understand this correctly, the village we need to find is to find in the mountains, relatively close to...Redcliffe?"

A collective groan rippled through the room, yet no one protested louder than Lenya. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. We got here only to return to where we _started_?"

Leliana shrugged, apologetic. "That is what it says, yes. I don't like it much myself."

"Ah, at least we'll keep in shape from all the walking."

It took all her restraint _not _to leap forward and strangle her friend with bare hands. "I'm going to kill you for saying that, Zev."

"Such brutal punishment for trying to see a silver lining?" He pouted. "Not fair, my dear. Not fair."

Lenya pinched her nose, trying to compose the temper dangerously flaring underneath. Smashing things and yelling would help to alleviate the urge in the short term, though it would be unproductive in longer duration. As much she wanted to throw up her hands and sulk in a corner, that kind of temper tantrum would only buy them a further backseat in terms of progress. "So what now?" She was tired of doing the thinking each time, of deciding _everything_. Lenya had noticed a long time ago that she wasn't alone. Now it was up to her companions to truly _prove_ it.

Alistair looked equally unhappy about the discovery. "There's not much choice, is there? Walking back toward Redcliffe and beyond, it is."

That was the decision then, made by Alistair, no less. Not that there was any other possibility, but still. "Good. I guess we should seize the opportunity in this large shemlen city as good as we can, since it has many supplies and possibilities Redcliffe lacks." The Dalish glanced at him and sighed. "Oghren needs new armor, as do I. And there are dents in your plate as well. Let's hope the money I, well, _gathered_ with the job suffices for this. I still don't have an accurate idea of the value of your money."

Alistair laughed out. "_My_ money?"

"Human money. It still confuses me."

"Well, I can do the shopping, if you want, love. You know, use my charm to get a discount and all that."

She handed him the pouch with a shrug. "Fine with me. Take Oghren with you, for his armor."

"And theeeere goes the chance of _any_ discount."

"I'll come with you," Wynne offered him, amused. "There are supplies I need from the 'Wonders of Thedas'. It's a long way back and with the blight spreading the amount of battle ahead is unknown. Better to be prepared then. Though first I ought to have a look at your cut, Alistair." The Warden made a face, yet followed suit. "And you had better clean up before we get going, as we don't want any more attention of the guards."

"Maybe you should tell that the thugs trying to kill us, next time, Wynne. I'm sure there are _still_ enough of them out there thinking it's a good idea to attack us - like the rest of Thedas, apparently." If it was meant to be a lighthearted jest, it came out more biting than intended, which Alistair noticed quickly. "Sorry."

"No harm done, dear. Now come with me. We need to disinfect the wound first."

Lenya watched how Wynne stood up to move over to the washstand with Alistair in tow, actually glad for the luxury of an idle moment. Well, there had been many of them last night, if she was honest, yet it had swiftly reeled back into same old dull of killing and surviving. Rinse and repeat. Now the Dalish started to regret that she had pressed for their return as much as she had. If she was to survive this madness, Lenya already had a very clear idea how her leisure activities would look like. Not leaving the bed for a week, at minimum. Preferably with Alistair in it, too.

"Can I talk to you, Lenya?" It was Leliana tapping on her shoulder in a most annoying way. Still, she remembered how cryptic and distressed some of her words had been and decided to give her a bit of leeway.

"Of course." Reluctantly she turned to the human, biting back the taste of irritation on her tongue. _Blame the message, not the messenger_, Ashalle had told her once after one of her unfounded outbursts. One of many in her youth, a behavior still present and unchanged by the years. Inhaling, Lenya recalled the fact of Leliana had only _discovered_ the unpleasant news of traveling back empty-handed and not _caused_ them. Alas, the intense concentration on it made her forget to actually take heed of Leliana's words, a detail that only worsened as soon as Alistair got rid of the bloodstained tunic and Lenya became very aware of the movements of his muscles in her peripheral vision. _Many_ muscles, which reminded her of how–

"Lenya, are you even listening?"

She nearly jumped up, startled, at Leliana's frown and _justified_ question. "Y-yes, sure I did."

"Soo...you will help me then?"

The Dalish had no idea of what the human had talked about, but confessing this would be bad and awkward. The pride always resident in her reared its head. "Not a problem at all."

"I...thank you!" The bard hugged Lenya with surprised joy, as if she hadn't expected her agreement. "I need to pick up a few things before we go. It is time to end this."

_End? What?_

Zevran waited until after Leliana was gone and leaned towards her, smirking. "Remind me to ask Alistair to remove his shirt if I want you to do a favor for me." The grin vanished from his expression as soon as it arrived. "I hope you are aware that you have promised to help Leliana to find Marjolaine in an area far outside of Denerim's center, to more than possibly kill her. And also that it is a serious matter. So you had better treat it as one."

While Leliana's question didn't startle her, his unusual grave tone and admission managed exactly that. Lenya tried her best to keep her cool facade of a leader. "And it is also one for you, I suppose?"

If his scowl was any indication, he didn't like this sort of question. It was only there for a blink of an eye, visible only to the perceptive vision of a hunter like her. Well... as long Alistair didn't do anything to distract her. "I won't tell her, if you do the same, my dear. Naturally I will come with you, for this Orlesian bard seems to be more than a worthy recipient for my _poisoned_ blades."

The dark edge in his voice didn't escape her, nor how he emphasized the word poison. Zevran apparently harbored more than a grudge toward Leliana's former lover, almost as if were personal. And maybe it was. "You like her. More than just for the distraction and fun you always advocate so proudly, I mean."

Another short-lived scowl and a near non-verbal confirmation of her words. "We should go. The way to Marjolaine's hideout is long."

"Great, another task of marching and killing," Lenya quipped, but followed the uncharacteristically _broody_ assassin out of the room nonetheless. "What a novelty."

.

.

* * *

.

Outside, Lenya blinked against the sunlight, inwardly still berating herself for the lack of concentration that had led to accepting this task.

She was aware of being self-centered for mourning her lost chance to clean up and curl up in front of the fireplace together with Alistair. Shit needed to be done, and her friend needed help. It wasn't the first time she'd aided her companions to deal with the ghosts of their pasts, and she doubted this would be the last. So Lenya adjusted the grumpy expression on her face as much as she fastened the buckles on her ill-fitting, cheap armor. Perhaps she would finally have the chance to burn it on a pyre afterward, while dancing gleefully around its ashes. Oh, and a bath would be nice as well.

"Are you sure about this, dear?" A simple question actually, yet layered with a level of complicated emotions. Both rogues shared obviously more with each other than just occasionally a tent. She idly wondered if she was the only one who had noticed.

"No." Pain laced itself in a frown over Leliana's face, and remained. "But there is no choice, is there?"

"There always is." Lenya felt herself like a bystander in a moment of intimate knowledge they seemed to share, unspoken - an intruder. Her eyes wandered over the small but colorful merchant stalls to the side and narrowed to a glare as a human dared to do as much as to take a step into her direction. Fortunately, he got the unsubtle cue and steered to the other side to pass her by. Underneath the reek of piss and garbage, there was another, much fainter and more bearable scent. A promise of summer, perhaps, heralding itself with the warming sun. Lenya missed the open fields and fresh air outside the stinking stone and loud mess of Denerim.

"She hunted me, betrayed me. No, Zev she won't stop. Until I make it so."

_Oh, not done yet, I see_.

Lenya had given up following their...whatever it was, instead letting her mind and gaze wander. A tall, auburn-haired human clad in simple chain caught her attention. Not for his physical traits but because of the length of time he had been observing Leliana. Enough to make himself suspicious and enough for the Dalish to act upon.

"Who are you and why are you watching my compa–"

"Silas." Leliana came rushing towards the man, obviously knowing him. "What are you doing here, and in this attire?"

"You would have thought one would forget how to wear and to move in armor after all these years." He smiled, baring a row of white teeth. "Guess not. I would say it is a long time since I saw you last, Leliana, but this would have been a lie."

The gaze she'd fixed on the human flashed now to Leliana, with a mix of anger and confusion. "I think introductions are in order, as you obviously are...acquainted with each other."

"His name is Silas and he is the one who helped me to gather information in the chantry yesterday, though he definitely did not look ready for battle." The bard turned to him, pointing at the shouldered shield and the sword sheathed at the side. "What is the meaning of this?"

Lenya had the inkling that there was more to the story than she told, another unspoken tale and nuances in between. "Out on an adventure, battling darkspawn, eh?" she quipped and did not expect an answer.

"I think that is _your_ job, isn't it?" In a matter of seconds, Silas was pressed against the wall he leaned on, Lenya's shortsword on his throat.

"I swear if even do so much as _think_ about saying something to anyone, I will cut your tongue out. Or worse." The gauntleted hand on her shoulder belonged to Leliana.

"Easy, Lenya. We can trust him."

"Can we?" she spat, only relenting with reluctance. "His appearance is a bit too convenient."

"He gave me the information. Not only about Genitivi, but also about..._her_." She turned to Silas. "Which still doesn't explain why you are here now, Silas, and not in the Chantry."

"Quite the temper, I see." He seemed unfazed by her assault and threat, almost as if he'd already gone through worse. "You're going to see Marjolaine, from what I gathered. And I want to come with you. To repay you for giving me the chance of a new life, for setting old debts right with that bastard Raleigh."

Leliana's eyes shut tight at the name. Disgust, hurt and a dozen of other agonizing emotions flickered like haunted ghosts over her face. She didn't answer, _couldn't_.

"No." The word shot out of Lenya's mouth, unbidden and incredibly loud in the leaden stillness. Instantly, she regretted her outburst, because for once it wasn't her place to decide this.

"Can you fight?" the bard asked after a long moment. "Even after all the years in the Chantry?"

"I may serve the Maker now, Leliana, but I never stopped my training, not really. It not only kept my body in shape, but also my mind. Call me crazy, but I always knew this day would come, no matter how many years passed."

"Why then, welcome aboard," Zevran piped up, overly joyful. "I certainly do not oppose another body between me and the madwoman we seek. And should you contemplate to double cross us in any form, I think my Warden friend already showed you of what she is capable of."

Lenya heaved her shoulders in a shrug, decidedly indifferent. "Wouldn't be the first human I've killed."

"Nor mine," Zevran added with a glower, before falling into his fake-cheery manners again. "If you are the first _today_, however, well, we will see, my friend." With a pat on the human's armored back, the elf strode toward the gates.

"You have gathered, err, an interesting company around you, Leliana." She gave him a wan, apologetic smile and went after Zevran without another word.

Silas waited for Lenya to move, though she didn't even consider doing so. "I would prefer you to walk in front of me, shemlen. So I can stab you in the back if needed, instead of the other way around."

"I have the feeling you don't trust me," he said, not wholly serious.

"Wow, took you that long to figure out, huh?"

"My intentions _are_ genuine. I would never betray Leliana, nor her companions. After all, I'm a man of the Chantry and serve the Maker now."

"Well, being Dalish, that particular fact makes you instantly far more sympathetic and trustworthy to me indeed," Lenya scoffed. "Now move. In front of me."

Silas mock-bowed to her. "As the lady wishes."

.

.

* * *

.

"Sooo, you and the boss, eh?"

Alistair had a distinctive inkling _where_ this question of Oghren would lead to. Thus he preferred to ignore the inquiry in favor of reaching Gorim's merchant stall as quickly as possible. The measurements for a hopefully _affordable_ dwarven armor would take some time, which meant less of the dwarf's quite special company.

"Rolling your oats. Polishing the footstones." Alas, Oghren never was one to give up lightly upon deliberate disregard shown to him. It rather seemed to motivate him. _Blasted dwarf._ "Bucking the forbidden horse. Donning the velvet hat. Tapping the midnight still, if you will. Forging the moa –"

"Maker, yes, I had sex," he burst out, unintended, and only to make Oghren shut up. Considering the sudden silence ensuing around them in the marketplace, Alistair had achieved far more than that. His cheeks – no, his whole being – burned like fire in no time, humiliated even more by the broad grin the dwarf flashed him. "Heh, good for you. And about sodding time, I say."

Wynne's amused chuckling behind him didn't help his case, either. "Well then, now that you're in an intimate relationship, you should learn about where babies really come from."

"Excuse me?"

"I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms. Well, that is not true. Actually what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other – but then again, you already found out." Her smile grew wider. "Aww, look, you're all red and mottled. How cute."

"I _hate_ you all." Alistair stalked away, with furious steps and yet another lesson richer in embarrassment.

.

~V~

.

Much later, without Oghren in tow and several gold pieces lighter for the soon-to-be-made armor, Alistair found himself browsing through the wares at 'Wonders of Thedas.'

He had refused to speak for the long duration of perusing the market place, still somewhat sulking at the never-ending teasing of his companions. It was obvious why spending the night with Lenya was a big deal for him personally, but he didn't understand the fuss the others made about it. Quite frankly, it was none of their business, even if they constantly made it to theirs.

"I think you make her very happy." Wynne glanced up to him from a book she flicked through. "Even if Lenya isn't exactly the type to wear happiness on her sleeve."

"That again?" He raised a suspicious eyebrow, peeved to hear yet _another_ comment on his relationship with Lenya.

"I had some time to think and I just wanted to say that this is something good, for both of you." She looked around and didn't dare to use his title, even as empty as the shop was. "_What_ you are and your task is far from being easy. I was wrong to snap at Lenya and you upon your return. In fact, I'm glad you found each other."

Alistair was confused. "No teasing? You're...serious?"

"Of course, dear." The mage smiled at him warmly. "You are a fine lad, Alistair. Your compassion, your strength, well, I imagine my son would have grown up to be someone like you."

The shock upon hearing this stopped whatever thoughts gathered in his head. "Your son? I...thought you weren't married?"

The warmth in her presence diminished, a hint of sadness in its place instead. "No, I wasn't."

"So what happened to your– oh." He suddenly remembered having heard things once. Whispering and talking of others, so intense and incessant, it was getting even through to in the templar initiate barracks. About a mage choosing to end her life as they took the newborn away from her. He'd witnessed others talking, even _joking_ about it being a justified punishment of the Maker, but he didn't want to believe the rumors to be true. Obviously, in all its cruelty, they _were_. "I– " His mouth popped open and quickly shut again, without a further word. There were none.

"It was a long time ago, Alistair." With one glance to her face he knew that Wynne understood his intent. "But thank you."

He shouldn't ask, it wasn't his place to do so. And yet he couldn't stop the words from forming. "D-do you still think about him?"

"All the time." She turned away from him, her interest seemingly diverted toward the book again. Dejection marked her tone and posture, and lingered, easy to see for anyone keen enough to recognize. A long, labored breath followed, before she spoke again. "I suppose I was harsh toward you both at first to spare you a similar parting pain. I'm not sure. It is your first love and you think not even the world could part you two, but it...may not last. Your responsibilities toward...your people could lead you on a different path than hers. I want you to be aware of this."

His only answer was a thick swallow through a suddenly too tight throat. Every fiber of his being struggled against the implied consequence of his heritage. The very thought of losing her, of falling once again prey to the shackles his Theirin blood meant to him, was utterly terrifying.

Alistair noticed a weight on his shoulder, the touch of Wynne's hand. They were aged with years and yet delicate, the hands of a mother. "I didn't mean to sadden you, Alistair." She squeezed his shoulder. "What you have is good. You are less guarded in her company and most important, genuinely happy. You deserve this, and more. So cherish it, cherish every moment of it."

"I don't want to be–" He trailed off, unable to even give the word voice or a meaning. He didn't want to.

"It rarely is that easy, dear." Wynne smiled, purely for his benefit. "Well let's just hope you have more choice in the matter than I had back in the days."

Alistair watched how the mage walked toward the tranquil behind the counter to pay for the needed supplies. Silently he cursed her for broaching this undesirable topic and wanted suddenly nothing more than to return to the tavern. And to Lenya.

~V~

Things didn't quite go as smoothly as planned upon his return.

While Lenya and the others had finally resurfaced from their unexplained disappearance, Alistair found his companions in a state of disarray. Not only physically, with their armor drenched in blood that thankfully didn't originate from their veins, but also on an emotional level, if the tense and grim atmosphere surrounding them was any cue.

Leliana vanished without any words into her room and shut the door behind her, leaving the assassin standing outside. His posture was untypically dejected, a rainstorm of clouds nearly visible over his head.

"What happened? Where have you been?"

Zevran glowered up to him, as if lacking the patience to humor him. He didn't say more than one word in his thick accent, yet it sufficed. "Marjolaine."

"Oh," Alistair uttered more than dumbly, faintly recalling the story intertwined with this name and told a long time ago. At least this explained their appearance and Leliana's more than glum mood. "Should I–" Unsure what to do, he pointed at the wooden door.

"No. You better keep your lady company, my friend. All will be well. There is no need to trouble yourself with these matters, as well." He raised an eyebrow at the elf, unable to discern if the tone was sarcasm or simply his usual fake cheeriness, nor why he remained in front of the door without opening it. Such trivialities like closed doors had never stopped Zevran from intruding before.

"Are you certain?" Alistair wasn't even sure why he asked for permission. And from Zevran, of all people.

"That you are of more help to your lovely Warden than the bard right now? Yes." The elf lowered his gaze, no hint of humor in his voice. Not even for pretense. "Such matters are more...my expertise."

Alistair's first impulse was to ask of the meaning, then remembered his own reason for his hurry. And unexpectedly _he_ felt like the intruder in the hallway and in front of Leliana's room, not Zevran. It was better to leave it be, like the elf wished. Hopefully.

.

~V~

.

"Lenya?"

No answer followed his call within her–no, _their_–room, the arrangement changed without his knowledge by their companions. Alistair pursued a trail of bloodied armor and clothes on the floor, the air hazed with dampness and a rich, flowery scent. It led him past the flames flickering golden in the fireplace and toward the stone bath in the corner.

"There you are." He felt a rush of giddiness upon seeing her whole and _there_, still loving him. It was an entirely irrational notion, stirred from deep within and his talk with Wynne not long ago. Then Alistair noticed that he caught her in an unaware moment with her eyes closed, floating _naked _in the steaming water_. _The blushing virgin annoyingly still residing inside him reared its ugly head, letting him whirl round. "S-sorry."

Much to her apparent amusement. "For what? Seeing me naked, or not watching me bathing a moment longer?"

Her contented sigh and the splashing noise indicated how she stretched her limbs in the water. He chuckled about his own inability to turn around to actually _see_ it. "_Both_?"

"Hmm, while I appreciate your sweet politeness, it is unneeded, _Atish'an_. Besides, I remember you being less shy a few hours ago."

"Old habits die hard, it seems." To not lose his momentum in favor of the urge to watch her naked form for the rest of the evening and…more, he walked over to his pack and kicked his boots off. "So you mysteriously vanished to visit Leliana's old 'friend' with her?"

"Not much an old friend as an utterly insane, manipulative _shemlen_. Good riddance, I say."

Knowing how rare it had become to hear Lenya using this racial slur, she must have really disliked Marjolaine. "You killed her?" Alistair unbuckled his belt and lay the scabbard with his sword next to the bed, glad to be freed of its familiar weight for one evening, at least.

"No. _I_ did not." She sighed. "It wasn't my place to decide. And as it was decided, it wasn't my place to take her life either. I was just there for additional, well, support."

_Leliana did_, was the unspoken, yet clear message. Alistair blinked, grasping its meaning only now in its full volume. "Having to end the life of the woman she once loved? Wow, that is…messed up. Poor Leliana."

"Yeah. Probably the right decision though, seeing how she tried to sow doubts about Leliana's loyalty to me." Lenya let out a derisive snort. "Another human underestimating me in the already long gallery of now dead people. They. Never. Learn. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

To someone else, someone _not_ knowing her as much as he did, these words would have sounded haughty and arrogant. To him, it was simply the truth. Their opponents always only saw the petite elven girl, far too fragile in their eyes to be the menace and brilliant fighter Lenya, in reality, was. At least not until it was way too late to redeem their grave mistake. Alistair smiled fondly, and turned to her.

Lenya arched a brow at his sudden frozen form, not in the slightest shy under his roaming gaze. "Ah, liking what you finally are able to see, I suppose?"

"You are naked.. and wet. And naked. Did I mention _wet?_ I guess I did," he blurted and cleared his throat to halt his gratuitous mental flailing. "Suddenly I feel a lot…_warmer_. But you are…unhurt, I hope?"

"Well, that shemlen was kind of…expecting us, and hence was not alone. She had the company of a few Qunari mercenaries, to be exact. Who were strong…" she paused to let herself fall backwards into the water, momentarily vanishing within. The smirk in her face upon her resurface gave away her awareness of him watching. And how could he not? "…but _slow_."

"That's my girl," he said, not without pride, and leaned in to finally, _finally_ kiss her. A notion Lenya welcomed with a lot of enthusiasm of her own. Her hands heated from the steaming water cradled his cheeks, their warmth trailing like fire on his skin, and further down. She tilted her head slightly for better access and the kiss increased quickly in fervor and momentum.

"I was okay before, to answer your question, _ma vhenan._" She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, as she drew away. But Lenya lingered in an intimate space still, her breath palpable upon his face as she spoke. "Though now I'm a lot _better_."

"Good to know." Smiling, Alistair ducked his head to kiss her shoulder and let his hands follow. With a sigh, Lenya leaned into his touch, when he begun to tentatively knead out the tension residing within her muscles. "Lots of fighting today, huh?"

"Less than usual," she murmured and sagged into the water, relaxing. "Oh Creators, _where_ did you learn that?"

Alistair chuckled, the vibration eliciting goosebumps on the nape of her neck. "To be honest: I have no idea what I'm doing." Kneeling, he scooted closer to the stony tub and her, to kiss it away. "I just thought you would like it."

"Hmm, oh yes, I do." Her voice had adapted the particular low and purring tone he had only heard from her on one occasion before: last night. The realization of this fact, together with the scented water and the touch of her skin underneath his palms were an arousing, wholly sensual mixture. Add to that the sight of her naked frame, glistening wet and glorious, splayed out in the tub, and he didn't want this moment to end. _Ever._

"What is this smell, actually?"

Lenya didn't reply at first and sounded drowsy when she did. A compliment to his previously unknown massage skills, he supposed. "Some frilly bath oil nonsense from Orlais, I found in the marketplace. It smelled nice and I figured it would be some time until 'smelling nice' becomes an option again, so I bought it."

"Frilly, but…I like it, especially on you." He moved closer and let his lips graze along the hollow line of her shoulder blades, his tongue flicking against her tender skin. Its taste reminded him of honeyed Dalish wine, strong and sweet in flavor and scent.

Lenya hummed her approval and took his now slack hands to place a kiss on his palm. "And I like how you make me feel, _Atish'an_." Stretching herself, she lay back on the edge of the stone tub and cast a covert glance at him through lowered lashes, smiling. He watched her in amazement, his mouth dry. She was mesmerizing. "I have never desired someone. This is something entirely new to me, but with you it feels normal and good, as if it should."

A warmth not coming from the steamed air or the heat of her skin spread inside of him at her admission. "Likewise." Lenya heaved her head up, and recognizing her intend, he met her halfway, her mouth a hot brand upon his own. His fingertips trailed downwards, ever so lightly, over the swell of her breast and taut stomach. She arched her back into his touch, the quiet groan swallowed by his lips. "Though…" Alistair halted to clear his throat and shifted his position, grimacing slightly. Kneeling was getting increasingly uncomfortable. "…it is hard to imagine that you had no admirer within your clan. The elven boys must have been crazy about you."

"I can be scary, as you know," she smirked, knowingly." …And there wasn't one who interested me in this way. No, I never knew love until I met you." She paused, her eyes widening. "Oh Creators, that is the most sappy thing I ever said in my life."

Alistair chuckled, amused at how Lenya always managed to scatter any romantic mood. "Many firsts lately, huh?"

"Hmm, though it not the first time that I'm the only one being naked here. We need to change that. Come in."

And how she brought it back with a few words. Or in this case, with a flick of her hand. His hips rocked up against the palm teasing his hardened length, shuddering. "W-with you?" As soon these words were spoken, he regretted them. _Maker, what a dumb question._

"No, hold on, I will just go get Wynne." She stilled her hand to give him a devilish smile, clearly enjoying his squirming. "Or Oghren. I'm sure he could use a bath."

Now _that_ was a sobering thought. "Alright, I got the hint. Stupid of me to ask."

"Good. Now off with these." As if to give her words even more credit, Lenya slipped her fingers into his pants and wrapped them around his shaft. For a moment, Alistair forget all movements, lost in the feeling. "And I also like how _you_ feel,_ Atish'an_."

Biting his lower lip, he stifled a moan. With the way her hand worked, it took a great deal of concentration to remember how to use coherent words. "I-I thought you don't want–"

"Yes, this is still true." Alistair mentally cursed as she withdrew her touch, leaving him yearning for more. "Though taking a break doesn't mean I stop wanting to be close to you, or to touch you. Or you me, for that matter. Quite the opposite, I've thought of little else since last night."

Alistair didn't know why, but hearing this made him proud, _happy_. She wanted him, enjoyed his caresses and closeness. "Is that so?" he asked, voice low, as he got rid of his tunic and the now very confining breeches.

Lenya only grinned, whether to play along or upon seeing him naked, he couldn't say. "Yeah. And, well, I also could use some assistance in washing my back."

Laughing, he stole a kiss from her before carefully stepping into the tub. The water was all but steamy by now, though the company within was much too interesting for him to really notice this fact. "Oh, I'm good at that, too. Trust me."

"Wow, so many talents? I'm a lucky girl, indeed." She skidded to the side, to make room for him. "Come here."

She didn't have to say it twice.

.

~V~

.

The bard sat alone in the dark, all burning candles in the room extinguished.

Wynne had come in once to check for injuries and to ask what happened. Leliana didn't answer, though the older woman took one look at her and _knew_. There was hardly anything escaping the healer's notice, often annoyingly so.

_All the time..._

Leliana let her head fall into her hands, an expression of the undertow of depression that held her in its iron grip and didn't let go. Like the agonizing question of _why_, for which Marjolaine gave her no answer.

She had only smiled, aware of Leliana's desire to give her actions reason, and twisted them around so that all blame lay with Leliana.

All this time Marjorlaine had watched her, though Leliana had thought herself free from her shackles. Obsessive without relent and possessive like a mistress over her dog.

"_Did you think I did not know where you were? Did you think I would not watch my Leliana?"_

Leliana gripped a fistful of her hair, tugging at its strands until it hurt, if only to feel something beyond the pain inside.

_I'm not yours. I'm not yours. I'm not _you_. I'm not _like_ you._

Rocking back and forth, she repeated the words like a mantra in her head, to make them true. But instead they brought back the memory of meeting her, of how it all found an end. Vivid and all-consuming in her mind, haunting her.

Crimson had flashed before her eyes, the steel of her weapon blinding as it cut through Marjolaine's tender flesh. Eyes wide, shock had rippled through Marjolaine at the unexpected attack. The last impression Leliana had of her, before everything turned to blood, had been dark, rotten hatred. As if possessed, Leliana had hacked away at her form, though she lay dead. She couldn't stop.

_All this time, all these years..._

Tears had fallen from her face and mixed with the dark red on the ground, and the weapon had clattered loudly as it fell to the ground, her strength draining away all at once as she stared at the dead, still face.

_I'm not like you._

Detached, she had stared at the disfigured corpse of the woman she had once loved more than anything in the world. Blood. Everywhere. _Blood_. It mingled with a distant memory flaring back to life again, unbidden.

"_I would get the stars and the moon for you, sweet thing. Together we can be _everything_."_

Leliana had darted to the corner and thrown up.

_Lies,_ her mind screamed_. None of it is true. Was it ever?_

Her friends had waited at a respectful distance without comment. Their eyes said tenfold more than spoken words. Zevran's gaze in particular had bored into her with a pity and understanding she didn't want, didn't deserve. Where had it all gone so wrong? How could it have come so far? _Why?_

She collapsed onto the bed, burying her face into the sheets, as she heaved tearless sobs. A flicker of passing light and the sound of an opening door didn't escape her notice, but drowning in sorrow as she was, Leliana paid it no heed.

The steps upon the wooden floor were light, but still audible. It appeared as if the person approaching _wanted_ to be heard, adding noise where normally there was only silence.

"What do you want?" she yelled out into the darkness, her raw voice thick with despair.

No answer in words, but in light, as one candle in the room flared alive, its shine golden. The darkness gave way to shadows dancing across the blackened walls in the presence of faint light. Leliana still didn't turn to identify the intruder, nor did the person speak. There was, however, a distinctive note in their movements, a certain ease with which he reached the bed in the dim glow of the candle. _He._

"Zevran."

She knew before his hand touched her hair, tousled as it was with distress and pain.

Still no reply and it twisted her stomach with fury at his brazen interference, his audacity to _enter_. "I told you to stay away and leave me alone!"

"Yes, you did," he mused, having all the patience in the world as he settled down next to her. "And did I tell you that I actually managed to stare off all seven of a young elven dancer's skirt in Antiva City? It's a trick worth retrying."

Her head snapped up, staring at him for the absurdity of his words. It seemed to have been his intended goal, for he smiled winningly, though a sadness lingered within.

"And there was the one time in summer, where I waited for my mark in a closet for no less than a day. If you would know the sweltering heat of Antiva's summer, you would congratulate me on my endurance and bravery. It is not unlike what I'm attempting now."

"And that is?"

"I'm not sure yet, if I am to be honest, dearest Leliana. Unless you want to talk about your troubles?"

"No."

"Hmm, I see. Do you mind if I sit here in the peaceful and quiet atmosphere of your darkened room? Or rather _our_ room, since we changed the arrangement in favor of our newly-intimate Wardens?"

She scowled, hating the implication of him remaining. "Yes. I'm not in the mood for company right now, Zev."

"I understand." With a nod he fell silent and for a long moment the stillness stretched. "Now that the deed is done..." His voice was calm but quiet, almost as if he were afraid to shatter the tranquility. "...Do you regret it?"

That question threw her for a loop, hitting her square in the face like a blow. "What?" She blinked up at him, momentarily at a loss for words. "I...don't know. It is complicated."

"It is always thus, no?"

"I'm not sure." Without meaning to, her reluctance to speak vanished with the warmth of his hand on her back. The hollowness, the haunted edges of despair and uncertainty inside, however, lingered. "I simply wished..." Leliana fell silent, a weary sigh rippling from her lips and deep within. "Do you think it was right of me to kill her?"

"Wrong or right, that is not for me to decide, my dear." His touch remained, unmoving and undemanding, anchoring her like a source of light against the darkening clouds of her thoughts. "I do have another question, however. Do you think she would have showed you the same mercy, if you had let her be? That you would have found peace– "

"No." The reply came without thinking, so sudden that it cut off his words. "But I don't want to become like her."

Finally looking at her instead of fixing his gaze on the feeble flickering of the candle across from them, he shook his head. "I don't see how you are anything like her."

"Is that so? All this time, Marjolaine watched me, followed my steps even as I found solace in Lothering's Chantry. All this time she thought I was still plotting against her. So yes, at first killing her _was_ liberating, to be finally free of her shadow. But now it only looms larger." Her breath hitched, a whimper caught in her throat. "I thought after all these years to avenge all the cruelty she showed me, the unspeakable things those bastards did to me because of her paranoia and betrayal. I thought I would feel better, when she was dead, that I would be free, once and for all. Now, though...I only feel empty."

"Revenge often bears this trait." His fingers curled around her shoulder, a gesture of understanding and compassion, nothing more. "Give it time, my dear. There isn't much more you can do than this." As soon as it was voiced, Zevran laughed without a trace of humor, a most bitter sound.

"Yes?" She glared at him, frustrated, in spite of him being not at fault. "Just how long? What do you know?"

His touch withdrew in sync with his gaze, and even his presence seemed to become distant. "I'm aware I'm not the best person to advise you in this matter, but...I know this feeling."

Her eyebrows furrowed, confused and shocked by the implication alike, she looked at him. "You...have been betrayed?"

For a long moment, he didn't answer. She watched him, his cool facade shattered and pain in its wake instead. Zevran made no effort to hide it, too lost in the ghost of memories that appeared to have taken over him. He takes a breath. One, two times, trembling. Then he spoke. "Yes. But it wasn't as it seemed."

Leliana didn't know how to react to that, to this alteration of everything she believed Zevran was. The nonchalant, easy-going elf replaced by bitter regret, a shadow, all act gone. And yet she couldn't let it rest, wanted to hear what caused his reaction, the story behind it. "What do you mean?"

Again agonizing silence. "It...isn't important. I shouldn't have brought it up, I am sorry."

He was about to stand up, withdrawing entirely. A surge of anger ran through at her at that, her hand coming around his wrist before he could escape. "What do you think this is, Zev? A game? I pour my heart out to you and you give me _nothing_ in return? Is that all we are?" Leliana scoffed, hurt lacing her words. "Maker, I don't even know what this is, what we have. But I do know I can't continue like this. Not anymore."

"As you wish." Steel in his voice again, Zevran freed himself from her grip and turned his back to her. Her heart sunk at his easy dismissal, at his lack of care. Her eyes widened, appalled at the sudden epiphany.

How or when did _she_ start to care?

He remained in the shadows still, not leaving as she had thought he would. Unsure what to do, she waited. For him to leave and it to be over, or for him to speak and – she didn't know _what_. Eventually, Zevran did the latter.

"Fate is a funny thing, no?" He had adapted his musical, cheerful tone again, the accent thick. Though underneath the facade was a tremble, a slight shift of emotion that hadn't been there before. "Even if one has taken greatest care in their plans to unfold in the way it should, fate always gets in the way. I didn't plan to survive the encounter with the Wardens, but..." he swallowed and Leliana gaped at his back, open-mouthed. "...our lovely Dalish had her _own_ plans and spared me. Tricky, that fate. I got a second chance I'm not even sure I want, or wanted. But...here I am."

"Zevran?" Astonished to hear her calling him out, he turned to her. Moving of her own accord, she pulled him into an embrace, her lips on his bruising and fierce. What started as a passionate kiss turned slowly into something sweeter, imbued with raw emotions not given voice. It had nothing of the usual, flirty playfulness and was different, more intense. Her surroundings shattered and reassembled, aligning itself in completion again. _Warmth_. She felt warm. Like a small pool of sunlight it pushed the pain away into the furthest corner of her mind, momentarily forgotten. Zevran drew away, amber eyes blinking at her with an undecipherable expression.

"I'm sorry..." Her voice was hoarse, thoughts racing in scattered pieces through her head. Maybe she had been a bit unfair, a bit selfish to press him into confessing this. It was surely not what she would have been expected, not in the slightest. "I-I had no idea."

"Me neither..." he whispered and it was clearly not in reply to her prior sentence, though its true meaning eluded Leliana. Smoothing what now looked like shock, amazement and everything in between out of his face, the elf took a few steps back. "I had better go."

"And what if I don't want you to leave anymore?" she asked, with an edge of hope.

"I...no. It wouldn't be right. "

Her shoulders slumped, the black oppressive feeling back after the thrill of the kiss. It hurt. "Why?"

Zevran's hand brushed her cheek, only lightly, like a whisper, his voice trembling. "You deserve better."

And then he was gone.

All Leliana could do was stare at the rising shadows as the door closed behind him. Frozen on the spot, she asked herself _when_ his company had stopped being leisurely fun and _when_ she had started to fall in love with him.

.

.


	98. Passion Colors Everything

_**A/N:** __Special shout out goes to my beta-sama tklivory. She has started her own Blight story a few weeks ago and it is nothing short of amazing. If you want to read a very mature and well written take on a City elf -Warden with eventual Alistair romance and general (angsty) awesomeness ensuing, search for_** "Hope for Light"**_. Because this is a story for you then. I can't recommend it enough, since quality Blight fics are quite hard to find and this one of them. Not sure about mine, but whatevah. Lol. Enjoy the chapter, y'all :D_

* * *

.

_**Dreams have nothing on my reality high  
on the scent of your skin  
I know we're riding endlessly into the sun  
feel the life deep within**_

_Poets Of The Fall -__Temple Of Thoughts_

* * *

.

**Chapter 91: Passion Colors Everything**

.

The Grey Warden stood for discipline, order and courage. Though recently Alistair was adding wanton lust to that list.

Ever since leaving Denerim, the journey had been a blur of passion, time without meaning in her arms. When they were not marching or fighting, – and within the illusion of privacy – they irrevocably ended up tugging at each others armor and clothes in a frantic haste. Off, off, everything _off_, it couldn't get off quick enough for him to feel her skin next to his. As soon they were away from camp or in a tent, their equipment landed in a heap on the ground somewhere, forgotten. Their bodies soon followed, as they sunk to the ground, limbs entwined.

They made love under the stars with the dewy grass beneath them, during the day in their tent and at the edges of a forest. Maker, even after a battle, still bloodstained and while his blood still thrummed with adrenaline, he automatically found himself in her embrace. Somewhere in his mind, Alistair was aware that they were acting like slaves, helpless against the new raging fire between them. But each time her arms wound around him and her mouth found his, he noticed that he simply didn't _care_.

Of course their frantic and steady intimacy was a topic of amusement to the rest of their group, even though the initial teasing and remarks were soon replaced by faint eye-rolling and annoyed groans whenever Lenya and he sought privacy and distance from them. Seeing that they made good progress in their travel, in spite their constant distraction, Alistair paid their complaints no heed.

Today, for example, they had planned to reach Redcliffe before nightfall, but alas Ferelden's unpredictable weather had made further marching impossible. They had to wait the thunderstorm out. The wind howled an eerie song outside and rain rattled in a steady drum at the sides of their shared tent. But yet again, they were too preoccupied to even notice. Given this very fortunate opportunity, it was inevitable they would end up entangled and gasping for hours no end.

Alistair felt a faint but sweet biting pain as Lenya dug her nails into his shoulders. Head back, mouth open, every muscle in her body went taut and she cried out, coming apart. He sealed her mouth with his, swallowing her moan greedily, and kept his hips rocking into her, as he chased his own release. The one hand on the small of her back pulled her in, the other kneaded her ass, seeking contact and more of her. Closer, closer, it never seemed enough. Even as her body was pressed flush against his, arching willingly into him and shaking with the ripples of her ecstasy's after-effect, he wanted more. Her name was a mantra on his lips and thoughts, his mind otherwise deliciously blank. Only she - above, around and moving with him - mattered. Alistair leaned his head forward and onto her, groaning and breathing harshly into her chest. For a moment, time stood still, lost to an oblivious, pulsating rapture as he spent himself into her slick heat.

Utterly satisfied, Alistair fell back on their bed roll, together with her in his arms, still linked. Eyes closed, he reveled in the remaining ebbs of bliss and her intimately close presence. His pulse and heart still raced at a furious speed, matching the drumming rain on the tent's fabric in his ears. No words were possible at this point, though none were needed. Smiling with all happiness in the world, Alistair looked at her in wonder, his mind still hazed. Lenya gazed back at him, as so often with one questioning eyebrow raised, causing him to laugh. Softly, his fingers threaded through the damp, blond wisps of her hair and up and down her back. Lenya let out a humming sound of approval and slid out, only to move up and closer to him. Snug in his arms, Alistair kissed her with abandon, all breath, tongue and wet. He could feel her fingers in his hair, her nails lightly scraping the base of his neck, the nerves there carrying pleasant sensations down his spine.

Still kissing, his lips curved to a grin, which caused Lenya to break it off. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," he answered with all the smugness he could muster. Which was currently a _lot_. "But we have to sleep at some point, you know?"

"Meh." This was all she said, before rolling off him and onto the side. Alistair cuddled up to her, his head propped up on one elbow.

"I'm just saying. Since the thunderstorm won't last forever, alas. Also, I probably should inform you that I may or may not gotten struck down by lightning moments ago. This... was amazing."

"If you leave this tent, you may be getting hit by one, love. Quite literally."

He chuckled. "Leaving this tent? Now you are shocking me, dear lady. Why would I do such a dreaded thing?"

"Because I will kick you out there, bare-arsed, if you don't get a blanket up here soon. It is _chilly_, despite of your embrace."

"Alright. Bossy, bossy."

He complied with her wish, not offended by her threat in the slightest. At least not anymore, not after Alistair had learned to differentiate her grumpiness after their love-making from his, well, actual performance. It was obvious she enjoyed being with him as much he did with her. She had assured him of it many times after his insecure inquiry upon her reaction. Like waking up in the morning, Lenya simply needed a moment of peace and stillness to acclimate herself, to come down again, in contrast to himself, who felt all giddy and talkative and ready to embrace whole Thedas in the afterglow. And more than often these two disparate moods had collided then, earning him more than one glare or bark from her. Which was jarring right after the mutual shared ecstasy and at first a hard lesson to learn for his ego. Though like so often, Alistair adapted quickly to this, among many other finer things and tricks of intimacy he learned in the past weeks.

After the thick blankets were thrown over them and he hugged her from behind, warmth became all-consuming. He felt like a boy again, with only one woolen blanket against the freezing and endless nights in the stable. He would wrap himself head to toe, tucking any loose edges beneath him the best he could, and just stay completely still. Moving would have unraveled it and let the cold in, destroying his only cocoon of warmth. This, however, was far, _far_ better. Like a thousand suns against the thunderstorm raging outside and every cold in the world he ever felt.

"I love you," Alistair murmured into her back, pressing his lips on her smooth, sweaty skin.

"Oh?" Her head turned to him, finally smiling. "I think you are still addled from your climax."

"I'm pretty sure I'm sober again, thank you very much." He pecked the edge of her mouth and her nose, at the point where her tattoo ended. "Besides...it was not I who was in a hurry _this_ time."

"Hmm, sorry for enjoying sex so much with you." Her smile turned into a smirk. "It is definitely true what Zevran said, though: practice makes perfect. And we have had a _lot_ of practice, lately. Or today, for that matter. Can it be that I have discovered the one thing about being a Grey Warden that is totally awesome?" A pause followed, in which Lenya feigned thinking. "I guess I did."

"Not only you, love," he answered, good humored. Alistair briefly contemplated arguing that there was more than just one good thing, decided it wasn't worth her agitation. She settled her head back onto his arm and fell silent with a sigh. He watched her in the stillness, the intricate black lines of her tattoo only illuminated by the yellow glowstone set up across of their bedroll. "You know, it just occurred to me that I never asked you about the tattoo on your back. I mean it is sexy, but then again everything about you is."

"Gee, thanks." Alistair could swear he _heard_ her eyes rolling. "I heard from Zev that men are more tired afterward. So why, by the Creators, are you _always_ so talkative?"

"I...have no idea. Warden thing? Happiness? Both?...Though there _is_ a way to make me shut up." He laughed about his own innuendo in the knowledge that it not possible now. They had already, ah, quite fervently exhausted this option, ever since setting up the camp in the late afternoon not far from a grove. Maybe not the wisest decision considering the thunderstorm still rumbling close by, but so far none of them had been struck down by lightning. At least not in the literal sense.

"Again?" She snorted."Well, we have to sleep at some point, you said. So how about _now_?" The darkness outside wasn't only coming from the ill-behaving weather, but also from the late hour. If he had to guess, it must be middle of the night by now. No wonder the tiredness finally caught up to them, heightened stamina or not.

"Kidding." He nibbled on her pointed ear, his fingernails drew tantalizing circles on her lower stomach, which Alistair _knew_ she liked. "Though I doubt I ever can get enough of you. Just for the record."

"You are trying to bribe me into talking with your hand and stupid mouth." She sounded positively like pouting, but not angry. "That is not fair, _Atish'an_."

"Is it working?"

Lenya sighed and shifted her position to look at him, her elven eyes faintly reflecting the glow-stone's gleam. He knew by now that she possessed far better sight than him, even, or especially, in dim light."You are impossible. Sometimes I wonder where the shy Chantry boy has gone to."

"You... left him in Denerim?" Alistair offered, grinning.

"Hmm, that would explain why I always have the feeling I have forgotten something." Smiling, her hand stroke lightly over his chest, in between their bodies. "Not that I mind. ...Alright, what do you want to know?"

"Does it have a meaning? Like your vala– vares– "

"_Vallaslin_, love. And somewhat, yes. Not like my bloodwriting, of course. A Dalish is only allowed to have one Pantheon, after all. You have noticed my scars on my back by now, I suppose?" Alistair felt along four ridged and puckered lines on her left shoulder blade and nodded. "I told you once that it was a bear, attacking me. But not that it nearly killed me."

He winced. "What?"

"During my hunter training. I was young, stupid and impatient." A pause. "Even _more_ impatient. A bear came too close to our encampment. I was advised not to leave without the other hunter but went on alone anyway. I thought I could slay it and prove myself worthy as a full hunter. I made a wrong step and a twig cracked under my foot. The bear heard it, of course and attacked me. After that, I do not remember what happened - I just woke up in my Aravel days later. Marethari, our Keeper, was the one who patched me up, but it was close. The scars on my back never really vanished. She said it was due to an severe infection, yet I sometimes wonder if she let them scar to give me a reminder to be more cautious in the future. And the tattoo, well, I did mention I was young and stupid, right?"

Chuckling, he pressed a kiss on her forehead. "So it is a sin of your not-so-distant youth?"

"A bet, more like, which I saw through, because I can be quite stubborn at times."

"Really? I hardly noticed."

"Hahaha, very funny, Mr. Snarkypants."

"I'm not wearing any at the moment, love."

"...Anyway," she gave him _that_ look again to make him shut up, though all it did was amuse him. Lenya could be scary without even trying, but he had become quite skilled at differentiating the degree to which she was actually _serious_. The glance she sent him was only mildly exasperated – in between annoyance and amusement – and thus meant no imminent danger for his life. "...the tattoo happened years later, after I had my _Vallaslin_. Everyone was kind of surprised I had chosen Mythal as my pantheon, not Andruil, the goddess of hunt. I was jokingly saying to Tamlen that I should get a second one to meet everyone's expectation, and he _dared_ me to do it. Well, it kind of got out of hand after that." She went on in great detail about how she made the drawing with a sword instead a bow and how they actually managed to get the ink in secret to start. "It was stupid, really. None of us had any experience in the art of bloodwriting, though Sarriel, Fenarel's friend, had a knack for it."

He simply nodded at all the foreign names, not wanting to stop her."I see. Let me guess... you were caught, right?"

"About halfway through the night, yes." She snorted. "My back burned like fire, but that was nothing compared to the Elders' wrath at our audacity. I think we were allowed to leave at dawn. I couldn't lie down properly for about a week and thought I would have to run around with ugly, scrawly lines on my back for the rest of my life. I was lucky when our inking master humored me for my creative idea and said I had suffered enough before finishing what we had amateurishly begun. I had to promise him that it was not a portrayal of Andruil, though, since it is a severe affront for a Dalish to have more than one Pantheon inked in the skin. So I did and...well, you are looking at the result of _his_ craftsmanship, not Sarriel's. I drew the initial motif, though."

He let his finger slide down her spine. "Did it hurt?"

"Oh yes. Needles, inked or not, going under your skin tend to. Not as much as my Vallaslin though, since I could take a break without been seen as weak and unworthy of being an adult."

He frowned. "What?"

"Little detour into Dalish culture?" Lenya sighed, yet humored him. "Let's be brief, then. I'm sure I've told you how the Vallaslin on our faces serves to make us distinctive from other elves and is a sign of coming of age within our clan. There's more to it than just the needles, though: one has to earn it in a ritual with chants and burned incense, rituals which never seem to end. It is holy to us and the most important event for a Dalish personally. But it also causes incredible pain that one isn't allowed to express for the ritual's duration, not even by wincing, which is probably the reason why my Vallaslin isn't all complete. There are actually parts and lines that go further over the face I chose not to let them make. Because bearing through the pain on my forehead and nose without any reaction was hard enough, really."

He smiled, feeling proud for her sake. "Wow, I think I have even more respect for you and your ways now."

"Well, we Dalish are a tough bunch..." Underneath the joking bravery was a slight tremor in her voice, which didn't escape his notice.

"Do you still miss your clan?" Usually, this was one of the unspoken things which never got discussed, by silent and mutual agreement - like his heritage. Thinking of those things while having to fight the Blight only tended to complicate matters needlessly. Thus it remained unsaid. _Usually_.

She didn't answer for a long while. "I always will." After a pause and a deep breath, Lenya adjusted her position slightly. "But my place isn't with them anymore." She gave his hand a tentative squeeze, a gesture saying _'it's with you now'_ more than words ever could. Alistair felt a wave of warmth in his stomach at that. "I can only do the best to keep them safe in my own way. I guess killing an Archdemon would be a good way to achieve this."

"Hmm," he hummed, the tiredness now overbearing, letting him yawn. "Thank you for telling me, love. I'm always eager to hear more of your past."

"That is not the only thing you are eager about..."

Alistair chuckled into her hair and rested his chin upon her head. It was still amazing how perfectly she fitted into his arms, and he doubted the novelty of it would ever cease. Silence eventually descended upon them, only interrupted by the occasional rumble of the storm outside and the pattering of rain.

He almost had drifted off to the Fade, as he felt her shifting, more than restless. At first he thought nightmares were responsible for her uneasiness, but then she raised her voice.

_"Atish'an?"_

Alistair mumbled out a sound of acknowledgment, more than tired.

"What will happen after we find the urn if it really wakes this Arl-shemlen up?"

That gave him pause. "Why are you asking?"

Again a long pause in which she inhaled a shaky breath. "Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything." Turning her head to him, she pressed a kiss on his lips, before settling down again to sleep."_Ma' arlath_."

Unfortunately, Alistair couldn't let go of her words so easily. To him it sounded more than the claimed nothing. So for the rest of the shortened night, he pondered what she meant.

He already had an inkling and didn't like the implication one bit.

.

.

* * *

.

Much to her own surprise, Lenya woke up before him.

The fact encouraged her to turn around in his arms once more, trying her best to ignore the sounds of the others already breaking up camp. Eventually she sighed and gave up, knowing she couldn't ignore it any longer. So the Dalish got up to search for her carelessly discarded clothes in the cramped space of their tent.

She shivered. No matter the season, the mornings in Ferelden always bore more than a tang of chilliness. After a night of rain, it was even chillier than usual. Dressing as quickly as possible, Lenya set out to find the nearby stream. Alistair was still asleep and didn't even notice her leaving. She should probably wake him, but didn't have the heart to do so. He had shifted even more restlessly than her last night and thus needed every last minute of slumber he could get.

"Heh, finally done, Missy?"

"Seeing that I'm dressed, I would think so, Oghren." Lenya rolled her eyes at the dwarf, not bothering to hide her irritation at him. His comments about their nightly activity had become a somewhat annoying morning ritual. Unlike the others in their group, the dwarf never ceased to voice his unasked opinion. Then again, an Oghren without a lewd comment was probably not the same.

Brushing him off, she buckled her belt with her weapons and steered toward the stream in the grove. They might be additional weight, but Lenya wouldn't make the same mistake twice and leave her swords behind. Only a few days before there had been a darkspawn attack on their camp while she was away for dish-washing duties. Even if she had felt them before their arrival, Lenya couldn't have reached her weapons in time. She had needed to disarm a genlock and fight with its blighted weapon, which was an experience Lenya had no desire to repeat. Her fingers twitched at the memory, the burning feeling still palpable.

The air was brisk and still humid from the storm last night. Little thick clouds of fog loomed close to the ground, and veiled her further view. Underneath her, the earth gave away, her boots practically sinking into the muddy, wet earth with each step. Everything around her was muted, silent with a vast expanse of fields and trees beyond her sight. These were the moments when she nearly expected the cold press of a muzzle underneath her palm, the faint concerned whine when she was about to drift off to agonizing questions of '_what if_'. But where once had been Arai, there was only an empty space at her side. Lenya curled her hand to a fist, to banish the ghost of a memory away from her.

Somehow this was symbolic for her life, she supposed. She seemed to constantly lose what she had just gained, again and again in a vicious cycle. When something started to become important to her it slipped through her fingers, like sand. Lenya tried to suppress these thoughts when she lay entangled in his arms, tried to forget about them when he kissed her passionately and full of affection.

Though she never fully succeeded.

There was always the nagging feeling of 'what if', of the question what would happen if Alistair followed his heritage. What if there were no other choice in order to stop Loghain and the Blight than to ensure he take the throne? What would happen then?

Brow furrowed into a pained crease, Lenya exhaled deeply. She didn't want to know, wasn't yet ready to face the answer and doubted she ever would be. Alistair grounded her, was her living sanity and the stability she needed in a world gone mad. If he ever–

"Lenya?" The unexpected voice skidded her steps gracelessly to a halt. In the grass in front of her sat Leliana, the purling, small stream to her right. The bard studied her face and at the same time tried to hide her surprise upon seeing her here. "You look unhappy for someone so loved..."

Lenya shrugged, not wanting to dwell on it. "Can't be grinning all of the time, right?"

"Well, you certainly made the impression in the past few weeks that you could. You and Alistair, _together_. Looking contented." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, and her tone missed the usual easy teasing. "You even have a glow around you; so shameless."

"Glow? No glowing here, human."

"Of course, Leliana is just seeing things, hmm? But maybe you are right. Today you aren't. What is wrong?"

"N-nothing." Well, that was believable. The Dalish sighed. "Ever since...Alistair, I tend to do things I haven't done before."

Leliana smirked, knowingly.

"Yeah, _that_ too, obviously. But I rather meant thinking about the future. It is nonsense to do so in our situation and yet I can't stop it from happening."

"It is normal to wish for a future with the one you love, no?" Leliana lowered her gaze and only then Lenya noticed that her eyes were glassy and a bit red.

She crouched next to her in the grass, suddenly worried. "Did you cry, Leliana?"

The bard stared at her, shocked. "No, no. I just needed some time alone and – _yes_. We are two terrible liars, no?"

"Sometimes, perhaps." Lenya patted her back to goad her into talking, feeling a bit awkward. Ever since accompanying her to Marjolaine's hideout, she had a better relationship with the human, though that was still a far cry from having a friendship such as she had with Morrigan or Zevran. Speaking of which... "Is it about Zevran?"

Again, the bard gaped at her in a way that left Lenya torn between amused and offended. _Of course I can see what is between you_, she barely managed _not_ to say.

Leliana licked her lips, then looked down and sighed. "Oh Maker, I don't know how to say this, but I...think I may be in love with him."

Lenya blinked. Hearing her say it outright was unexpected. She had noticed the tension between the both rogues and didn't shy away from telling her. "It took you this long to figure out? It was plain to see in Denerim, really."

"Look who is talking here. Was it not _you_ who struggled to notice her feelings for Alistair for months on end?"

Earlier in the journey, that comment would have escalated into a serious argument, or even a clash of cultures. Now Lenya had become better at deciphering the nuances of human language, which were more to peg at teasing than genuine indignation. She waved the words away. "Okay, I will give you that. Still it doesn't explain why you sit here alone and cry your eyes out."

"How could it happen?" The bard frowned. "I mean, _Zevran_? I know we... but I never planned to–"

"Me neither. _Elgar'nan,_ I love a _human_, Leliana! My clan and people would tear me apart for the utter disrespect of my culture. And yet, I would _still _defend him against them. It wasn't my choice to fall in love with him, it simply happened. But it was my choice to eventually act upon these feelings, to stand by him. Independent of what he is, I love _who_ he is. And it is no different for you. You can either choose to act upon your feelings, or not. Though if you do not, you had better stop pitying yourself, because you made your choice."

Leliana smiled."You have come a long way, Lenya. Hearing you talk like this makes me proud to fight at your side." The smile vanished. "Sadly it is not I who made such a choice, but him."

"What?"

"When was the last time you actually spoke with Zevran, outside of chance remarks?"

The question gave her pause. All these weeks of travel had been a single blur of passion. Her mind, body, and whole self had been so focused on Alistair that she never even noticed how withdrawn the elf had become. Normally they'd talk for hours at the campfire, but on their way back Lenya couldn't remember even _one_ conversation with Zevran. Either he'd vanished immediately into his tent or chose to walk the rounds to secure the borders of their encampment. Distracted as she had been with her head in the clouds, Lenya had seen nothing wrong with it at that time. "Dammit!" she swore and continued to curse in her tongue under her breath.

"Yes, exactly. The same amount as I have. It is not that I haven't tried..." Leliana let out a dejected sigh. "Maybe it is better this way, I don't know. But I'm happy for you both, really. You deserve this and–

"There you are."

Despite being peeved at his all too timely arrival, Lenya couldn't stop the whirlwind of butterflies dancing in her stomach. Just the knowledge of him standing behind her and hearing his voice was enough to cause it. Creators_,_ she had it bad.

Alistair, confused, looked from one woman to another. "Did I... interrupt something?"

_Subtle as always_. Lenya snorted. "Being Captain Obvious again, dear?"

"Oh. I can go again, if you like. It is just that I woke up shortly after you and, well–"

"You missed me?"

He laughed. "That too, love. But actually, I already helped break camp, but we shouldn't leave without eating something..."

"You made breakfast?" Lenya smirked up at him. "Then I guess I'll have to pass."

"Hmm, I will look after it, see if there is anything left to salvage." Leliana winked at them. "You two can stay here, for a little while." With that, the bard stood up and headed to camp.

"Wow, thanks," Alistair called after her, a bit peeved. The teasing about his lack of cooking ability was nagging at him, and even _that_ Lenya found endearing.

She stood up as well and smiled at him. "You have many qualities and abilities, _Atish'an_. But cooking isn't one of them."

He stepped closer, pulling her into an embrace. Lenya hummed her agreement, the chill of the morning forgotten in an instant. "_Many_ qualities and abilities, huh?"

And now he was teasing her. She chuckled into his shoulder, feeling his fingers thread through her hair. "Oh don't play the innocent with me, Alistair. That act does not work any more."

"It wasn't an act, my lady," he said with mock indignation."You've just been a _baaaad_ influence on me ever since. ...And I love every moment of it." Smiling, he ducked his head in to her for an appreciative, slow kiss. "Just one question: Why didn't you wake me as you left?"

"Well, sometimes I need a moment on my own and you haven't exactly been sleeping well. So while you still slept, I wanted to go the stream to clean up, but then I met Leliana..." Her sentence faded into a sigh.

"Everything okay, Len?"

"Yes...no. It is silly, really."

"Oh, not as silly as hitting me with a serious question and then telling me to forget about it right before we go to sleep."

Lenya grimaced, suddenly feeling guilty for having brought it up in the first place. "Is that why you slept so badly?"

"Well, there were also darkspawn, but mostly yes. I was thinking about your words and what they meant."

"Stupid." Swatting his shoulder, she scowled at him. "You shouldn't have worried so much about what I said."

"Yes, I shouldn't have, but I did anyway. So?"

This prodding of his was also typical, and somewhat annoying, even though she appreciated his attention and concern. "You never can let it slide, can you?"

"Not when it comes to you, no." Alistair shook his head. His hand lingered on her cheek, so rough and yet so warm and gentle. "You are far too important to me to forget about your troubles. Don't expect me to ignore them. As in ever."

"Fine, Mr. Attentive. Have it your way." In spite of the grumbling under her breath, Lenya found herself smiling. It was just so typical of him. An impossible human in every possible way. She loved him, needed him. If he had to- She swallowed and braced herself for her next words. "What if the Blight cannot be stopped unless you take the throne?"

Alistair gasped and looked as if he had been hit by an ogre, instead of a mere question. Seemingly paralyzed, he only stared at her, utterly shocked. A moment passed, then another, where his mouth only opened and closed without any words coming out. "Wow, I saw my life passing by just now and it was – ...Are you out of your mind, Lenya?" He was genuinely angry now. "How could you even ask something like that?"

"Well," She lowered her gaze. His reaction was exactly why she hadn't said anything. "It could be the case, right?"

"I could also be mauled by an ogre, and quite frankly I would prefer that fate to becoming king. I belong at your side, on the battlefield. Anora can deal with the nobles and the politics, for all I care." And then he closed the gap between them to kiss her again, fervently and with no small amount of certainty. "All I want is you. And that isn't too much to wish for, I hope?"

Hope was also what tugged the corners of her mouth upward. "No, it isn't."

"Good." Alistair breathed out, relieved. Even if she had no say in shemlen politics or knew anything about it, her support in the matter seemed to free him from an unwanted burden.

"Let's go back then, _Atish'an_." Taking his hand, Lenya knew she could never reveal to him how much the feeling was _mutual_.

.

.

* * *

.

"Now that is a sight my old eyes don't get to see every day."

And every single member of their group could do naught but agree with Wynne's sentiment. Open-mouthed and gaping they stood on the bridge leading down to Redcliffe's inner village and beheld what the afternoon's sun revealed in a crimson-golden gleam underneath them. The previously desolate village was bustling with life: humans, mages and dwarves alike ran across the large camp. Just about everywhere they looked, encampments had been built and tents of all colors clustered in every free corner. The faint sound of clashing steel and commands resonated through the red-dusted air.

Lenya blinked and suppressed the wish to rub her eyes in bewilderment. Did all this really happen in the short period of mere weeks of their absence? How in Mythal's name was it possible?

"Wow, look at this." Alistair had found his voice again and positively beamed at the sight. "Can you believe it? _We_ made that happen, Len. We gathered each and every one of them to fight for us."

"Yeah..." she only mumbled, still not taking her eyes from this unexpected view. Alistair's words reinforced the slowly growing realization _what _the results of their efforts truly were. This was the very first time where their task suddenly stopped being an abstract, unachievable behemoth and became a real, tangible goal. Before the pride could truly sink in and replace the prior vagueness, she was lifted up and spun around in his arms. Alistair kissed her with all the joy she felt, simply happy and euphoric with thoughts of hope and 'maybe'. Maybe it was possible, maybe they could indeed win the battle. Maybe they could survive and live togeth– At that Lenya's flood of thoughts stopped, this particular hope too precious and fragile to complete. He settled her back on solid ground, but left his arm wound around her waist and held her close, still grinning and drunk with euphoria.

"Heh, get a room, ya two. Or not, I like to watch." Oghren's comment was definitely creepy and disturbing enough to scatter the rare bout of joy.

"Eww, you are disgusting, dwarf."

"Well, love you too, Missy. You know that." He grinned at her, all teeth and amused with her revulsion. "Though I better get a look if _my_ lady wants her fair share of Oghren too." As far as Lenya was concerned, Felsi was welcome to have the _full_ share. Forever. And considering Alistair's expression, the same was true for him. Not waiting for a response, the dwarf wandered off toward the tavern, likely for more than just a reunion with his paramour.

"About time that the Painted Elf returns!" The rumbling voice in sync with the heavy steps gave Shale away before she had fully arrived. "One day longer and I would have crushed every one of their fleshy heads in this pesky little village. The restless scurrying about reminds me too much of the useless meatbags in Honnleath. Needless to say that isn't a good thing."

That brought back the smile. "Shale, it's good to see you."

The golem huffed."I'm glad It has remained unsquished and is back myself. Naturally only for the prospect of being able to finally kill something again. All this annoying waiting, bah. My stone is _itching_ for violence."

"I'm sorry. Though you really didn't miss much in Denerim." Lenya paused, amused at the internal image of Shale wreaking havoc amidst the capital's marketplace. "You can accompany us toward Haven tomorrow, if you like."

"There had better be heads to crush," Shale answered, defiantly narrowing her white gleaming lava-eyes at Lenya.

"Oh, I'm certain of it. Nowadays we can't swing _anything_ without hitting an approaching darkspawn. Or ten."

"Considering this, dear," Wynne piped up, "I would gladly stay in Redcliffe to aid the mages and watch over the Arl's condition, if you don't need my services."

"Of course we need–" Lenya started, but then realized how weary and old she looked, and fell silent. Wynne was in dire need of a break, as the long back and forth traveling was finally taking its toll on the elder mage. "Sure, no problem. We can take Morrigan with us instead."

"Bad trade. _Bad_." Lenya threw her lover a glare, causing him to respond with barely more than a shrug. "What? I'm just _saying_..." The weeks without Morrigan in their group had made his deeply ingrained dislike toward her all too easy to forget.

"Where is Morrigan?" Of all the companions she'd left behind, the witch was the one Lenya had missed the most. She'd really looked forward to seeing her again.

"The swamp witch flew off before I could squish her feathery, traitorous head."

Alistair chuckled. "That reminds me of how much I like you, Shale."

"Or I could squish the clown knight, if It doesn't stop Its feeble attempt of pandering. I'm not choosy."

"Err, no thanks." Alistair cleared his throat, embarrassed. "However, we should consult with Bann Teagan about the news and further plans before we settle down to rest."

"Yeah, let's do that." Though Lenya wasn't keen on reporting back in a long-winded way, the sooner it was done, the sooner they could get to the much desired eating and sleeping part.

For once in a _very_ secure location.

.

.

* * *

.

They found Teagan in Eamon's study, a mountain of papers loaded onto the desk and the Bann sitting behind them.

"Oh, Wardens! No one told me of your return, so I wasn't expecting you." He threw his servant standing nearby a non-subtle, reproachful look and the man winced visibly. "Have you found the ashes?"

"We just arrived and didn't want to waste time with stupid shem formalities." Lenya crossed her arms, glaring. "So we came directly to you. Is that a problem?"

"To answer your question, Bann Teagan," Alistair piped up, amused by her all-too-typical manners - or rather, lack of them. "No, we haven't found the Ashes directly, but we did track down directions on _where_ to find them. In a village named Haven, south of here amidst the Frostback Mountains."

"And it means the trip to Denerim was a complete waste of our time. Well, except for my new armor, perhaps." _And other, very personal developments,_ she added in secret.

"Haven?" Teagan blinked, leaning back into his cushioned chair. "I never heard of such a place."

"We found an old map with Haven inscribed in Brother's Genitivi's notes about the Urn, my lord," Leliana said with a slight curtsy. Lenya couldn't help but to roll her eyes at that. "He was certain that Haven was key to finding the Urn."

"And where is Brother Genitivi?"

"Alas, he remains missing," the bard continued. "We need to assume that he is either dead, or kidnapped by the strange cult he wrote about. The scholar apprentice we found in his house was a fraud, one of the occultists, and tried to kill us."

Dark shadows lay itself over the Bann's elder features. "This is most troubling news. But at least we have a lead. We must follow this trail before it goes cold. It is the only chance my brother has."

_Why? Why all this for one single shemlen?_ This question lay on Lenya's tongue and it cost her everything to swallow it down again. "And by 'we' you mean 'us', of course." She didn't even try to hide the annoyance in her voice.

"How is the Arl, Bann Teagan?" Wynne asked to break the sudden tension, leaning her weight on her staff. She looked so frail and ready to collapse that Lenya took an unconscious step into her direction.

"He is stable, the mages say, but no one can be certain for how long that will be the case. I can show you –" Teagan fell silent, finally noticing the elder mage's exhausted condition. He stood up, his gesture apologetic. "But where are my manners? First I will make sure you all get a room and some food first. Tonight you shall rest in safety within these borders before leaving to find the Urn of the Sacred Ashes."

Another one of her eye rolls. "Wow, how generous."

The Bann chuckled. "I see you haven't lost any of your fierceness, my lady."

"And you nothing of your annoyingly pompous way of speaking. Are we done yet?"

"Almost. It will take some time to prepare either of your rooms, though. So why don't you take a seat over there and we'll discuss the plans concerning the troops in the meantime?" Yes, exactly what Lenya wanted. _More_ talking. _Are all shemlen nobles so garrulous and full of hot air?_

"We, uh, don't need separate rooms." As soon as Alistair said it, he looked as if he regretted his words. A slight blush accompanied his wince as he added quickly, "So it may shorten the preparation time. Perhaps another of our companions have need for it instead."

"Yes, I do," Zevran said and the Dalish threw him a glare for the needless sting to Leliana. The bard, however, remained silent, standing as far away as physically possible from the elf.

"I see," Teagan noted evenly, without any emotion. If the news of them sharing a room surprised him, he certainly knew how to keep it out of his expression. He turned to his servant. "August, see that our guests are well cared for."

Not waiting for the man's response, the Bann walked over to the cushioned seats on the side and motioned the Wardens to follow him. With more than a touch of wistful jealousy, Lenya watched her companions follow the servant. Suddenly she felt seventeen again, waiting for one of Marethari's long lectures about responsibilities. _Ugh_. "I'm sure you noticed the progress we have made in your absence, Wardens?"

"Hard not to, really," Lenya said with a shrug and took a sip of the golden-brown drink Teagan had offered. It burned like fire in her throat, causing her to cough, and Alistair to grin.

"I suppose this is a bit stronger than Dalish wine, dear?"

"Shut up."

"Love you too."

Ignoring their antics, Teagan went on. "King Bhelen of Orzammar is a most helpful ally and has supplied us–" The door abruptly sprang open and a familiar face appeared amidst the room. "Oh, Sten. How goes the training?"

"No one died. So you would probably call it a success, human."

Lenya's mood brightened instantly. "Sten! So good to see you again."

"Kadan?" In the Qunari's unmoving features flickered something like surprise, if only briefly. "It is indeed past time that you should have returned. Have you found your waste bin?"

She laughed. "Not yet, but we are close. Hopefully."

"So you are going to continue to waste time?" The Qunari huffed, displeased."I, however, did my job in your absence, Kadan."

"And you did it well, Sten. Thank you!"

The corner of his mouth looked suspiciously as if threading upward. "_One_ of us has to. Or all these incompetent fools you call an army will be no more than darkspawn fodder." He shrugged. "Although that might be sufficient. We only need to distract the Archdemon long enough for you to kill it, after all."

"Or, " Alistair spoke up, "we could try _not_ to kill all our people, for a change. I know, crazy idea, that."

Ignoring her fellow Warden, she looked at Sten. "Have you seen Morrigan?"

"A couple of days ago, the witch turned into a bird and flew off in search of your people, kadan. Or she has fled the field. Let's hope it is the latter. Then we would have one less problem. Either way, I care not."

Next to her, Alistair burst in a fit of laughter and it was all too easy to guess _why_. Lenya frowned. "I see. It makes sense though, since my people are spread all over Ferelden and not in one place like the other troops. Thank you, Sten." The Qunari inclined his head slightly and left again.

Teagan turned to her. "How many clans are in Ferelden?"

Lenya shifted, feeling uncomfortable with revealing this particular information to a human lord. "Five, as far as I know. No, four, since mine wandered away from the Blight." _And I hope they have already passed the borders_, her mind added. She didn't want to meet them on the battlefield, would never have been able to stand _any_ of them dying. The thought alone was unbearable, so much so that Alistair felt the need to take her hand into his for support.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by Teagan, but Lenya couldn't care less about his frowning gaze. Being here while the Bann wittered on was far more endurable with Alistair at her side.

Like anything else thrown her way.

.

.

* * *

.

The huge crow landed softly on the window sill, its feathers black as the night behind it. Spreading its wings, the glint of moonlight and the stars reflected on them.

The animal panted with the exertion of a long flight and cocked its head at the sight in front of it, as if confused. The room that had been empty and served as a point to slip in and out of the castle unnoticed was suddenly all but deserted.

_Lenya! _It cawed, momentarily happy to see her again. It quickly recognized that she wasn't the only Warden in the room. _Of course not._ If Morrigan had had the ability to sigh in her current form, she would have done so at the appearance of Alistair. And possibly rolled her eyes, as well.

_"Creators,_ I thought he would never stop talking." Instead of the witch, Lenya sighed, clearly annoyed. She wore her hair down, unusually so. The damp strands fell over her shoulders and an over-sized tunic was all she wore - a clear indication that Morrigan was intruding into her intimate space, even changed in animal form as she was. After all, the magic of her spell lingered in the room and air, and had Alistair been alert, he could have sensed it and her presence. But then again, the templar seemed far too distracted for that.

"I think Teagan just wants us to keep informed about the troop's progress, love." He bit back a moan when her fingers ghosted over his bare chest and further downward, the destination clear. His features in her presence were focused and yet relaxed at the same time. There lay a certain ease of intimacy between the Wardens that had been absent before their jaunt to Denerim. Whatever had happened in Denerim had strengthened their bond tenfold, a fact Morrigan accepted with conflicting feelings - dismay and satisfaction at the forefront. It would make her task concurrently easier _and _harder.

"Yes, great. But I truly don't need to know how he is rationing the food for them." Lenya stretched herself to kiss him hard and with all the fury that had colored her voice. Not parting, she arched into him with a sigh of a different kind, one leg curled up around his as a request to heave her up. Alistair complied, his fingernails digging first into the soft flesh of her thighs before firmly gripping her buttocks.

"Well, we'd better stop talking then," he rasped, low in tone, and carried her over to the bed. His grip around her was secure and nothing of the awkward virgin Morrigan had known before, and certainly more a man than a boy. He gently lay her down onto the mattress and followed, his lips and tongue a worshiping flutter on her skin. "You are perfect."

"No, I'm not." Lenya's grin evolved into giggling, positively _happy_ within his arms. "But you certainly make me feel this way."

As Lenya wrapped her thighs around his waist, he leaned even further into her. His hand slipping between her opened legs elicited a moan from her and the breathy gasp mingling with his whispered promise, "Oh, I can make you feel _so_ much more."

And that was the cue to leave, at last. Morrigan couldn't fathom what had made her stay _this_ long. Perhaps part morbid curiosity and part horror due to the complications that had now arisen for what she had to do. The wind carried her light body easily and fast. Far away she flew from the unfolding disaster, but couldn't escape the whirlwind of feelings within herself. Even transformed as an animal she felt all too human, too _weak_, and the bond to Lenya was to blame.

_Weakness._ She cawed angrily into the silent night, finally settling down next to a forlorn group of trees. Only a moment later and the crow was no more, leaving Morrigan in her normal form. Panting, she leaned herself on the rough bark of a tree, cursing under her breath. There had to be another way. She needed to consult Flemeth's book again, but she couldn't- now, didn't _want_ to do so.

_Fool, get a grip on yourself. Mother laugh at you. And then take over your weak body._

Morrigan straightened herself, slowly breathing out. There was a reason she hadn't accompanied Lenya to Denerim, and it wasn't because of the nature of the mission. Ever since learning _how_ to protect herself from Flemeth, the friendship with Lenya had become a poison to Morrigan's plans. These amicable feelings for her 'sister', the sympathy, wasn't _right,_ and yet it all she longed for. Recognizing that she wasn't like her mother, heartless and callous, as she had thought had been probably the biggest shock for Morrigan. She _cared_ and even weeks of absence hadn't changed anything of this new and oh-so frightening feeling. And the fear now had new fuel with the certain knowledge of the Warden's new intimacy and her happiness found with the fool. Morrigan even cared about _that _and loathed herself in equal measure for it. She was acutely aware of having this _one_ opportunity and no other, no matter how much she wished for it to be otherwise. It was the only way to preserve an old magic being, and hopefully her own life as well. Yet it would come at a high price, as magic always did.

Knowing Lenya, the price would be their friendship, the only one Morrigan had ever known. But maybe it was better that way. _Easier_.

_No, not easier_, her mind corrected her,_ but a path necessary to thread_. No matter the cost, she would do it, Morrigan knew: self-preservation was her highest priority, after all, just as her mother had taught her. Yet she hated how much her caring for the one person she called her sister made her _hesitate_.

.

.

* * *

.

_He was chained to the pompous throne, unable to move, the crown on his head heavy. Fire blazed around him, circling around his chained cage before turning to crimson liquid. Within the pool of blood appeared a boy who tilted his head, amused as the king's terror grew._

"_Do you remember me, Your Majesty?" he asked in a detached sing-song, but then his voice adopted a cruel, hard edge. "Or have you already forgotten what you did? To me? To everyone?" The boy cackled, his face twisted with insanity."Are they still saying you had no other choice than to do this? Bedding you in comfortable lies? No choice, no choice," he mocked, singing it over and over again._

"_Stop!" Screaming, the king tried to cover his ears, but the chains were too short, too tight._

_Spurred on by his agony, the boy sang even louder and laughed. All of a sudden he stopped, the grin even more wicked than before as he pointed at the throne. "You are right. There is one thing you have no choice in." Then his expression contorted with wrath. "But you had one, when you _killed_ me!"_

_The sea of blood erupted, swallowing the boy whole in one single angry wave before it was gone. The king, still chained on his throne and helpless, screamed._

Alistair screamed with the king, their voices and pain mingled at the sight. As he jerked up in horror and his consciousness returned, he finally noticed it had been his voice all along. Still shaking, his eyes slowly cleared from the haze of the nightmare, perceiving the scarce light lingering in the room. His ears heard the distinct sound of something crashing down, and an all too familiar cry of pain.

"Lenya..." Immediately, he leaped to the edge of the bed and found her on the ground, scowling up to him. "I'm sorry."

Alistair reached out and helped her up, only to crush her against his bare chest. Trembling, he held onto her with his dear life. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." he repeated over and over again, the terror still persistently residing inside. The lines blurred all too swiftly and suddenly he wasn't apologizing for having pushed her out of the bed, but for something else entirely.

Connor.

The boy in his dream that had pointed at him. laughed at him, had been _Connor_. The boy he had _killed_.

Lenya wriggled and winced in his iron grasp, and only then did he notice that he needed to loosen his panicked hold. Concerned that he'd hurt her, he let go, the shivering not abating as he let his head fall into his hands. Like the images it stayed, burned into the forefront of his mind, leaving agony and guilt in its wake.

There was a touch, a gentle caress threading through his sweat-dampened hair, and her voice. "Alistair?" She sounded frightened, as frightened as he _felt_. He looked up, wanting to calm her fears, to tell her that he is okay, but simply couldn't. Lenya came closer, and without words her arms wound around him. Arms that couldn't even fully enclose his bulky, disparate human form, yet meant the world to him.

He felt her fingertips sliding up and down his back, and her breath on his neck. Heard the little appeasing sounds she made, over and over again, murmuring foreign words as she reverted back into her mother-tongue. He was aware of the press of her naked body against his, completely non-sexual and yet so very calming. Closing his eyes, he focused on all this.

His shaking stopped.

Lenya noticed this and still continued to hold him for another while, without question, without _judging_. Only when he turned his head to thank her for replacing his nightmare-induced terror and guilt with warmth did she stop. Alistair placed a kiss on her pulse point nonetheless, the rhythm steady underneath his lips. His lifeline. "I don't know what I would do without you." His voice still quavered, but even there he could feel the calm slowly returning.

"Slaughter all the chantry shemlen, turn into a drooling lunatic and run through the streets of Denerim in your small clothes, perhaps?"

This actually made him laugh. "I guess?"

"Nah, you would have been fine, _Atish'an_. You have a good heart and you are strong in every way. Alas, you fail to see this sometimes."

"Perhaps." Alistair hugged her close and inhaled her familiar scent. "But I'm much stronger _with_ you."

She sighed in his arms, a long sound of content, as if to let him know that she thought the same of him. "So... you want to talk about what happened? You really scared me there, _emma lath._"

Alistair let go of her, his eyes downcast. "I think it is this place. Being in Redcliffe brings back... memories."

"Oh..." That was all she uttered, and he knew she understood. There were no further words necessary, only her lips on his, curling to a smile. Confusingly so. "I know exactly what you need then," Lenya mumbled with very little distance to his mouth.

He was flattered by her enthusiasm, but not in the mood. "I don't think _this_ is an appropriate time, Len."

Drawing back, she arched an eyebrow at him, bewildered. "Why? What you have against a bit of fresh air? I would think you need it to clear your head."

"...Fresh air?"

"Oh, you thought I meant–" A fit of laughter rippled through her. "No. Later, maybe. For now, get your mind out of the gutter, dear. There is something I wanted to do before we leave for this Haven-place."

He glanced toward the window, the faint sheen of light indicating that morning had yet to fully arrive."But it is still dark outside."

Lenya shrugged. "Seeing we are both awake, now is good a time as ever, no?"

"Right. As my lady wishes." With that, Alistair rolled off the bed and padded toward his heap of clothes.

.

.

* * *

.

The willow tree bent and twisted in the firm, salty breeze, trying desperately to regain its form.

Only then did he realize the destination of their stroll, and the purpose of her picking a lonesome flower near the Castle's wall.

"Hey, Arai. It has been a while. _Emma ir abalas, lethallin_." Lenya nodded solemnly and placed the flower on the mabari's resting ground. The earth had been trampled down by the many feet now scurrying around the castle, and the stones lay in a disarrayed circle. Alistair's fingers twitched, the urge to take her into his arms overwhelming, but he bowed down to pick up Shale's stones instead. Realigning them around the animal's grave didn't take long.

Lenya was still silent, so he followed suit. Glancing about, Alistair observed the golden crowning of the sun as its rays slowly fought their way through the still looming darkness. It wasn't long before the sun would rise in earnest, but for now Redcliffe was still stuck in the mild gleam of predawn light, which granted the village an eerie shine. Fitting, somehow. He breathed in, enjoying, _needing_ the feel of the wind on his face. Lenya leaned back at him, her small fingers threading into his, and he needed that, too.

"We all have something we regret, _Atish'an_. You are not alone in this."

His throat worked before speaking. "I know."

"Nor can we change what happened. Yet to regret also means we care - often bitterly so. I often wish I could simply stop, and not worry any more." Lenya took in a shaky breath. "But I can't. Arai's death won't be the last regret in my life, nor is he the first."

"What is the other?"

Her grip around his hand tightened, her posture tense, as she shifted. "Tamlen."

_Stupid_. He shouldn't have asked. Silently, Alistair berated himself for inflicting unneeded pain on her, for reopening this barely closed wound. "I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have..."

"It is okay, _Atish'an_. It was not you who left him behind, but me."

"But didn't you say he couldn't be found, in spite of your search?"

Her throat made a choked, little sound. "That does not make it any less of a regret, alas."

He knew what she meant, all too well. Alistair had his regrets too, starting with Duncan and going beyond Connor, though the boy's death and Alistair's role in it was currently the most glaring, festering one. Alistair let go of her hand to hug her, suddenly wanting to keep her safe. Lenya turned her head toward him and he seized her lips with his, kissing her slowly, letting her know he understood in a way words simply could not express. Distantly, Alistair became aware of footsteps approaching on the stony ground. The scraping of tiny pebbles underneath shoe-soles became too loud and too incessant to ignore, so finally Alistair looked up.

Right into the Arlessa's face.

She didn't say anything and didn't need to. Once her surprise upon seeing him had faded, her her features immediately shifted into furious contempt. Alistair felt a blazing stab of pain, spearing itself like a sword into his innards, twisting. He looked away, unable to face her any longer. Isolde turned to storm away, the flowers in her hands the only thing he saw in his lowered vision. He wished he didn't.

For even though everything Lenya had said had been true, she'd forgotten about one, important thing:

Regret wasn't only about caring, it also meant _guilt_.

.

.

* * *

.

"What do you mean, you don't want to come with us?"

For the first time in an eternity, Lenya found herself glaring at Zevran, actually angry. Everything was packed, their companions armed and well-prepared to leave. Everyone but Zevran, who had the audacity to spring this announcement on her at the last minute.

"As I said, my dear Warden. Someone needs to watch out for –"

"Cut the crap, Zev," she interrupted him, not tolerating any excuse. "Sten remains here, because he is the one being most able to train the troops. Wynne is currently too exhausted for a mountain trip and Oghren... is _Oghren_."

"Ah, but that is _no_ reason, my dear." His raised hand shrunk back into place, as her glowering added even _more_ in intensity.

"Same as you then, I guess," Lenya sneered, feeling the ever-thin thread of patience ready to snap. "Which is why you will come with us. I need another fighter. We don't know what will be at Haven, or how many darkspawn we will encounter on the way. I need you, Zev. Are you going abandon me for stupid reasons, as well?" It wasn't fair of her to bring his treatment of Leliana up, she knew, but she didn't care about her anger. Lenya couldn't pay heed to personal affairs gone bad, when it came to the safety of her group. An additional able fighter always raised the odds against their enemies. This wasn't a calculation hard to grasp.

Zevran appeared actually impressed by her fierce reaction, his voice calm, apologetic. "Look it has nothing to do with you, Lenya. It is just–"

"–me, right?" Leliana advanced toward them, having followed their all but quiet argument. Her expression was kept even, nearly emotionless, and yet she could not hide the flicker of hurt through her masquerade. "Lenya, if it is so important for you that Zevran go with you...I can stay behind instead." A scoff. "I'm sure he will have far fewer objections to accompanying you then."

Disbelieving silence descended, during which Lenya was sure it was possible to _hear_ when her patience snapped. The distant whimper she recognized as coming from Alistair, who took a few quick strides in the _other_ direction. Just in case. If she hadn't been so mind-numbingly furious, she would have laughed about his reaction. He knew her too well.

"No, for fuck's sake! I want you _both_ to come with me. Is that so hard to understand? I give you five minutes to sort it out and grow a pair. Whatever idiotic, personal struggles you have need to be figured out so we can find this stupid waste bin of a dead woman. ...Believe me, there are one thousand and a hundred things out of the top of my head that I would I _prefer_ to do instead. But you don't see me throwing up my hands because I'm just not in the _mood_, do you?" Lenya inhaled, trying to calm her nerves and loud tone, but failed. "_Five_ minutes. Then I will come back and we will leave. _Together_. Or I will come back to throttle you both bare-handed and let you Shale carry both of your unconscious asses out of Redcliffe. Your choice!"

~V~

The two rogues stared after her, open-mouthed, as she stalked away. Every step oozed ferocity and foretold the sincerity of her threat.

"Ah, she can be very... scary, no?" Zevran tried a casual smile to salvage the already lost situation. His eyebrows drew together upon seeing her glare. The elf sighed. He should have handled it better. But how? He was none the wiser in spite of this belated epiphany, and quite frankly, _scared_. Of what, he wasn't exactly sure, only that it contained a certain bard and needed distance. Distance to what he felt when the former didn't exist. It was all too much like... _her_. Too much a bitter memory.

"Her name was Rinna..." _Wait, where had that come from?_ Zevran blinked, no less confused than her.

"What?"

"I..." _want to tell you_, he thought, "...am sorry," came out instead. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Leliana."

"Well, it is a bit late for that, no?" She lifted her chin in defiance and looked away, didn't want to let him see the pain he'd inflicted within. His fingers longed to smooth her frown away, but he kept them still, balled into a fist. "You should have thought of that _before_ you ran out the room and refused to talk to me again."

"I...know. I suppose I needed time to think and–" Zevran didn't know aware which of them closed the distance between them, only that it _did_ vanish. At Leliana's sudden closeness, his intake of air was shaky and he needed to smother the wish to turn around and bolt. "...I want to tell you. Everything." He heard steps advancing toward them, the duration of the given ultimatum already passed. Before Lenya could arrive, he gave in to the overbearing urge to touch her face, to have some semblance of connection. Much to his surprise and relief, Leliana didn't flinch away. "Not now, though. This will need time."

All of it would, Zevran knew. And this was the only realization he had managed thus far. Not much, but it was a start.

Before turning, he showed her a smile, an honest one."I had better get my equipment then, no?"

.

.

.

**_Review? ;)_**


	99. Psychosis

_**A/N: **More a (shorter) chapter in between than anything else, but tis creepyville time. And Shale totally took over this one. Thanks goes to tklivory for her dedicated beta work and everyone reading, reviewing and lurking. Enjoy. _

* * *

_**I think I'm gonna start my own religion**__**  
**__**Seems to be the recipe for a new sensation**__**  
**__**Think it's gonna make a trendy revolution**__**  
**__**Quite the contribution to the unnatural selection**_

- Poets Of The Fall, Psychosis

* * *

.

**Chapter 92: Psychosis**

.

"_Come, come, bonny Lynne; we've a bed to put you in. Dear, dear bonny Lynne sleeps the peaceful crib within._"

Lenya hadn't been in many _shemlen_ villages in her life, but she was certain that no village would top Haven in its creepiness. _Ever_. The frosty welcome of the guard had been odd enough, and now they had encountered a child standing in the middle of a deserted place, no adults and no other children anywhere close to him. The boy intoned some kind of twisted nursery rhyme over and over again, his words merging with the howling of the wind, and was unperturbed by his newly-arrived listeners.

"_A mossy stone, a finger bone. No one knows but Lynne alone. Dear, dear, bonny Lynne sleeps the peaceful crib within."_

"You know," Lenya spoke up, grimacing. "There is a reason I hate kids. And the living proof of _why_ is right in front of us."

"Ah, so no patter of little feet to come, my Wardens? I'm certain your children would be gorgeous." Now it was Alistair's turn to grimace, though for wholly different reasons. Zevran didn't know about their taint-induced infertility and there was no need to enlighten him. An irritated look was all the elf got instead - not that he minded. Ever since his talk with Leliana, Zevran had reverted back more and more to his joking, casual self. If Lenya had known all it would take was a threat to throttle them to achieve their truce, she would have done it weeks ago.

_Were you up, were you down, chasing rabbits 'round the town. Come, come, bonny Lynne; tell us, tell us where you've been."_

"He can't be so bad, right?" Alistair asked no one in particular. "I mean he's just a little boy." With that, the Warden steered toward the child and squatted down to be at the same level. "Hey there. I bet you're a clever boy. Where is everyone? The village is..." he looked around, "...so quiet."

_And creepy,_ Lenya added silently, while watching Alistair doing..._whatever_ he did.

The boy eyed him critically. "Lowlanders don't belong here." Lenya wouldn't be surprised if the boy turned into a fire-breathing three-headed demon at any moment. In fact, she almost expected it. It would fit the eerie tranquil atmosphere, quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"Can't we just crush Its little head and be done?" Apparently, Shale didn't like kids either. Then again, there was little aside from her obsession with squishing heads that elicited a positive reaction out of the golem.

"Lowlander? No, I'm a Grey Warden. Do you know what that is?" Alistair asked, unsurprisingly persistent in his attempt to win the boy over. For _what, _exactly, Lenya wasn't sure.

He only shrugged, indifference written on the child's face as plain as the day. "No. And I don't care either."

Zevran leaned in to the Dalish. "Watching this little display, my dear, has changed my mind. Maybe it is better if you both don't plan so far ahead."

She rolled her eyes at him, annoyed. "So great to have your permission to _not_ get pregnant, Zev."

He grinned. "You are welcome, _mia amica."_

"What do you know about Haven?" If there was one thing Lenya could give Alistair credit for it was his patience to deal with this brat. She was certain she would have already choked it at this point.

"Haven is Haven and always was." Again, a shrug, though this time the boy showed some more interest in the conversation. "But I have a secret. Do you want to see?"

Alistair smiled. "Sure why not?" Lenya couldn't say why, but at the boy's comment, her hands flew automatically to the hilt of her weapons. Maybe this was finally the point where the child would turn into a demon. Instead, the boy pulled out something from his pocket and showed it to Alistair. It looked like a finger-bone, bleached white by the sun and polished through constant handling. "Wow, that is..."

"...creepy?" Lenya offered and smirked at Alistair's horrified expression. "Just a boy, huh?"

The kid flinched back and clutched the disturbing item tightly in his hands. "You can't have it. It is _my_ lucky charm. I have found it."

Alistair stood up, blinking. "Err, it is safe to say that you can keep it, boy." The boy wasn't even listening anymore and had already started to sing the same grisly song anew. Maybe she should have simply choked him instead, it would have spared them hearing those eerie lines again.

Morrigan snorted. "That was astonishingly unhelpful, idiot." Her golden eyes wandered to the seedy buildings on the side and narrowed. "I'm more than a bit tempted to burn this useless village down and begone."

"Or we could simply knock on the door and look inside," Alistair retorted, shaking his head. "Just as a crazy, alternate idea."

"Pah, knocking." With that Shale stomped over to a door and, in fact, knocked at it. Only... in a golem way. The door burst into many pieces at her blow, its remains clung screeching on its hinges. "Now get moving, or else it isn't only the door which will be crushed."

_Huh, interesting_, Lenya mused, _when did I miss the part where Shale became leader?_ Either way, anything was better than just standing about.

Leliana did enter the house first, only to recoil and leave in an instant.

Or _not_.

"I was not expecting to find something so unsettling." Covering her nose, the bard doubled over and gagged. Interestingly, it was Zevran who rushed to her side in an instant, worried.

And then the stench assaulted the rest of them with full force. Even without having a clear view on the interior, Lenya knew _why _Leliana had reacted like this. Death. Blood. It reeked of decay.

"Ah, quiet, insular communities. There's always something nasty going on behind closed doors."

She threw Zevran a sour look for his quip and moved closer to the building for a better view - and instantly wished she hadn't. In the corner of the shabby room stood an altar, fully equipped with knives and torture equipments. Pools of blood still ran over its sides in dark rivulets. Lenya most certainly didn't need to know to which part of the body the bones in the other corner belonged.

"It has been recently used, then," Morrigan remarked, dryly.

"For food preparation, perhaps?" Now Lenya bestowed her lover with the same look and he amended, gloved hands risen, "I'm just trying to be optimistic. The other explanation is _slightly_ more disturbing."

"'Tis human blood. And it is unlikely that the one who lost it survived such an ordeal."

"Yeah, thanks. I feel so much better now."

The witch scoffed. "As if coddling you has ever been my intent. 'Tis Lenya's task, not mine. Now begone, fool."

He flashed her a challenging grin, not backing away."Oh ho ho. _Jealous_?"

"Enough!" Lenya pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. Suddenly she missed the weeks in Denerim. As utterly useless as this trip might have been – personal developments aside – she at least hadn't had to deal with these both bickering like two deranged halla. "Let's find someone who can tell us about this mess."

"...and crush Its head?" Shale asked, hopeful.

"Ah, considering that I hear chanting coming up from the hill, my stone friend, I'd say the possibilities of some crushing are quite high," Zevran observed. Lenya canted her head at that, listening more closely. She could discern a faint humming, many voices mingling together in endless prayer, carried from the wind down the hill.

Leliana frowned. "A chantry, _here_?"

"It would seem all the _shemlen_ of this creepy village are there right now, singing their creepy songs." She snorted. "Fitting, somehow."

"Then why is It still standing here?" Shale was the first to rush up the hill, chuckling in anticipation. Even if Lenya _knew_ it was impossible due to the massive form and weight of the golem, she would still swear she saw Shale _skipping_.

.

.

* * *

.

Standing in pools of blood from their dead enemies, without even having to draw both her blades, made it apparent to Lenya just how much she had _missed_ the golem.

Creators, it was a miracle that Shale had waited as long as she had for her bloodied frenzy, but it was an impressive feat nonetheless - if one wanted to call slaughtering an entire chapel full of crazed fanatics worthy of such praise. Lenya, however, _did_. Father-_something_, had blathered ed on about them being Outlander and that Andraste would descend on them to punish them... _blah blah blah_. She hadn't paid particular attention until suddenly everyone wanted to see her dead - which brought her back to Shale running about, crushing bodies left and right with a glee otherwise foreign of her. To deprive the golem of her much loved violence seemed to be an effective tactic, though Lenya wasn't feeling _quite _adventurous enough to test Shale's patience any further. Having her with them definitely made the fighting easier, after all.

"You know, just once I'd like to walk into one of these places and discover a lively dance, or a drinking festival. Or an orgy. But alas, no." Zevran noted as he looted the bloody remains with such an ease, one could think he browsed through a shop for items. And, knowing the assassin, in some kind of twisted way, he _was_.

"That was fun." Her stone thoroughly inked in crimson, Shale laughed. "It was amusing how these meatbags tried to attack me with their little pitchforks and swords. Cute. Like little bugs waiting in line to get smashed."

"Yeah, which reminds me: I really should contemplate quitting the Blight and just send you to the Archdemon instead. From my dreams, I know it has a _biiig_ head to crush."

"It would like that? Me doing Its job for It?" For a moment it looked as if the golem was offended by her most gracious offer, then she concentrated on the task at hand. "Let's just find more little bugs to crush."

"I'm certain there will be plenty," Lenya said, half-distracted by Alistair and Leliana scurrying around as they tried to find a hint of Genitivi's whereabouts in the other rooms of the chantry. Morrigan stood silently glowering and demonstratively far away from the bloodied spectacle in a corner. She surmised it had more to do with the fact of being in a chantry than Shale stealing her kills.

"Say what you like about Haven, my dear, but their brand of crazy is a delightfully unrestrained one, no?" Having looted everyone else, he now knelt over the leader of the insane - but dead - bunch of crazies and rummaged in the pockets. "Ah, shiny." Zevran put forth a golden medallion, which looked worn _and _valuable, if the joy in the elf's face was any measurement. Father..._something_ didn't seem to mind. But then again he was missing his head, which made it somehow hard for him to protest. Lenya wrinkled her nose and decided that walking over to her beloved fellow Warden would be better for her stomach in the long run.

For whatever reasons, she found him staring at a wall. "This door... seems new."

"In case you haven't noticed, _ma vhenan_, there _is_ no door."

"Which is the problem, I believe."

Frowning, Lenya traced the bricks embedded in mortar with her fingers, causing some of it to trickle down on the ground. Her frown deepened, but less due to the sloppy craftsmanship than general frustration.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Of course, he asked. He always did and always noticed. A notion that warmed her from the inside against the chill and the shadows that were so pervasive here. "This place gives me the creeps. I hate that we have to linger here so long, and yet still haven't found anything."

"I know what you mean. If anyone had told me a year ago that I would raise my sword against a mob of crazed civilians to find the Urn of the Sacred Ashes, I would have laughed. After I stopped gaping, of course."

Lenya smiled, already feeling better. "There wasn't much of an opportunity to fight them, though. Which reminds me: there isn't a way to make a golem a Grey Warden, is there? Because that would make our plans to elope to Orlais way, _way_ easier."

"Oh, are those are still valid, then?" Alistair chuckled, his gaze on her warm, like molten honey. "Tempting, but I fear the Blight remains _our_ problem, love. Not that I object to Shale running rampant in the darkspawn lines, mind. Speaking of which..." He turned around to where the golem stood. "Shale, can you come here, please? "

The golem didn't move one inch and only regarded the Warden with disinterest from the distance. "So the clown-knight thinks It is the boss? Pah."

"Weeell," he drawled, smirking, "Here is a wall you can crush to your heart's content."

"Why didn't It say so earlier?" Grumbling, Shale stomped over to them, suddenly eager at the prospect of destruction.

Alistair pulled Lenya out of the golem's path and into his arms. While Shale made quick work of the makeshift wall, he turned to her with a pleased grin. "See, I'm a quick learner in how to win a lady's heart over, stone or not. Plus we are certain to find _something_ about Genitivi in the hidden room, as soon the dust has settled."

Lenya poked his armored chest, amused. "Smug bastard."

He ducked his head in to steal a peck from her lips, still grinning. "That I am, indeed."

.

.

* * *

.

"No." Crossing her arms, Lenya glared at Leliana. "We are not taking the human with us to the temple. He will only slow us down."

True to Alistair's words, they had indeed found something of Genitivi: Brother Genitivi _himself_, to be exact. The crazy bunch had not only broken his leg to immobilize him, but also had immured him in the walls of their own chantry. By that point, Lenya somehow failed to be surprised at the villager's insane actions. Alistair had patched him up as far as he could, but Genitivi was not really fit to walk, never mind able to hike up the mountains.

"I don't have time to rest now. I'm so close. The Urn is just up that mountain," Brother Genitivi protested, desperate. "This has been my life's work! To have come this far only to have to turn back... I couldn't bear it!"

"You cannot deny him this. We would never have found this place without him. Maybe..." Leliana bit her lower lip, her mind racing for a solution." ...Morrigan could heal him?"

"Leave me out of this, bard." The witch added her own glowering stare at Leliana, in synch with Lenya. "I certainly do not wish to waste my mana on a man of your chantry. Besides, 'tis broken and I'm no healer."

"Yes, obviously," Alistair spoke up, rolling his eyes. "Though you learned _something_ about the school of creation from your creepy mother and Wynne, didn't you? Knowing your oh-so-selfless nature, you don't let any source of knowledge slip through your fingers unless it's to your advantage."

She snorted. "I don't need to justify my decisions to you."

"Indeed, dearest Morrigan, you do not," he retorted, mockery evident in his voice. "But you do have to justify yourself as soon we are overrun by darkspawn and we are unable to advance in our task due to your haughty attitude."

"It really has become the boss?" Shale asked and turned to Lenya, genuinely confused. The Dalish only shrugged, caught between bewilderment and fascination at Alistair's new-found self-esteem.

"I don't think so, golem." The witch scoffed, derisively. "Just because he constantly beds our leader–"

"Whoa, hold it right here, Morrigan." Lenya stepped towards her, shocked and angered by the abrasive and unneeded comment. "_That_ goes way too far. Whatever your problem is, _drop_ it in favor for the task at hand. Or else–"

"I can set his leg," Zevran said so suddenly that all heads turned to him, the argument forgotten. "It was necessary to learn such a skill during my time with the Crows. It will not be without pain, but I'm certain the lovely witch has no misgivings about healing the good brother as soon as that is done, no?" He threw an expectant glance at Morrigan, who, eventually and very reluctantly, relented.

"Fine. If I must."

"Yes." Lenya only said. Just one word, hissed between clenched teeth and rattling with all the disappointment she felt at Morrigan's behavior. It was enough to make the witch wince slightly, if only for a blink of an eye. Lenya also felt more than saw how Alistair moved to her side, giving her his silent support. It didn't stop her sigh from escaping, or the questions running through her mind. At what point had it stopped being about about Genitivi and become something personal?

And _why_?

She was well aware of the tension between them: a blind and deaf halla would have noticed. It didn't explain why Morrigan threw such a temper-tantrum, nor the excessive glowering in Lenya's direction whenever she chose to spend a private moment with Alistair. Just because they didn't get along with each other didn't mean Lenya wanted to pick sides. After all, they weren't ten-year-olds anymore, and their task was far more important than a stupid game of vanity and sympathy.

There were many – far too many– things and circumstances Lenya disliked herself and yet nobody tolerated her acting on her needs or moods. Not anymore, at any rate. She was expected to just _function_, always ready to kill, to guide and to fix everything that was broken. The glorious, _flawless_ leader of fucking _everyone_ in this Blight. The issue arose in that she _wasn't_ all these things, and thus needed the support and tolerance of those in her ragtag group. She needed this like air to breathe in an otherwise suffocating environment. Angered by these thoughts, Lenya looked at the witch, who chose to glower at the opposite wall, keeping her distance from _both_ Wardens now.

Her fingers twitched.

Creators help her, she liked Morrigan, but right in this moment she wanted to _strangle_ her.

"Are you ready, old man?" Zevran's question shifted her focus back at the current events. At Genitivi's nod, the elf slit the fabric at the man's leg open with his dagger and handed him a piece of wood. Genitivi understood the gesture and without further ado, bit down onto it. "This is going to hurt now," Zevran said, almost apologetic, and started his work.

His screams rang through the chantry, in spite of the wood.

.

.

* * *

.

The ancient temple itself was imposing enough.

High up on the mountain top, there seemed to reign an everlasting winter. Snow covered almost every corner of the grand, far-stretching hall. As did the shadows: an otherworldly atmosphere and hallowed silence looming in the chilly air made a shiver creep down Lenya's spine. Far above their heads, spear-sized icicles hung precariously, unnerving despite their beauty, sending light sparkling brilliantly off the columns that lined the hall.

"Only the faithful shall lay eyes on the Sacred Ashes; death and misfortune await the unbeliever. The Maker's gaze has fallen on Andraste's final resting place. He weeps for His Beloved, and His wrath at Her betrayers endures."

"What?" Lenya turned to the human leaning against Leliana with a frown. As expected, he had slowed their unwanted but needed ascent to the temple. But at least he had proven the worth of his presence by opening the strange door at its entrance with the amulet Zevran had found. The rest was, as always, up to them.

"That is what the legend says, and the Maker may indeed watch this place," Genitivi felt compelled to explain and Lenya couldn't care less for his preachy babbling.

"Can you speak in a way that actually makes _sense_?" Her grousing earned her a sour look from Leliana, but her indifference remained the same.

"It is no more than simple truth draped in hyperbole and metaphor, Warden." He huffed in pain, as he stabilized himself on the snow-covered ground. He was still limping – especially after the ordeal of the ascent – but the joined abilities of Zevran and Morrigan had improved his initial condition by far. "After all, no one wants to hear: 'Willy toiled for many a year to perfect the curious mechanisms that would send a sharpened spike up the arse of the unwary intruder.'"

"Now _that_ is more like it." Lenya couldn't hinder the laugh escaping at that, though it was fleeting. "I will be honest, human. Seeing we don't know what to expect here – except maybe spikes I don't want to come near any place of me – I can't spare any of my companions to play bodyguard for you." Leliana looked as if she wanted to protest, but Lenya's raised hand let her words die down before spoken. "I can however ensure that everyone crossing our way, won't be crossing _yours_."

"Fair enough, Warden. My injuries prevent me from keep pace with you, anyway. But I should be safe here, I don't think there are any villagers nearby." He limped over to a column to observe it. "These carvings were created just after Andraste's death, and they may reveal things about Her life that we do not yet know…"

For Lenya this was the cue to leave and she did so. Only the bard hesitated. "Are you certain, Brother?"

"I'm sorry... what? I was a little distracted. I apologize." Looking up, Genitivi finally discerned the worry in Leliana's face. "Go. I will be all right, dear lady. Perhaps my destiny was only to lead _you_ to the Urn." With this assurance, the bard eventually followed the others, who had already advanced ahead.

"Let me guess what to expect behind this door and further ahead," Alistair glanced at the closed door of withered wood in front of them, his posture tense. "Even _more_ crazy people jumping out at us?"

She only shrugged, a motion which belied the uncertainty she actually felt. "Most likely, _Atish'an_."

"Fantastic." He groaned. "You know, of all the times I wish I was right, this is not one of them."

"I hope you are right," Shale announced, almost giddy at the prospect of more heads to squish. Ignoring the comment, Lenya stabilized her stance and pressed the handle. ...Only to find it locked up or barred from the other side.

"The lock looks... complicated. So we need to search for the key now?" Leliana sighed. "Great."

"I don't need keys, I have a golem." Grinning, Lenya turned to her massive form. "Shale, if you would be so kind..."

.

.

* * *

.

"The dragon... Andraste. You think..." For a good portion of a minute now, Lenya had been doubled over and _howling_ with laughter while the face of the heavily armed man named Kolgrim deepened from one shade of purple to another.

"Is It going to burst now?" Shale asked innocently, and it was unsure if she meant Lenya or the lunatic cultist.

"She is much more than a dragon and I will not tolerate this sacrilege!" Alistair idly wondered why crazy people always had the urge to scream, complete with streams of spittle. It appeared to be a prerequisite to joining this cult - well, that, and utter insanity. "The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine! She is even more glorious than all the Old Gods combined! Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay Her now. What hope do you have?"

Alas, the tirade didn't have the desired effect on the Dalish: quite the opposite, in fact. Just as she seemed to have recovered, she looked up and snorted into another fit of laughter.

"Lenya!" Alistair nudged her side, but it was hopeless. So he stepped in front of her, just in case Kolgrim's giant axe twitched even half as much as the man himself currently did. "I, err, appreciate your...passionate speech, Father Kolgrim, I really do. Nothing has amused my girlfriend that much in a long time. You truly have no idea how difficult it is just to put a smile in that beautiful face of hers. Not that I blame her, with the Blight and all."

Alistair noticed how Zevran clouded himself in the shadows as he stealthily headed toward the mages standing behind Kolgrim in position. He just needed to keep talking for a bit to distract the main opponent and the ensuing fight would be easy as pie. And if there was one thing, Alistair could even do better than bashing things with his shield, it was _talking_. "You know the Blight? The event that would put a damper on even your little party of insanity? Yes, this is why we are here. Urn and all. Which is why we have to kindly refuse your offer to destroy the Urn." He mentally prepared a smite, noted Morrigan's position behind him and listening to verify if Lenya had calmed down. When all these circumstances could be answered positively, he released the smite and threw Kolgrim and the two mages behind him back on the ground. Zevran emerged out of the shadow, slitted the throat of the one and made quick work on the other.

They all had overlooked the _third_ cultist mage.

She stood hidden and out of reach of the smite behind a column and had just ended her spell in secret. It caught Alistair and before he knew what happened, there was pain. _Excruciating_ pain that held him firmly in place and its grasp, without escape. Magical steel claws pressing in further and further, stealing all air out of his lungs. The last thing he noticed before blacking out was Lenya's scream as it mingled with his own.

.

~V~

.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Lenya ran toward the mage, blind with rage and anger at her own stupidity for this glaring oversight. Killing Kolgrim was just a footnote in her mind and achieved as Shale's fist smashed him with a sickening crunch. Before she could even reach the human, an arrow hissed past her head and pierced the mage's abdomen. Another one followed in quick succession and hit her throat. The mage collapsed, her counterspell luckily remaining unfinished. Whirling around to return, Lenya saw with horror that Alistair still lay on the ground, unmoving. She threw her blades away heedlessly and raced to his side, trying to keep the rising panic within in check. She failed. "Alistair!" Cautiously, Lenya removed his helmet and cradled his head in her lap. "You know, _now_ would be a great time to wake up..."

With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, Morrigan came to her side and leaned over his bulky form. She pressed her hand on his armored chest and concentrated on summoning her mana. After a moment, the witch said, "He'll live. I can't feel any internal injuries, nor broken bones. The lucky idiot is only unconscious and you can stop panicking like a hysterical fishwife."

"Oh, excuse _me_ that I actually worry about someone besides myself," Lenya spat at her in anger, halting Morrigan in her tracks as she moved away from the Wardens. Her back stiffened visibly, but the witch didn't turn around. Lenya scoffed, well aware that she was being unfair in her choice of words - as unfair as Morrigan herself had been. "I don't know what your problem is, Morrigan. Yes, I know you both can't stand each other, but I thought we had sorted it out, weeks ago. But ever since we left Redcliffe, you have been nothing but caustic and bitter, even to me. _Why_?" The last word had lost its prior edge and came out with an edge of despair. "What have I done to deserve your anger?"

A weary sigh rattled between the witch's teeth and very slowly, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "...Nothing."

"Then don't make me choose sides, because I _refuse_ to do so. I need _both_ of you at my side, is that so hard to understand? You are important to me, Morrigan, as is each and every one in my group. But you also need to understand that Alistair is not only the man I love, he is also my fellow Warden and thus has an equal say in all matters of the Blight. And no fit you throw my way will change _any_ of that." The witch still didn't turn around, her only reaction a harder grip around her staff. It was frustrating. Lenya needed to blink back tears of anger already pooling behind her eyes. "But I can't do this on my own, nor do I need the–" Alistair's pained groan cut her words off, her attention immediately shifting to him.

"Did we win?" He blinked and a smile bloomed on his face when he saw her. "Yay."

"Yay for you to be alive, more like." Lenya shook her head. "This was stupid of me, sorry."

"Well, even I overlooked that mage, and I was closer to them than you were. So there is no need to feel guilty about it, my dear Lenya." It was a bit odd to hear Zevran speaking up, after both rogues had been the silent observer of her argument with Morrigan for so long.

"I rather meant my fit of laughter before the fight."

"But It _was_ rather amusing how It spat nonsense and grew purple, even without squishing. And I know _I_ laughed after I crushed the insane meatbag. So the painted Warden-elf has done nothing wrong."

"There is no purpose to linger on mistakes done," Morrigan said, curtly. "You both live, so we should move on."

"Heartwarming, really." Alistair glowered at the witch and slowly sat up, grimacing. "Just give me another moment and we can go further up the mountain." Looking at his companions, he added, "We don't actually have to fight the dragon Father Insanity spoke of, right? Because I would rather not."

"Spoilsport," Shale huffed and stomped away toward the exit.

"We should be able to sneak past the dragon, should it come to that." Leliana blinked, suddenly not so self-confident. "...I hope."

"Yes, because I'm so apt in sneaking," Alistair drawled.

Morrigan looked as if she wanted to comment on the opportunity given to her, but eventually bit the retort down. Instead, she held a hand out to Lenya for help with standing up. For a moment Lenya was too shocked to react to the unusual, supportive gesture. Before she could withdraw her hand again, Lenya grasped it and smiled at her. It wasn't much, but it was a start, a sign of truce. The witch nodded in acknowledgment and sighed. "I could cloud the templar briefly into a spell of invisibility. Naturally if it is indeed a dragon, we have to be quick, for 'tis able to sense magic. And the blood of the drakes we killed."

"So you plan to make me a _beacon_?" Alistair stared at her in disbelief and scoffed. "Well, that would certainly work."

"Yes, so we can ran past it, while it feeds on you."

Lenya shook her head, snorting. For a moment it had even looked as if they would get along. But at least Morrigan had _tried_, she could give the woman that much credit.

"Let's get moving. The stupid urn can't be _that_ far away anymore."

.

.


	100. Gravity

_**A/N:** Gauntlet time...and more *cough* The beginning is more for comedic relief than anything else, so don't get too hung up on its actual possibility ;) Thankie thanks to everyone still reading, lurking and reviewing. Tis one hell of a journey, but you all make it worth to keep going. Special thanks goes to my ever faithful beta-sensei tklivory, who bears with my ramblings now for near 50 chapters now. WOW. Long chapter ahead, so enjoy and let me know what you think, cough *runs away to catch the bus to China*_

_._

* * *

"_**There is no innocence. Only differing levels of guilt."**_

_- Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War_

* * *

.

**Chapter 93: Gravity**

.

Upon finally reaching the mountain top and what looked like old remnants of outside ruins, they ran into Shale again. Beside the wayward golem lay the massive and distinct body of a dragon, still bleeding and distinctively _dead_.

The golem only shrugged, unfazed by their shock and the disbelieving gaping in her direction. "It took too long to follow me. So I took the big bird out of the sky."

"_Dragon_," Alistair blubbered out, pointing at the giant mess of smashed flesh and gore in complete shock. "Dead. Killed. By. Shale. _Alone_."

Another shrug. "I was bored."

"That's it, I quit the Blight." Lenya threw her hands up, caught between being floored and utter amazement. "After the Urn, I'm out of here. Have fun with the archdemon, Shale."

Shale let out a snickering sound. "I sure will, if the painted Warden-elf lets me."

She snorted. "You can _bet_ on it."

"Ah, so much for the need to sneak past it, no?" Already Zevran was on the move, to loot whatever the dragon had to offer. Lenya finally began to understand why he was called a _crow_. It was more than just being an assassin, since the elf had actually a worse hoarding compulsion than the elderly women of her clan. More like the behavior of... the actual bird. The thought amused her, though she didn't dare to pronounce the word 'bird' near Shale anytime soon. Especially not after the stunt with the dragon.

"Not to disrupt your _fascinating_ looting party in the dragon's entrails, Zev, but if my elven eyes are right, then there is some kind of entrance up ahead?"

"It looks like a temple." Alistair excelled once more in pointing out the obvious. Lenya loved him anyway. "Huh, a temple in a temple? Odd."

"Here is a crazy idea: How about we walk over there and find out?" The hours spent in the temple, plus all the manic cultists wanting to kill her, had put Lenya in a very bad mood. She lacked the patience for, well, _everything_ and found herself even snapping at Alistair. Having announced her intention, she acted on them, Morrigan in tow. Seeing that they had no other choice, her other companions eventually followed.

.

.

* * *

.

"'Tis...not like the rest of the temple. This part is unblemished, untouched."

Morrigan's words did sound more like a warning than a simple observation. In fact, Lenya found herself tensing, the atmosphere in the crumbling, moldy walls of the ancient temple more than eerie. Old bones lay strewn about, broken weapons and pieces of armor discarded on the mossy, stone ground.

I bid you welcome, pilgrim." Each of them whirled round, ready to attack the suddenly appearing human behind them. Clad in a similar armor like the crazy disciple Kolgrim, he made no move toward them. Despite their drawn weapons, there was no hostility in his bearings. The man remained the very essence of calm and serenity as he regarded the approaching group of six. His gaze wandered to each of them and Lenya felt the strange sensation as if he saw more than just their bewildered expressions. She shuddered, but felt no fear. Annoyance, yes, but there was also an odd sense of calmness surrounding her.

"What manner of spirit is this?" Morrigan was the first, but not the only, one feeling the influence of the Beyond – and something else – as powerful in this chamber.

"I am the Guardian, the protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes." His voice had an otherworldly tenor to it, like he was speaking from across a great distance. "It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste."

Lenya lowered her blades, disliking the powers at work that made her feel so complacent. "So we have to kill you to get to the Ashes?"

"No, it is not I who decides your worthiness to reach the Urn of Andraste." He shook his head, though even that motion was slow. "The Gauntlet will do this, parting the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo four tests of faith, and we shall see how your soul fares. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself."

"Tests, huh?" Alistair spoke up. "If there is another dragon...we have a golem."

The Guardian looked at Alistair. "You will understand what it is when you face it."

"Oh great, can you be any more ominous? I think you weren't vague enough just now." His tone let Lenya know that apparently she wasn't the only one who found the spirit annoying.

"Right. Tests," she said flatly, and walked toward the door the spirit guarded. "Let's go, then."

"No..." Something held her back, a power that paralyzed her will to move her feet. "I need to ask you a question first."

Lenya glared at him, angered by his control over her. "Whatever it is, I'm not interested."

"I see that the path that led you here was not easy." The Guardian paused and studied her expression for a time and then continued with the same irritating tranquil tone as ever, though a hint of sadness lingered. "There is suffering in your past– your suffering, and the suffering of others. Tell me: have you failed Tamlen?"

"What?" All blood drained out of her face, shoulders hunched forward and teeth working madly on her lower lip. She had expected anything, but not this utter punch into her stomach. "H-how?"

"Your path is laid out before me and plain to see–in the lines of your face and the scars on your heart," he answered with the same calm.

Numbly, she heard Morrigan's scoff. "Do not fall for his mind tricks, Lenya. The mountains here are practically weeping with veins of lyrium and have a connection to the Fade. I suppose our thoughts are echoing from the walls and thus caught by the spirits here."

"So It is reading our minds?" Shale huffed, displeased. "Lovely. Can I crush It?"

"Yes, I did," Lenya heard herself say quietly. The words were more a detached echo of her voice, as if it were a dream. "I should have looked longer for him. Tried harder..._anything." _She felt the touch of a hand on her shoulder, but felt too drained of energy to even turn around. She only stared, the guilt clear before her mind and tasting bitter on her tongue.

"You are too hard on yourself. You did everything you could." Lenya recognized the hand and words belonging to Alistair. Such a small gesture, yet it was exactly what she needed to stop being swept away in regrets; he was truly her anchor. Her other companions added their own comments, giving her words of compassion, but she hardly registered it. She squeezed her eyes shut, just wanting the Guardian to be gone, to no longer be at the mercy of his whim or subject to his far too personal questions.

"I see. Thank you for your answer. But what of they who follow you?" the Guardian continued, and turned to look at Alistair. "Alistair, knight and Warden..." His hand retreated from her, in his sudden shock at being addressed. "You wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died, and not him?"

Her eyes flew open. "What?" She almost asked in unison with him, her head snapping around to him. Alistair looked as if he had been struck with a sword. _He still feels guilty about Duncan?_

"Maybe. ...I don't– _Yes_." Alistair blinked hard, and Lenya saw his throat moving in silence for a few beats. "I...wished I could have done more for him, to fight at his side. I... don't know." His gaze hardened, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "And to spare you time, spirit, I also still feel guilty about Connor's death. Are we _done_ now?"

With a nod, the Guardian turned to Zevran. "And the Antivan elf..."

"Ah, it is my turn now, is it? Yay," he said with false bravado, but the tenseness in his posture belied his words.

"Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of-"

His shocked gasp interrupted the Guardian. "How do you know about that?"

"I know much; it is allowed to me," it answered. "The questions stands, however. Do you regret-"

"Yes." The word was hissed, almost as if in pain, his eyes averted from the spirit. "The answer is yes, if that's what you wish to know. I do. Now move on."

"And you..." The Guardian turned to Leliana and she visibly winced. "Why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself Her equal?"

Lenya ceased to pay attention, didn't want to any longer. She was only faintly aware of the shocked gasp which came from the bard, as the Guardian's questions cut far deeper than a blade ever could. Morrigan and Shale remained unfazed by his inquiry, the witch even outright refusing to answer. Maybe it would have been better, if she had been able to do the same. Most of all, it would have been _easier_.

After all was said and done, the Guardian stepped back from the group and gestured to the door behind him, which swung open without sound. "The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek," he said, and faded away.

.

.

* * *

.

"Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come," started the first all-too human looking ghost, as they entered the hall. So eager, as if it had waited centuries for someone to come and listen to its drivel. Maybe she –._..it?_– indeed had. "Thought's strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?"

Riddles.

If there was one thing in the world Lenya hated more than being prodded by a strange Guardian about her most personal regret, it was a hall full of ghosts imposing inane riddles upon them. And getting up early in the morning, but that went without saying. Her companions were quiet, _too_ quiet, at her side, and still visibly shaken from getting their regrets and mistakes served on a silver platter. Zevran stared holes in his boots as if the answer was written there and Leliana gnawed relentlessly on her lower lip, her gaze unfocused.

Creators, she _hated_ this place.

Lenya wanted nothing than to ram her blades into the ethereal, smiling visage in front of her. "Stabbing you in the face?" Everyone in her group threw her a peeved look for her _surprisingly_ wrong answer. Leliana even awoke from her momentary paralysis and flailed about with her arms, as if wanting to write the word 'Dreams' in the air.

Alas, the otherworldly apparition wasn't swayed by the bard's enthusiastic performance. "This is not of what I speak."

"Mhm, too bad," Lenya quipped and readied her weapons as the womanly ghost turned into an all-too-real ash wraith. It was only a murmured spell and snip of Morrigan's finger later when the flaming ash wraith had turned into an glittering _ice_ wraith.

"Shiny," Shale commented, before her stone fist met the pretty demon sculpture and shattered it in many pieces. Some strange energy emerged from the crushed pile of ice and flew into the direction the heavy door blocking the exit. It seemed as if answering the questions were the only way to get through that door.

"I would appreciate if you could desist from giving even more inane answers than the questions are, Lenya." Morrigan glared at her. "I don't particularly desire to waste any more of my magic to freeze flaming creatures due to your moods."

"Spoilsport," Shale grumbled and stomped once more toward the still closed exit. Lenya was inclined to team up with her and do the same.

"But I hate this place with its stupid questions and riddles." She scowled, suddenly feeling like a petulant child in her protest.

"I agree." Alistair glanced about in the chamber. The ghosts were not unlike thick gatherings of the mist which oozed thick from the walls with its dampness. Each of them looked back in expectation at the Warden. "But there is not much choice than to go through with it, is there?"

And so they did.

Lenya left most of the talking to Alistair or Leliana when approaching the apparitions and their riddles. Both were the only Andrastians in her group who possessed the needed knowledge. Perhaps Zevran would have, too, but he preferred to remain silent, his thoughts still dwelling upon their encounter with the Guardian. The solved riddles wove into a piece of a story, history that was for her unknown and not of great importance.

The last one in the row they met was the point where for a small moment their religion became also hers. Every Dalish knew of Shartan. The heroic tale of him fighting alongside the human prophet against a common enemy had been told around the fireplace for many generations. Shartan's deeds, however, got far more embellishment and preponderance than those of a human woman. In fact, Lenya had never heard the name 'Andraste' until Ostagar, and even then it had been only abstract, without significance.

"I'd neither a guest nor a trespasser be; in this place I belong, that belongs also to me. Of what do I –"

"Home!" Lenya blurted out, interrupting the spirit and not giving the others a chance to answer. Such a weighty word and one with a lost meaning for her people. She bit her lower lip, frowning.

_Home is where the clan wanders_.

A sentence Lenya had learned even before walking, but the truth was that the Dalish, while among their own and beloved, were restless wanderers: never truly welcomed, never really in a place that _belonged_ to them. After so many centuries, it wouldn't surprise her if her people had even forgotten the true meaning of the word.

Shartan nodded. "It was my dream for the people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste, against the Imperium. But She was betrayed, and so were we."

She watched him dissolve into the same kind of energy as the others. His was the last obstacle which had kept the magical lock of the door intact and it opened with a rumbling creak. Her frown changed into something somber, bitterness lacing her voice, "The Dales. Arlathan. Humans taking our homes away from us, again and _again_. They still do. Nothing has changed for _Ages_."

Alistair shifted awkwardly next to her, reminding her all too clearly that her outburst wasn't fair to the humans presently at her side - especially not since she had also repeated the newer Dalish tradition and called her home not a place, but the persons she was with. And in particular, _one_ person. _"Atish'an."_ Immediately, his head turned to her, one eyebrow raised in question, and he smiled, purely for her benefit.

"Which reminds me, my dear." Zevran had finally found his voice again, the curiosity stronger than his need to brood. "I never asked you what this name of yours for Alistair means..."

Lenya looked at him, mildly peeved. _Because it is none of your business?_ Then she found that anything was better than his unnerving, distressed silence and decided to humor him. "It means _'safe, beloved place_' in the common tongue."

The elf blinked, surprised. "Oh, so you mean–"

"...Yes, _home_." She smiled back at Alistair, his silent support calming. "Let's go."

.

~V~

.

Panic clawed at her, searing through her being like a blazing knife. The closer Lenya came to the shadowed form standing there, the more she wanted to turn around and flee. She _knew_ this shade, this _form_, had seen it far too often in the opaque expanse of the woods as they had run through the thicket, over the multicolored tapestry of leaves, heedless of boundaries, death and guilt. ...In another life.

_No..._

And then as he stepped out of the darkness surrounding him, it was as if time stopped. Everything ceased to exist save for the gut-wrenching agony and the stillness in which she heard her heart shatter. There was a strangled sound, one she vaguely recognized coming from her mouth. A part of her was aware, practically screaming of it _not being real,_ that is was only another test, but this knowledge didn't help. Even the very visible evidence of his form _flickering_ did not change anything in the undertow of guilt and bereavement pulling her down.

A soft voice issued from the figure as it tilted its head. "You don't think it could be Tamlen, do you?" Upon the name another gasp followed and not from her, but from Alistair and Zevran: the ones who knew her story. The sound was one of comprehension and horror as the picture before them fell into a cruel place. "You think: Tamlen is gone; he is only footsteps in the dust."

Her vision swam with unshed tears, her throat too tight to speak. Lenya only stared. His voice echoed unnaturally upon the crumbling walls, but the appearance of the spirit...so _real_. As if time had frozen and they'd never found the mirror, as if she had never left him behind to save herself.

"I am Tamlen, and yet I am not. I am part of the Gauntlet and part of you."

Blinking harshly to clear her sight, Lenya reached out to him, afraid of what her fingers would find upon contact yet unable to stop. Whimpering, she yanked her hand away when it found only chilling air, as his appearance swam. _Not real. Not real. Not real, _her mind chanted in a desperate attempt to convince her heart to remain unharmed and distance itself from the havoc currently taking place.

It failed.

"I wish..." She swallowed to enable herself to speak, though her throat felt rough as roughened bark. "I... could have told Tamlen that I searched for him. I... tried. But... I didn't find... I – _emma ir abalas."_

"Some things lost can never be found, some mistakes never unmade." Ghost-Tamlen canted his head, his expression etched with sorrow and understanding, so much like the real Tamlen that it hurt too much for her to look at him. "Those that survive must go on living. You have suffered enough, thinking that you could have done something. It is time to leave that behind."

"...H-how?" The question was a desperate little sound, no more than a whisper. He didn't answer. Instead there is the cold press of metal in her hands, put by him –_it_– there. "Take this, _lethallan_. It is nothing compared to the crafts of our fathers, but it should serve you well." It cost her all of her energy to look up, to see the face that mirrored her past and her biggest mistake. He smiled, warm and brightly as usual, as she knew him to do. And each moment of it felt like a stab into her heart. "_Aneth ara, lethallan._ We will not meet again."

Then the spirit was gone. Vanished into thin air like the real Tamlen, without a trace. Breathing became too hard for her and Lenya crumpled, felt herself falling. But she didn't meet the ground, not like the amulet that clattered, its light weight proving too much for her to hold onto. Solidness kept her upright and warmth followed - warmth she numbly registered coming from Alistair's hands as he secured them around her paralyzed form. She did not move, her body stiff and her breath a prisoner in her lungs.

"Give us a moment." Lenya heard the retreating steps of their companions as they left without a single word of protest. Only when his fingers touched her cheek and his lips grazed her forehead did she release her breath. The exhalation allowed her to relax in his arms, a heart-wrenching cry wracking her body. Lenya cried and found herself unable to stop, even with all the little comforting sounds, gestures and kisses he bestowed upon her. Alistair didn't speak, for which she was grateful. He simply held her, his very presence a much needed solace. Her heated face met the cool silverite of his plate armor, reminding her that he must have discarded his helmet and gauntlets at some point - perhaps had even done so when he had realized _who_ the apparition had been. Alistair _knew_ she would need him afterward and he had been there. _Still_ was. Lenya sucked in air, her whole body trembling, but no longer crying.

"I-I'm s-sorry," she stammered, trying to calm herself down, to be strong.

Alistair kissed away a tear on her cheek, while his hand still softly cradled the other. "For what?"

Lenya felt too weak and stupid for falling apart amidst the ruins due to a trick conjured by the Gauntlet. It wasn't evel _real,_ yet it had left her in pieces. She hated it. "This..." she only said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This thing...it wasn't Tamlen and still I–" His lips on hers silenced her and for once in this achingly sweet moment her shuddering had nothing to do with what she had seen.

"_Don't_. Don't tell me you're sorry, love," he whispered, still oh-so-close. "Because you don't _need_ to. You once told me that there is no measurement for grief, that only you yourself can decide if you should feel sad or for how long that sadness is acceptable. That is only up to you and you alone." He looked at her, his eyes pleading. "So please, _please_ heed your own advice and don't apologize."

"But we are in the middle of the Gauntlet, searching for the–"

He snorted. "Void, I would tell you the same if we stood waist-deep in fallen darkspawn." The humor was fleeting; her intense reaction had affected far more than it seemed. "Maker, Lenya, if this had been Duncan or any of my brothers I got to know during those six months instead of Tamlen, our roles would be reversed now. You would be picking _me_ up the floor."

She sniveled and swallowed down what remnants of sorrow were left. "You did the same with me just now."

"Yeah, but believe me love, I wear plate and am a big oaf, so that would have been a far more difficult task. Not to mention ugly. You wouldn't want to do it." Underneath his half-smile and all the new-found self-esteem lay his old urge for self-deprecation: buried and weaker now, but still ready to rear its twisted head whenever the situation called for it.

Now it was her hand cradling _his_ cheek. "I would. Anytime, _Atish'an_. _Always_."

Alistair placed a kiss on her palm, his face lighting up in amazement despite his words and awareness. "I know."

"Good." Their dynamic had already been shifted, from desolation to comfort. She felt calm again, enough to worry about his words instead. "What was that about Duncan earlier? You still wish you had died at his side?"

He flinched away, out of her reach, frowning. Starting to reclaim his discarded armor parts from the floor, he sighed. "I don't know. Sometimes I do, yes. More so after Ostagar, or after we'd... returned there. I guess it would have been easier to fight at his side, because then I would have the certainty of the impossibility to fend off his killing blow, or the many choices I could have done _differently_ to save him or my brothers, instead of the 'What ifs' still nagging at me. You know its meaning too well yourself with Tamlen. That's how regret works, I suppose, especially with more knowledge afterward. But–" Alistair made a few quick strides into her direction again, uncaring for the approaching footsteps of their companions. "–don't ever think I regret anything of what concerns _us_, Lenya. You are the reason I'm still going. You... made it all worthwhile." A shudder ran down her spine as she felt him kissing the top of her head. "You _still_ do."

In sync with him withdrawing, Zevran emerged from the other chamber and gauged the situation before speaking. "Ah, I see you are better. Good. Then I am allowed to inform you that Shale killed us all, yes?"

"It was quite amusing, too," came with an amused chuckle from the golem in the other hall.

Lenya stared at him. "What?"

"Well, not exactly us, of course. But some kind of ...shadow-self? Maker's breath, I'm beautiful. You should have seen me. I looked magnificent."

"Yes, because this is clearly the most important thing when facing your dark side. The _looks_," Alistair quipped, and put his helmet back in place.

Zevran shrugged him off. "It doesn't matter anyway, because they are dead now. That is the good news. The bad news is that behind that door awaits some kind of ...bridge puzzle we are unable to solve?"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Her loud outcry had nothing to do with grief and more to do with annoyance. "How many crap tests do we still have to endure to save one single shem?"

"Two?" the elf noted, ever so unhelpful, and added a smile.

"I didn't need an answer, Zev. But thank you very much for reminding me without reason that we are stuck here for even _longer_."

He flashed her a grin, which only fueled her unfounded anger on him. "You are welcome."

"Come now." She let herself be led away from the spot by Alistair, glaring daggers at the elf's back while advancing to the other room.

.

~V~

.

Alistair had once thought puzzles and riddles were fun.

Or at least a nice diversion, when the other alternative of leisure activity consisted of praying. After the deeply scarring and near death experience with the bridge puzzle, however, he shared the ingrained hatred for them with Lenya. Eventually and with a great bout of more or less reluctant teamwork, they had reached what looked to be the last chamber. _Finally_.

The most glaring evidence for this conclusion was the large statue of Andraste on a raised platform at the far end, the glittering urn before it visible from where he stood. The problem lay in the giant flaming wall which separated the narrow room in its middle. Alistair felt as if the fire were roasting him in his armor: sweat ran in rivulets down his back and...other places. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, fighting the urge to rip his equipment off. Leliana stood in front of the inscribed altar, which was little more than a dusty stone slab. It was suicidal to attempt to get any closer when encased in metal - even approaching the altar was dangerous due to its enclosing fire. His lungs burned with the scorching heat, each intake of air more difficult than the last.

Leliana squinted her eyes, as reading was not easy in the red-hot light._"_It says: _'Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight."_

"Oh for the love of–" Alistair groaned, knowing even through all his reluctance to listen to the Chantry's sermons what their new task and the last test contained: stripping naked and walking through the fire. Now, he wasn't a blushing virgin anymore and really didn't complain too much about undressing in front of Lenya, but the word intimacy had never been meant to include their companions. Reluctantly he tugged on his gauntlets, an act which earned him a confused stare from Lenya.

"What are you doing?"

He gave her an apologetic half-smile. "All are equal in the Maker's sight. 'Be born anew' means - well, quite frankly, it means to cross the wall of fire as the Maker... created us."

"Ah, I think this is the first test I like." Zevran flashed him a grin, already working on the buckles of his leather armor. "As it will still a certain curiosity I have born with me for a long time, my dear Wardens."

He hadn't even time to recoil in revulsion as Lenya's bewildered words cut in. "Your Maker wants me to get _naked?_ "

Alistair leaned in to her, his voice lowered. "Normally, love, I'm the only one wanting that, but in this case..." He grimaced. "..._yes_."

"Creators! This isn't even my religion or belief!"

"But all _are_ equal in the sight of the Maker, my dear. Even such a Dalish goddess like yourself." The way Zevran let his eyes rove over Lenya's body – even if it was just in twisted jest – made Alistair want to punch him. Though if Lenya's expression was any indication, he would have to wait in line for it.

The only one more displeased with the news than Lenya was Morrigan, who stood as far as possible away from the wall of fire, oozing disgust. Shale only shrugged and stomped through the flames, not caring at all.

Sighing, Alistair turned to his lover and fellow Warden, expression pleading. "Can you help me with the armor?"

"Ah, clever choice." Zevran was already half-naked and strutting about without any sign of shame. "After all, Lenya has plenty of practice in getting rid of your clothes, no?"

"...Just not here," he added and pulled her into a corner of the other room, which elicited a smirk out of her.

"Mhm, _kinky_, _emma vhenan_."

"Not you too..."

She shrugged and started to work on his buckles and clasps with startling precision. "If we both get naked, it is normally for _one_ reason and your Maker has nothing to do with it. Sadly we aren't in private, and _also_ in a stinky old ruin. That doesn't mean I won't try to get some enjoyment out of _one_ trail, at least."

Piece after piece, she freed him from his armor, while he tried to remind himself that the reason they were undressing was wholly different this time. Lenya stopped when he was naked except for his smalls, the stale, hot air chilling on his sweat-dampened skin.

Brushing her ponytail aside, Alistair started to return the favor, equally deft in handling her armor. He swallowed upon seeing the sheen of sweat glistening on her bare skin, mostly unblemished from the enemies' blood - unlike her armor, padding and face. Taking a step away to stop inhaling what was distinctively _her – _even under all the reek of dirt, smoke and blood – he closed his eyes. _Andraste. Sacred Urn. Andraste. The Maker. This is a pious occasion. _Alistair found her scent a confusing mixture of nasty and arousing. The reason why he wasn't as bothered by the smell as he should be might have been because they'd spent more than half of their time covered in someone's entrails.

_Andraste. Sacred Urn. Andraste. The Maker. This is a _pious _occasion._

"You should be glad that I didn't bring Wynne or Oghren, don't you think?"

This particular trail of thought brought him back on track, thankfully. "Well, just let's just get it over with, then," he said, and got rid of his smalls in one tug.

Even without seeing her face, he knew she was grinning. "I'm happy that you are normally far more romantic after that particular motion."

.

~V~

.

With a groan and strategically clever placed hands, Alistair stepped slowly toward the fire. The large flame wasn't as worrisome as a certain tactile stimulation on his back.

"Len, I would appreciate if you could stop hugging me."

"Oh..." the Dalish muffled in his back, but didn't letting go. Obviously she was using him as a shield against the other gazes. "You don't like it?

He gritted his teeth as her breasts pressed once more against his back, slick with sweat from the heat. "No, I like it very much, which _is_ the problem if you catch my drift, dear."

Leliana giggled from one side of him, and Zevran gave Lenya a shameless once-over from the other before his gaze returned to Alistair. Somehow Alistair thought it a fitting punishment of the Maker to be caught between _these _two rogues _and_ have Lenya hugging him from behind. All naked, each and every one of them. Trying not to think about any of it, and less about a naked Morrigan _somewhere_ in the room – he shuddered – Alistair walked into the fire. Burning to death was the far less humiliating option at the moment.

Only he _didn't_.

In fact, it was like nothing Alistair had ever felt before. The flames flickered over his skin: not hot, but cool and dry like tongues of wind. They flowed over his skin, and the air around him pulled in to feed them, cleaning him like it once had Andraste. It was a humiliating experience in another form, something higher, humbling and very quickly... _over_. With a gust of wind unknown in origin, the flames extinguished completely, leaving them standing as bare as the Maker had created them. Lenya still had her arms wrapped around his waist, clearly not trusting the experience and thus holding onto something more familiar. That the 'something' was in fact him was almost as humbling as walking through magical fire.

"You can let go, love. It's all over now."

Instead of loosening her grip, she leaned in, grumbling, "Don't want to..."

"Ugh, get a room," came from across the chamber, its voice belonging to Morrigan who had already started to dress again - unlike Zevran. The elf didn't seem to have the slightest inclination to get his clothes and armor, merely continuing to ogle him.

"Handsome indeed, my dear Alistair. Should you ever decide to hop borde–"

"I don't think you want to end this sentence, Zevran," came as a clear warning from behind Alistair's back.

"I'm just jesting, my dear. No need for unfounded violence, no?" With an expression indicating anything but jest, the elf strutted toward his equipment, comfortable in his nudity.

From out of nowhere, the Guardian reappeared and Alistair spun around, staring at him wide-eyed. "You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet; you have walked the path of Andraste, and, like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim." The spirit pointed toward the urn on the end of the stairs and nodded. "You are allowed to take a small pinch of the ashes." As quickly as he – _it_ – had appeared, the Guardian was gone again.

"Ugh, what a _creep_," Lenya commented, still glued at his back. An impressive feat considering his sudden movement before.

"Well, shall we move toward our equipment then?" He was stuck somewhere between amusement and bewilderment of the situation. "I don't think it is appropriate to approach the remains of the Maker's bride _naked_."

"Meh..." was her only answer, but started to walk with him. Considering the laughter that followed them, their joint movements must have looked odd.

Alistair preferred not to know _how_ odd.

.

.

* * *

.

The descent from the temple and away from the Frostback Mountains went far more quickly than the other way around - a circumstance for which Zevran was grateful.

Not so great was the silence lingering in their camp ever since finding a small meadow in which to rest. Fractured moonlight fell between the rough textures of clouds and played on the surface of the withered grass below. Nothing seemed pristine and untouched by the Blight these days: the telltale signs of taint and civil war stretched out over the whole country. The only exceptions were the warm breezes and scents of summer, which abided in defiance amidst the destruction. The most unnerving part of the night for Zevran was the stillness of the night, for it gave him far too much time to think - about the Guardian's words, about the past and... not so distant things.

Sighing, he threw a piece of wood into the fire and watched it get slowly devoured by the flames. Across from him sat Lenya, her back turned to him as she scribbled into her book, an activity she had been engaged in for hours. She had been withdrawn ever since leaving Haven, often staring off into the nothingness. Zevran was tempted to walk over to her and start a conversation just to escape this disconcerting silence, but couldn't find the heart to do so. It had been devastating to observe her reaction upon meeting her old clanmate again, even if it was only a shadow of reality. More than one part of him was glad the Gauntlet hadn't tried the same tricks with him, and thus he respected her need for distance to process the events. There was no call to probe such a wound and widen it when it was already bleeding on its own. And no one knew that better than Zevran himself.

For a moment he thought about seeking out Morrigan and testing the narrow limits of her patience, but he wasn't in the mood to duck fireballs either. As always she preferred to keep her distance, though unlike Lenya it was out of habit rather than grief.

He felt her presence long before she settled down next to him. "Leliana."

"So I'm still sleeping alone, I see?"

Zevran turned to see her lips pursed, her hair ruffled from the bedroll. His breath caught, captured by the thought of how often he had seen her like that and never appreciated it - not really. "Ah, we are back on sleeping together terms? Somehow my dear, I missed that note."

"Maybe," Leliana drawled that word out, with her characteristic lilt that he'd learned to love over time. "If we talk about what the Guardian said. Or what you hinted at before."

He chuckled. For all her faith in the Maker, she was a bard first and foremost. Trading a deal for a deal, always prudent to not make the shorter one. "Very well. So tell me, my dear, did the Maker really speak to you? Or was that all but a clever trick to escape Lothering, hmm?"

It was meant as a lighthearted joke, but it seemed not to sit well with her. Shifting in place, her bright features darkened. "That wasn't what I meant."

"I know." Zevran let out a sigh, his gaze trailing from her over to the fire, nervously measuring the presence and closeness of their other companions in earshot. "And you have every right to know. I want you... to understand why I acted like..."

"...an ass?" Leliana supplied to his words before he could say anything else.

He laughed. "Well, yes. You are probably correct with that wounding. It is quite the fitting description for my behavior these past few weeks." The humor vanished. "Yet I am not used to talking about such serious matters. In fact, I never have and – "

Her hand cut his sentence off, once more. With her touch, heat crept into his system, like a trail of sunlight, blinding him in an unguarded moment and making him blink. He fought the urge to withdraw his hand, for it caused too much of a confusing whirlwind inside which he failed to still. "I don't want to pressure you, Zev. If you don't feel ready, I understand."

The temptation to agree, to flee once again, was tremendous. He closed his eyes and inhaled, needing it to ground himself. "No. I–" Sighing, he hung his head. All his life he'd learned to project himself in playing a role, to be casual, uncaring. He had used the habit so much that it had become difficult to simply be himself, much less to decipher who he really _was _underneath the jest, the feigned poise, and arrogance. That side of him couldn't handle the multitude of emotions assaulting him, and it wanted to hide in his safe place until they would _go away_. ...Only he had learned how they wouldn't, and instead simply festered and grew over time - like the crater-sized hole in his heart with _her_ name on it. To be vulnerable was dangerous, forbidden and all too difficult. Painful. And thus he had always been ready to plan an escape in this particular case, had always kept a way out.

That Zevran was a _coward_.

It was a conclusion he had reached after Redcliffe. Progress had been slow, _too_ slow for his taste, and so he lifted his head and met her gaze. "Her name was Rinna..." As soon he had started, the words flew out, long repressed but still yearning to be given voice. He left out no detail about Taliesen and Rinna, or that he himself had been an obnoxious and arrogant person during his time with the Crows. All his cruel acts and deeds were revealed: nothing was spared.

Leliana gasped, needing a moment to take it all in. Zevran wasn't surprised. "You... killed her?"

"I... allowed Taliesen to." His voice cracked, the picture of her suddenly so visceral before his eyes, like a waking nightmare. "Rinna begged me not to. On her knees, with tears in her eyes, she told me that she loved me and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face and said that even if it were true, I didn't care."

She swallowed. "That was... cruel."

"Yes, yes it was." He drew a shaky breath. Talking was becoming harder with each passing second. "But I convinced myself that she was lying, and our reaction to her betrayal justified. That I don't love her. Enough to let Taliesen cut her throat and watch how she bled out on the street. And I spat on her for betraying the Crows."

Zevran stopped to gauge her reaction, but she only waited for him to continue, her features pointedly even. He didn't know what he expected of her. Disgust maybe; rejection, certainly. He wanted to hear what a monster he had been to the one woman who touched his heart and died as punishment. A confirmation from the _other_ woman who managed this frightening and impossible feat. At least it _should_ have been.

"But she hadn't betrayed you, no?" she asked, to steer his focus back on track.

"No. When Taliesen and I finally assassinated the merchant, we found the true source of his information. I... wanted to tell the Crows what we had done, our mistake. Taliesen convinced me not to. So we reported that Rinna had died in the attempt." Zevran snapped for air, his chest so tight with guilt that he felt himself drowning in it like in water. "We needn't have bothered. The Crows knew what we had done. The master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said the Crows knew... and they didn't care. I felt empty. I felt as if I was nothing. I felt... as if _she_ had been nothing."

"I'm sorry. So sorry, Zev." Leliana squeezed his hand, even before he could elude her touch. "Is this why-?" She left it hanging, but there was no need to complete the sentence, for he understood perfectly its implication.

"...Yes." Only one word, yet the pain inside of him stung with every beat of his heart like an infected wound. He looked away from her, the compassion and pity in her eyes unbearable, unjustified. Pain turned to anger, making him lash out like a wounded animal. "I had closed off my heart, but Rinna touched something within me. And it _frightened_ me. So much that I allowed her to be killed. That I wanted her betrayal to be true to escape these feelings. Her death is my fault because I am such a coward. Do you understand now why I said you deserve better than this? Than me?"

Her answer wasn't in words, but a gentle press of her lips to his, undemanding yet completely unraveling the icy knots in his stomach. Before Zevran could inch closer, she drew away. "Thank you for telling me this. Such an awful tale. I'm so sorry." Not knowing how to react, he simply nodded. "Now let me repeat my question from weeks ago, Zev: What if I don't want you to leave anymore? No more running?"

"I... don't know," he answered in earnest, feeling like a fish taken out of its element. "I guess I could like that. Just.. give me time."

The bard smiled. "Well, I could arrange that, I suppose. So no going back to the sleeping together term now?"

"No. It is better this way, my dear." _While I figure the rest out_, he added in silence and leaned in to the warmth of the fire and her presence. "For now."

.

.

* * *

.

_He evaded his opponent's blow in turning to the side and bashed the unprotected flank with his shield._

_Ser Thalen landed with a loud clatter and thump in the dust of Denerim's arena and remained there. Behind him Alistair could hear the roaring of the public, unable to hide the grin blooming on his face. Only minutes before, said knight had shown disdain for being allowed to fight as a mere templar initiate and under the eyes of the Warden Commander. The knight groaned as he came back to his senses and Alistair was nothing if not polite. So he bowed down and offered him his hand while smiling an impish grin. As expected the knight only snorted in derision and refused to take it._

_Alistair stepped back and bowed deeper, this time in mockery. This gesture drew chuckles from the crowd, which infuriated the knight further."How could you dare this, brat?"_

_Not answering the older man, he stayed in his hunched position, watching out of the corner of his eye as Ser Thalen got up and stormed out of the arena. Turning to the Warden Commander, Alistair shrugged, the grin in his face growing wider. Maybe if he won, maybe then the Warden would take him away and he wouldn't have to become a templar. That he had been allowed to fight had been a marvel on its own, but now he wanted more. He wanted to try and seize this bit of a chance given to him._

_Alas, even the best plans tended to get ruined by something, or... someone else._

_The air escaped his lungs as he hit the ground for the umpteenth time. Alistair fought to regain his senses and rolled away from the following blow, but Ser Talrew was quicker. Feeling the steel of the blade on his neck, Alistair surrendered, miserable. Throughout this last match, his inexperience had been his biggest disadvantage against such a battle-hardened knight like his opponent. Now it was the knight helping him up, and not without much gloating. The public burst into a cheering roar, as they celebrated their new champion._

"_By the glory of Andraste and in honor of the Grey Warden attending our tournament," Knight-Commander Glavin announced solemnly, "I declare you, Ser Talrew, as its winner. The Maker has indeed smiled upon you today."_

_Alistair stayed to congratulate him to the victory, then turned around to leave, not daring to look up to the Warden Commander._

So much for a way out.

_He willed his steps to stay calm, but he just wanted to get away from the arena, from yet another failed dream. Perhaps it was better this way; surely the Grey Wardens had more use for an experienced fighter such as Ser Talrew and not a greenhorn and useless youngster like him._

_Reaching the catacombs, he ignored the mixture of shoulder clapping for his achievement and gloating laughter, though the amount of sneering was far higher. Alistair threw his sword and shield heedlessly into a corner, something the weapon master would damn him for. He didn't care, too frustrated by missing his only chance to escape this life he never wanted. He concentrated to get rid of his armor as well, not noticing the approaching person at first._

"_Alistair?"_

_He blinked upon hearing this name, seeing Knight-Commander Glavin and the Grey Warden Commander Duncan standing in front of him. The Knight-Commander looked as if ready to burst into an angry fit, his head as red as the tomatoes in the chantry-garden. What had he done wrong this time? "Yes?"_

"_The Warden-Commander wishes to speak with you on the matter of your recruitment into the Grey Wardens." He stormed away without further word, or even so much as a glance at Duncan._

_Alistair could only stare, his mouth wide-open. Finally he managed to let it snap closed with a plop. "B-but I didn't even win the tournament!"_

"_I did not ask for the tournament," Duncan responded. "Nor did I offer recruitment as its prize. I came here seeking a warrior of character and I believe I have found him."_

"_I–" He was taken aback, for once at a loss for a witty retort. Alistair couldn't believe that he had been chosen over all the talented and much more gifted fighters._

"_Now, why don't you get your gear and we leave immediately? I promised the Grand Cleric at least that much." This broke his bewilderment and without further ado, Alistair rushed to get his weapon and shield. Never ever had he been happier in this life._

I can leave! I don't have to become a templar! I'm _free_.

.

~V~

.

Waking up, Alistair blinked away the remnants of his dream. The Guardian's question must have stirred the long-buried memories within him, leaving him with a sense of wistfulness. His hand automatically wandered to the place beside him, finding it empty. Like so often in the past days and nights, Lenya wasn't there, keeping her distance even from him. He understood why and respected her wish for solitude. Nonetheless, it did hurt to be unable to help her when he saw her wander about the camp like a ghost, lost in thoughts. Falling back onto his bedroll, he stretched his limbs with a sigh. Lately he felt less than motivated to get up, the thoughts of facing Eamon leaving his stomach in knots. How could he explain to the man who took him in that he was the one who had killed his son, not to mention the whole unnerving heir-thing dangling over his head? Eamon had always made it clear that Alistair was no heir to the throne, so he just hoped nothing had changed in that regard.

He should probably get up and out of the tent. It was almost time for his part of the night-shi–

"Hah, I made it! I finished it!" He startled up as a certain blond ball of energy stormed into their shared tent. His reaction causing her to freeze, eyes wide. "Oh...did I wake you?"

He recovered quickly. "N-no, I was already awake, in fact." Self-conscious as always, he drove a hand through his unruly hair and over the folds of his under-armor.

"Bad dreams?"

"No, not exactly. Just memories of my recruitment into the Wardens. Of... Duncan. I suppose the Guardian is to blame for that."

She knelt down next to him, her book still pressed to her chest. "Want to share?"

"Later maybe, love." He smiled. "Now there was something you wanted to show me?"

Oh, right." Looking down, Lenya flipped through the pages and handed him the book a moment later. "Here." It was cute how she tended to forget that he had a far less keen sight than her in dim light. It was enough to find his stuff, get dressed and see the contours of her face, but not for details such as her drawings.

"Wait a moment." Alistair rummaged through the pack until he found a glowstone and brought it up to the yellowed pages. "That is... better." Falling silent, he observed the clean, fluent lines of charcoal. They were smudged on the edges like always, yet otherwise she had treated the picture with the utmost care. Considering the motive, this was no surprise, and also explained why he had seen her absorbed in the activity the past few days. Not so much nightmares as dealing with ghosts of her pasts. "Tamlen..."

"Mmhmm," Lenya hummed, inching closer to him and the book, yet leaving distance in between - a circumstance he regretted, but didn't want to force into a change. Alistair knew that she would seek his closeness when she was ready. "His picture was the first I started to draw in there, but I never could finish it. I tried... but it was always too hard, too painful to remember his face. He was my first friend, my _best_ friend, my brother, and not only because we were from the same clan. The fact that I had to leave him behind in the cave... I never forgave myself. Seeing him in the Gauntlet – even if it was only a faded picture of him – it was as if time stopped, the pain was so real."

"Has that changed?"

She frowned."I don't know, actually. In the past days, I have thought a lot about what the spirit said _and_ I have finally finished the picture. So I guess, it has. Not completely, but I see now _some_ truth in Ghost-Tamlen's words. Maybe it was right in saying there was nothing I could do, that between wish and reality there is always a vast difference. I... think I should let it – _him _– finally go." Lenya skidded closer, eliminating the remaining space between them. "I'm sorry for being so distant the last days, but I needed time to sort it out for myself. As odd as that sounds and how harsh it was, meeting his all-too-real appearance has given me some sort of closure, at last."

"As I said before, love, there is nothing to be sorry about." Carefully, Alistair closed her book and put it down beside him. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and Lenya leaned into him, humming in approval. "Thank you for showing and telling me this. I don't know much about Tamlen, but I think he would have liked the picture."

She turned to face him, a hint of a smirk painting her expression. "Oh, he would have hated you, dear. Nothing personal, really, just the human thing. He would have especially hated that I'm kissing a human."

"But you aren't–" Alistair started to protest, but she was already pressed against him, sending his head spinning with her proximity, and claimed his lips.

Lenya had intended the kiss to be a brief endorsement of her words, a reassurance of her being okay again, and didn't expect the passion that it followed. She parted her lips, her tongue sliding forward, sinuously gliding along his as his arms wrapped around her lower back, holding her hard against him. Slow waves of sensation crawled down her spine to her belly at the contact. His body was so warm against hers, even with all the sturdy leather of her armor in between. "I missed you," she brought out in between a series of small kisses. Alistair answered with a smile, before his mouth trailed up her jawline, up to her ear. His stubble scraped her cheek and warmth flooding her being, as his lips seized and nipped at the sensitive skin. His tongue mapped the pointed contours of the shell of her ear, alternating with light scrapes of his teeth in between. Lenya groaned at the jolts of pleasure rushing through her, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck. This formidable bastard knew well of that particular weak point of hers and had used it perfectly ever since.

"Likewise," he whispered into the same ear, and she shuddered at the goosebumps his hot breath caused her. As if wanting to give his reply more substance, Alistair pulled her into a firm embrace, nose buried in her neck. She felt him resting there, doing nothing more than breathing her scent for a moment. "You do know that you have wrapped me completely around your little finger, don't you?"

"Well..." To make herself more comfortable, Lenya straddled him, slipping into his lap, an intimacy which brought another sort of closeness to her attention, fueling the arousal he had ignited in her only moments ago. "...I _noticed_, dear." She smirked at her pointed innuendo, pressing a kiss onto the skin near his collarbone. "So your dream? Or rather your story of recruiting?"

"It's a long one." His breath caught at the beginning movement of her hips, but he was having none of her teasing and simply carried on. "I fought in a tournament held in honor of Duncan's visit to Denerim and lost in the final round. I never would have thought he–" The words stuck in his throat, as she rubbed herself unabashedly on his groin, suddenly feeling desperate for friction, for sensation, for _anything_. Alistair inhaled deeply through his nose to calm himself, though his accelerated breathing and more prominent hardness underneath her gave his arousal away. "Len, it's almost time for...-"

...you to _fuck_ me?" Lenya asked in a most innocent voice, before leaning in to kiss him hard and long. Every muscle in his body tensed at that, only to tremble at her harsh choice of words. Not in disgust, but in lust: the deep moan into her mouth was a telltale sign of _that_. Her body rang like a struck bell against his, the head filled with need. Once more she rubbed herself against him, her sex aching like a bruise. Her lips found his in between, pressing hard with a click of teeth and a swift twining of tongues, grunting and needy. _"Atish'an_, you feel so good. Oh Creators, I'm _horny_."

Far beyond the point of protest, Alistair worked on the buckles of her armor in silent understanding of what she wanted him to do, though not without grinning against her mouth with a hint of smugness. Somehow it was frightening how self-secure he had become in mere weeks, not only in handling the many buckles of her armor, but in the topic of intimacy in general. There was hardly anything that caused him to blush anymore; instead his answers came mostly as a smug grin. Lenya loved every bit of his new-found confidence and ardor, being the one on its receiving end. She would be damned if she would freely give up what they had. It was only two days at most until they could reach Redcliffe and awaken Arl Eamon with the Ashes. And quite frankly, that human could go screw _himself_, if he thought she would step aside like the meek flat-ears of his household. Never. She didn't own Alistair – no one did – but she wouldn't go down without a fight when it came to his royal heritage.

He'd managed to undo the buckles of her armored vest at last, leaving her in the padded linen underneath and with the shoulder-guards still intact. However, patience was a virtue Lenya possessed only limited capacity, and her body's demands made it all the more _less_. So it had to suffice. How her boots came off, she couldn't say. Lenya had been too busy with getting rid of Alistair's breeches in the meantime to truly notice. He helpfully wriggled them down, his lips remained locked with hers. One knee guard went the way of the boots, a single leg freed from the leggings, bared to the cool air. She shoved her smalls to her knees and kicked it off the one bare foot, no longer caring. Alistair struggled to loosen the layers of her breastband underneath and eventually simply ripped them away, feeling the same impatience as she did. His hands seized their new-won prize and kneaded her breasts, calloused thumbs brushing over her nipples in a slow motion. Trembling with need, Lenya pushed him down flat on his back and onto the bedroll, kissing him greedily to the point of near-bruising. There was a time for romance and slow moves, and this was _neither_. She just wanted him to be inside, a proof she was still alive, and to forget everything else.

Grasping in between their bodies, Lenya got hold of his erection, seated herself onto the hard ridge of his head, and pushed herself down. In the span of a heartbeat – maybe two– anticipation bottomed out, giving way to mutual, visceral satisfaction. She cried out and quivered at the delicious feel of him inside of her. So full and edged with the tiniest bit of pain that she never knew she wanted until she had it. Not wasting any time, Lenya started to roll her hips back and forth with abandon. Hard and fast, she crashed into him rhythmically, tearing moans and wordless pleas from both of their mouths. He clutched the curves of her hip, pulling her to him with each of her thrusts, adding his own. This hazed, frenzied madness had little to do with love-making and all the more to do with _fucking_. An unrestrained, glorious chase for release for the pent up feelings of grief and regrets inside. She fucked him, needing this far more than any of the soft caresses he normally offered. The crystal clarity of what to call it intensified the coil of pleasure deep inside, and while all thoughts were distant, Lenya knew the end was close.

It came swiftly.

The tightly knotted sensation snapping like a twig underfoot, threading through her with the violence of a thunderstorm, taking her senses away. Still quivering, Lenya felt him bucking underneath, as he quickly followed, his flood of heat marking her inside. Breathless and sweaty, she was about to lean in for a kiss, when she suddenly cried out for an entirely different reason. The veins in her body burned painfully, screaming with the taint, as a picture of the archdemon assaulted her vision. So vivid and real, as if it was able to see her – _them. _Its roar chilled her bones and paralyzed her being.

Alistair nearly threw her off, as shocked as she, and stared at her. "Did you see that? It was as if... the archdemon saw us. _Saw_ us." Lenya didn't reply and swiftly got up, the panic clearing her hazed mind completely.

_The archdemon knows where we are..._

Only a heartbeat later her fears got seconded and bloodcurdling screeches echoed through every corner of the camp. _Shrieks_. "Fuck, an ambush!" Frantically, Lenya yanked at the twisted remain of her leggings, desperately trying to unfurl the edges to get it up again. Alistair was quicker in getting dressed. Gripping his sword and shield, he was already on the run, unarmored and rumpled as he was.

When she finally entered the fray of battle, the worst was already over. Two of the four shrieks had chosen the wrong opponent in Shale and lay as a smashed pulp to the golem's stony feet. Lenya joined Alistair, who had suffered a long cut along his stomach by their claws. Brother Genitivi lay motionless on the ground and she couldn't discern whether the blood around him was his own, or if he was still alive. There was no time to feel guilty for their abandonment of duty, of the what ifs, as she ducked another attack, and applied her own. Slashing across the shriek, Lenya hit its clawed arm and severed it. Alistair's following bash with his shield sent it to the ground for the final kill. Behind her the sky flashed white, as Morrigan sent a lightning bolt toward the remaining darkspawn. It twitched and was paralyzed long enough for Zevran to slit along its throat.

In the edges of camp however, Lenya saw another shadowy figure, and felt its taint. Unlike the shrieks it had been running away from the center and its battle. While the others were still distracted by the chaos the ambush had left behind, she followed its trail, leading away from camp. Her grip around her weapons tightened, the unsettled feeling growing with each step in the direction of the creature.

"Lenya?" Alistair's voice, somewhere between wondering and concern, but she didn't answer. He must feel the presence too, and she noticed him following her in some distance.

"Don't come near me..." The creature warned her, voice ragged and raw with pain. "I'm sick, _lethallan_."

_Lethallan? No. No. No, this cannot be._

Lenya hoped she heard wrong, that her mind was playing tricks on her, after days of coming to terms with her grief. This was simply _impossible_.

Finally, she caught a glimpse of the shadowed figure and her world didn't just stop, it crashed around her. This was no ghost, no false picture produced by the Gauntlet, it was undoubtedly _him_. But instead of his face, Lenya glanced into the twisted visage of a ghoul, contorted with the taint and half rotted. Her knees buckled under her weight, as the seemingly impossible became true in brutal, disastrous clarity.

"By the gods... Tamlen?"

.

.

.


	101. In Uthenera

_**A/N:** __This chapter is rated D for depressing. I utilize the five stages of grief for it, changing back and forth in quick succession since grief is never a by-the-numbers process. So if the lines from Lenya's POV should sound weird to you, then here the friendly reminder that I wrote it from her being in a state of shock and denial ;) __Thanks to everyone, who is still reading/commenting here, and my ever faithful beta tklivory. You are the best. __Aaaand this is all my comment to this chapter, really._

_Hardcore mode: Listen to Black Lab– This Night and/or Evanescence – My Immortal while reading. I dare you, heh. Err...enjoy? *hands out tissues*_

* * *

_**There are things I have done  
There's a place I have gone  
There's a beast and I let it run  
Now it's running my way  
There are things I regret  
Cause you can't forgive  
You can't forget**_

– Black Lab_, This Night_

* * *

.

**Chapter 94: In Uthenera**

.

"_So, she likes you, huh?"_

_Lenya swatted Tamlen on his arm and grinned at his blush. Though it was very light and hard to discern beneath the canopy of the trees, Lenya knew him well enough to see it. "And you like her too, Tam."_

"_N-no, it is not like that. Ceawyn and I are just friends."_

"_Liar!" she teased in an amused sing-song and his blush deepened. "_We_ are only friends. She wants more than that. Like hugging you and making kissy faces with you." Lenya grimaced, only half-serious. "Ugh, _gross_."_

"_You know me too well, lethallan." Tamlen snorted, shaking his head. "All right, I confess. I like her. You aren't jealous, or?"_

"_Jealous?" She blinked. "Should I? I'll make sure she treats you right, but other than that, I'm happy if you are, Tam."_

_He took a deep breath, then smiled at her. "I am. And you have a big part in that, lethallan. I'm lucky to have such a good friend like you."_

"_Damn right you are." Sticking her tongue out to him in her mischievous way, Lenya gave him a light shove before dashing through the thicket."Come on, we haven't got all day for the hunt!" Her laugh resonated through the woods, mixing with the rustling tapestry of leaves under her feet._

_Life was good, and she hoped it would never change._

But it had.

The clatter of her weapons as they hit the ground was muted by the muddy earth and yet so very loud in his ears. Lenya could only _stare_, trembling violently at sight of the tainted creature in front of her. Alistair was only a few feet away from them, uncertain about what to do. The ghoul had retained a distinctive elven form and he feared more than he knew his true identity. Paralyzed by this indecisiveness and the sheer force of his inability to grasp the possibility of this unthinkable scenario taking place, his name came crashing over him with a brutal clarity.

"By the gods..._Tamlen_?"

Alistair gasped at her shocked question and the horrifying certainty it entailed. The cut on his stomach still bled, the pain eclipsed only by the larger one he felt when looking at her face. Her anguished expression told him that it wasn't like in the Gauntlet, where he could simply take her in his arms and make it better with a few words. It was harsher, more visceral, because of its very _reality_. Every moment of silence, of witnessing Tamlen's twisted presence, was pain, damaging her further. Alistair's arm struggled with the weight of his shield, for it wanted to reach out to her, and yet he dared not do so. Only a few steps, a well-placed blow, and he could _save_ her from the agony this sight caused her, as well as end the pain Tamlen was obviously suffering in his state of corruption. Still, Alistair didn't move. He felt as if he had no right, as if he were an intruder in a world where he didn't belong, didn't exist.

"I'm sick... _lethallan_." Each of its–_his_–words were pressed out in between gritted, rotten teeth, the lips fouled away. "The song... in my head. It... calls to me. He _sings_ to me! I can't _stop_ it!"

Lenya made a tentative step toward him, reaching out before instantly flinching away again. "Tamlen..." Her voice was nearly inaudible, a broken whisper to give the terror a name. " L-let me help you..."

"NO!" The creature recoiled even from her cautious advance. "Too late. Too _far_." His fingernails dug deep into the darkened, blighted skin of his head, causing it to bleed. "No help. No help for me." Like a beaten animal, he cowered on the ground and covered his ears. "The song...make it stop. _Please_."

Lenya stared at him, wide-eyed, as dread shook her entire being. "N-no. I... can't. Don't ask me to..." She fell silent, drowning in a sea of sorrow, her eyes glazing with unshed tears. Alistair's shield fell to the ground with a deafening thump, but she didn't even look at him.

Tamlen's head jerked up, hollow, pupil-less eyes stopping her with their agony. For a moment the sad expression looked as if it belonged to a Dalish and not the contorted creature he had become. "D-don't want to hurt you, _lethallan_. But... no choice, want it to _stop!_" Then he leaped forward and attacked her with his bare fists. Lenya didn't move or evade the first blows which struck her. She only endured it with the barest semblance of whimpering and never fought back, as if it were a fitting punishment for her guilt. As Alistair was about to lunge forward, an arrow whizzed past his head and buried itself into the ghoul's throat, the impact throwing him back.

"Lenya?" The bewildered voice belonged to Leliana, who quickly approached with someone else in tow. Alistair recognized the shadowed figure to be Zevran. "A-are you okay?"

She didn't react. As if petrified, she watched how the creature–_Tamlen_–sank to the ground with a strangled sound. She shuddered, horrified.

"What..." Zevran began, ending abruptly as the pieces before him became a cruel, whole picture. Alistair spared him a glance, and as their gaze met for this silent second, it was obvious that the elf knew _too_. The dull thump to his side made him turn his head again, back to her. Lenya had broken down on her knees and yet was still eerily calm. Not a single sound or movement came from her. Finally liberated from the appalled paralysis, Alistair got rid of the weapon in his hand, its weight biting painfully into his palm. He rushed at her side and swallowed hard, his voice cracking. "Lenya?"

She didn't even seem to register his presence, her eyes solely focused on the now unmoving form of the ghoul, staring. Her fingers reached out to touch the darkened, rotten cheek of what once was Tamlen, a faint whimper escaping her.

Bending down to grasp her shoulder lightly, Alistair tried it again."...Len?"

For the duration of a heartbeat–maybe two–the silence was _deafening_. Then, getting hold of one of her discarded blades, she suddenly whirled around, her face contorted in a pained mask of fury. "If you touch him, I kill you, _shem_!" The pointed edge of her weapon bore into his throat, drawing the slightest bit of blood. Too confused, too staggered by her reaction, he froze on the spot, his eyes wide open. Without regarding him further, Lenya let go and scrambled over to Tamlen's lifeless form. Uttering a hoarse string of elvish syllables, she cradled his head in her lap, rocking him back and forth.

He didn't register the hand on his shoulder at first, until the touch tightened. In a trance, Alistair turned slowly, recognizing that it belonged to Zevran. "Leave her be." The elf struggled with his words, his gaze fixed on Lenya like himself. "There is nothing... we can do for her now." _Let her grieve_ remained unsaid and yet hung leaden in the air.

"N-no! I... can't just–" His voice failed him, as tears threatened to take over, stinging hotly in his eyes. Alistair brought a hand up to squeeze his lids, to make the wetness go away, but it only made it _worse_. The fraction of stillness lingered, giving him _too much_ time to process the events and allowing an utter helplessness to crash down upon him.

"What is taking you so long?" Morrigan tore the muted atmosphere of bereavement apart with her harsh demand, ripping him out of the sea of powerlessness before he could _drown_.

"There is... still the matter of Brother Genitivi," Leliana spoke, hesitantly. "He was gravely injured in the ambush. We have treated his wounds as far as we can, but even if he survives this... I fear he got tainted."

Morrigan let out a dismissive snort, having not yet grasped the situation, or simply not _caring_. It wouldn't surprise him. "Superstitious simpleton, I told him to take the potion..."

Alistair didn't look up, his face still covered with his hand. Some foolish part of him still hoped that he would awake out of this nightmare soon. Hadn't Lenya suffered enough? Was there no end to all this death and pain? Just as she had came to terms with the loss, she got spiraled right back into another, even more brutal form of grievance and guilt.

"Why–" The abandoned question sounded a lot less like the usual, caustic witch and more like a person being genuinely perturbed.

"Not now, Morrigan," Zevran said with a tone that left no room for discussion. He heard steps, probably leading her away. "We should go and look after the old man."

"Right..." Alistair suppressed a shudder, less due to the grim task in front of him and more to an unwillingness to leave Lenya behind. Taking a breath, and another one, he let his hand drop and looked up. "Right..."

"What?" The witch couldn't believe how they turned their backs on Lenya. Alistair couldn't believe it himself, yet there had been truth in Zevran's words. As much as he wanted to, in her current state of shock it was impossible for him to give her comfort. "You'll let her _stay_ here, where she is out of her mind and singing insane verses to a _darkspawn_?"

"She's immune!" Alistair lashed out, unjustifiably so, but he couldn't care less. "And he isn't only a darkspawn, but was once her best friend. Tamlen."

Morrigan blinked, all of a sudden uncharacteristically _meek_. "This ghoul is the true form of that treacherous apparition we met in the temple? This would mean that the ambush–"

"Stop. Just _stop!_" he yelled, effectively silencing her with its force. He didn't want her to spell it out, to make it to an even more unbearable truth. .._.was schemed to kill, or hurt her in another form, should the former fail,_ his mind supplied. The knowledge made it even worse.

"I'm sorry. I...shouldn't have screamed at you like that." The weary breath of a sigh rattled between Alistair's teeth. "Let us simply leave her be. For now."

The witch scowled, but didn't say anything. Alistair picked up his sword and shield and forced himself with heavy, unwilling feet to move away from Lenya, back to the chaotic remains of their main camp. She still sat there, back turned to them, the string of her words still foreign and without sense. All but one sentence, repeated over and over again.

"_I wish we'd never found that cave."_

.

~V~

.

Alistair didn't even need to look at the man to know the taint was running through him.

He _felt_ it.

Laid out on a bedroll in their spare tent, Brother Genitivi was already feverish, the blood of his wounds seeping through the many bandages. Even without the corruption, it was highly unlikely that the man would survive until they reached Redcliffe. Alistair also surmised that he likely did not need to end the Brother's life, for it appeared as if his injuries would take care of this task on their own. All they could do for him was to ease his pain and ensure he didn't die alone. Leliana was with him in the cramped space of the tent, while Zevran waited outside and kept an eye on Lenya. The air inside was sweltering and reeked of blood, poultice and the underlying tang of corruption. They would need to burn it, along with his body, a remotely rational part of himself thought. The other, much larger and more shaken part made him kneel down next to the man and take his bloodied hand.

It was the least he could do.

Genitivi coughed roughly, his lungs making a rattling sound as he heaved in a breath. "I... protected the Ashes," he pressed out, and under great exertion pointed at a tiny, shadowed object in the corner. Leliana turned and picked the pouch up, clawing it in her hands. One glance at Alistair made the trail of her thoughts obvious, but he only shook his head. He felt terrible for this, but they couldn't afford to jeopardize their mission against the Blight for Brother Genitivi. It was already unsure if the amount of the pinch was enough to save Arl Eamon, nor if it would even work. There was nothing to spare of the Ashes for a dying man. A cruel, but necessary calculation of worth and importance. Alistair hated it and himself for doing so.

"You... did well, Brother," Alistair managed, his voice trembling with all the guilt and heaviness he felt. Could his fate have been avoided, if Lenya and he hadn't disregarded their duty in favor of–? He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to end this thought and remembering her words, barely an hour ago.

_I...think I should let it–him–finally go._

Absurd how quickly everything could fall to pieces. Lenya was harshly pushed back into the vicious cycle of grief and a man would die due to their neglect. How could he _not_ feel guilty for having missed the approaching darkspawn _before_ the ambush, and to warn them earlier of the attack?

"Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls," Alistair heard Leliana intone a soft prayer, a verse of Andraste's canticle. He knew these lines by heart and yet was unable to join in, not trusting his voice. "From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity." By its end, Alistair noticed how his sight was blurred with his own tears and he swallowed thickly. _All this death..._

"Andraste..." The man smiled, his eyes becoming more and more unfocused, the grip of his hand gradually weaker. "Make sure...everyone kn–" With a final exhalation of breath, Genitivi went slack.

Slowly, Alistair let go of his hand and bowed over him to close his eyes. He finally remembered a fitting verse of his own to honor the Brother, his voice barely above a whisper, "Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand and be Forgiven."

For a brief moment he sank into the despairing silence which followed, his heart aching with the heaviness of it. Then he wordlessly stood as far as the height of the tent allowed and left, the need for air suddenly overwhelming.

"I take it it is done?" Zevran didn't turn to him, his gaze fixed in the distance, where Lenya remained unchanged, unmoving. Had it been right to leave her there? Alistair began to doubt it. Realizing that he hadn't answered yet, he numbly nodded. Not wanting to linger, he went over to the body of a shriek and started to shoulder the creature. Anything was better than dwelling in the ghastly stillness looming over the camp, even piling up dead darkspawn. It gave him a purpose in the undertow of helplessness, an occupation for his mind, if not for long. The elf understood his intent and helped him, while Leliana collected the many supplies broken or sullied by the taint.

The task was finished all too soon, leaving him staring blankly at the reeking carcasses in front of him. This ambush with Tamlen on their side, it was as if the Archdemon had waited for this moment, had spared the life of the ghoul to present it to Lenya what could have been, _should_ have been, without her becoming a Warden. And even now they were both still linked to the archdemon, to its horde, and always would be, until the day of the Calling.

_It knew._

Two words and one awareness that twisted his face with fury. Reclaiming his sword from the center of camp, he returned to the pile of darkspawn and started to hack away in a blind rage. Pent up desperation and frustration made it _even more_ personal, and his ardent anger at _everything_ let him tear through dead, rotten flesh with ease. The dark blood splattered his face in a frenzied rhythm as it pumped in his ears, making him deaf to the calls of his name behind him. Hot tears stung his eyes, hazing his sight, but he did not stop. Only when his knees buckled under his own weight and the sword become too heavy did he let go. Falling onto his knees, Alistair buried his face in his hands, trembling. He cried out, a broken sound of anguish and despair that devolved into sobbing. Deep inside he was aware of the senselessness of his reaction, of him failing to stay strong. Yet he couldn't help it, nor stop it now when the tears flowed free, as it remained the only way to express and ease the oppressing helplessness drowning him inside.

"Shht." The calming noise and touch in his grimed hair didn't belong to Lenya, but Leliana. And it was yet another reminder of how he was unable to do _anything_ for the woman he loved.

"I... can't help her." Alistair brought out in between strangled sobs, feeling more and more pathetic for breaking down like that in front of everyone. "They _knew_... they made it personal. Tamlen..."

"Well, it is safe to say that the darkspawn ambushing us are dead, no?" the bard answered. "And we will get the archdemon soon enough too, of that you can be sure." It sounded like a dark promise, the ire apparent in her expression and words.

"Oh, yes. That we will." Zevran agreed, using the same angry tone. "And it will _pay_."

"I certainly don't object to squishing more fleshy things," Shale piped up. "Yet I don't understand... why is the Painted Warden friends with a darkspawn? I thought Its job is to hack it into many pieces?"

"He... was once her friend and clan mate, my dear stone friend," Zevran felt obliged to explain. "Before he became tainted and Lenya a Warden. She would have shared his fate, if she hadn't left him behind to save herself, an act for which she still feels guilt." He let out a long sigh and frowned. "Such feelings are more than often difficult to overcome." The tone he used, and the way in which Leliana squeezed the elf's shoulder, let Alistair surmise that there was more to his words than he implied.

"I see..." The golem only said, her glowing lava eyes resting in the distance. "Typical fleshy things." She huffed. "_Stupid_."

"Yes, this is indeed ridiculous!" Morrigan threw her hands up in frustration. "Are we going to sit here all night and wait for Lenya to finish cuddling with this ghoul? 'Tis not her friend anymore, but only an empty husk. The one she knew has long been gone."

Fueled by anger at her rudeness, Alistair was back on his feet at once, sneering, "Oh, right, maybe you should go over to her and tell her that in all your glorious _insensitive_ way."

Her golden eyes narrowed at him. "'Twould be at least a better solution than to hack at darkspawn carcasses and to sob hysterically like an idiot." With that, she whirled round and stormed in Lenya's direction. Alistair was about to follow her, but a searing pain in his midsection stopped him in his tracks. His long ignored injury made itself known, reopened by his frantic bout of rage and physical exertion.

"Oh no, you stay here!" Leliana stepped into his way, her arms crossed. "We have to clean and dress your wound first, Alistair."

Pressing his hands against the more than shallow and bleeding cut, he glared at her. "I don't _care_ about this now. I need to–"

"Ah, I do not think you give our lovely witch enough credit, my dear Alistair. She is actually no less worried about Lenya than you, Leliana, or me. She is simply not very adept at showing it."

"You don't say." Altering his glare from the bard to the edge of camp, he scoffed. "I'm certain Morrigan's presence is _exactly_ what she needs now."

"I understand why you feel like this, my dear friend, and I'm no less frustrated." Zevran's candidness surprised him. "But let Lenya decide this, no?"

Weary, Alistair rubbed his face with his one free hand, but only managed to spread the dirt further instead of finding relief. "Here." The elf pressed a vial into his palm. "You might want to drink that, if you want to reduce the time Leliana will fuss over your injury. And no, this is no poison, but a healing potion. My spare one, so to speak. A good assassin is always resourceful, after all."

"Great, that makes it a lot more trustworthy." Words spoken more out reflex than intent, because he was actually grateful for Zevran's support. On a horrid night like this, _any_ company was better than none. "I mean... thank you."

He nodded. His usual affected indifference was absent, pain in its wake instead. "Her state of shock will only last so long, Alistair, and then she will need you. I'd prefer not to waste time for trivialities like injuries in this case."

Alistair grimaced and blinked back the bright bite of tears that were threatening to fall once more. "Yeah, me neither."

.

.

* * *

.

"_Where did he go?"_

_Lenya stared up to Ashalle, unable to comprehend why Tamlen's father was gone and would never return. Her _mamae_ frowned, like she always did when Lenya asked her something difficult, something she didn't want to explain._

"_Daeron was very sick, _da'len_." Ashalle sighed. "He has gone now to a better place."_

"_Where? Why didn't he stay? Tamlen is crying all the time because his father left. I don't want him to be sad. I don't understand why he will never tell us stories again. Why couldn't the keeper heal him, like always?"_

_Ashalle knelt down to her. "Sometimes even magic has its limits, dear. I'm sorry." She wanted to hug the girl, but she evaded the gesture of comfort, too frustrated._

"_This is stupid. Mortal and stupid!" she yelled, her tiny hands balled to fists. "Weren't our people immortal once? Why did it stop?" Lenya glared at her, demanding an answer._

"_You know of the stories Hahren Paivel and the Keeper told you?" The girl nodded. "The shemlen brought a quickening to our blood that changed us forever. Instead of those weary of life passing into _uthenera_-the waking slumber-we became mortal. But us being immortal was a very long time ago."_

"_Shemlen?" She frowned. "They...are to blame?"_

"_Not in this case, _da'len_. Sometimes people are just sick and no one can change it. This is the natural circle of life."_

_Lenya shook with the effort to hold her tears back, and failed. Stomping her foot, she felt her sight blur with tears. She was angry and sad, and hated _both_."But this isn't fair!"_

"_No, it isn't." Ashalle pulled her into an embrace and this time Lenya let it happen. The woman's hand brushed through her hair, like _mamae_ always did when she was crying. Only this time it didn't help much to calm her down. Lenya simply couldn't forget Tamlen's face, his expression, when the adults of their clan had carried the body of his father away. "This is why we tell stories and sing songs about the fallen, even days after the funeral, to ease their passing to the Beyond so that they find their way to all the others that have passed before them."_

_Blinking rapidly to clear her eyes, Lenya looked up to her. "So Daeron won't be alone then?"_

_Ashalle shook her head, smiling. "No, he won't."_

_Lenya felt a bit better after that explanation yet not wholly satisfied. "But Tamlen will. What will he do without his _papae_?"_

"_He isn't alone, _da'len_. Our clan is family and thus we will all take care of him." She wiped the tears from the girl's cheeks. "And you will be there for him too, right?"_

_Lenya took a deep breath and squared her little shoulders, nodding resolutely. "Always."_

.

~V~

.

"I'm sorry it took me so long, Tam. But I'm here now." Looking down, Lenya brushed her fingers lightly over the mottled cheek that was oddly hollow and cool to her touch. Silly Tamlen, for him to sleep so lon–

Approaching steps alerted her and distracted her thoughts. Instinctively, she reached for the weapon beside her, ready to protect him from any danger.

She wouldn't leave him alone again.

"Lenya?" She knew that voice. The witch. Lenya relaxed a little, but didn't turn around her.

"Hello, Morrigan," she greeted her, calmly. "Can you bring me a blanket for Tamlen? He is getting cold."

"W-what?" The witch made the same disbelieving s-ound as the _shem_ before, but Lenya did not understand why her request was so difficult. She just didn't want Tamlen to be cold.

Now the sound that escaped Morrigan's mouth was a more exasperated one, and it confused Lenya even more. Why was the witch angry? "We don't have the luxury to linger here, 'tis too dangerous. Snap out of it, Lenya. Your friend..." The witch hesitated for a moment. "...is _dead!"_

"Dead?" Lenya blinked. The word sounded hollow on her lips, fuzzy like cotton wool.

The witch sighed, as if feeling very uncomfortable. No wonder when she was talking such nonsense. "Yes," she pressed on, mood shifting from anger to annoyance. "Just _look_ at him. Tamlen hasn't been the one you knew for a long time. His death was a mercy, for he was nothing more than a slave to the archdemon."

"Mercy..." Lenya repeated like a child learning the word, her eyelids fluttering in confusion. "Archdemon..." _That_ had a meaning to her, a bitter remembrance of who she was, of what happened, back there in the ruins. Bewildered, she looked down at Tamlen in her lap and, for the first time, really _saw _him. His blackened, mottled skin, the dead, cold eyes. How the rancid blood pooled over her legs, coming from a wound in his throat, the arrow still stuck there. Lenya stared at all the cruel, morbid evidence, the realization coming down with a crushing force.

He... wasn't sleeping.

_Dead..._

The word sank in deeper with each passing moment. Before she had been able to deny the _unthinkable_ possibility, but now she was more and more helpless against the harshness of reality. The world started to spin madly and she felt nauseous, sick to the bones. Scrambling to all fours, Lenya emptied her stomach into the withered grass beside her. For longer than she wanted, she couldn't stop the heaving, as much as she couldn't stop the rotating surroundings pressing in. There was no air, no solid ground to stabilize her and she felt herself falling into a suffocating darkness. All alone, _guilty_.

"Lenya..."

She didn't see him, or _anything,_ through the sea of stinging tears that blinded her, yet she turned to the sound as if it were a lifeline. She felt how he caught her before her world could crash into a bottomless, black pit. _Solidity_. Lenya held onto it – onto _him_ – with his dear life. Her hands clawed into the fabric of his tunic with such bare despair that it made a ripping sound, but she wouldn't, or couldn't, let go. His warmth enclosed her, replacing the spinning madness, but there was still no air. It was near impossible to breathe with such _weight_ upon her, and she struggled for it, gasping repeatedly.

"He... he _lied!_" she ground out, before drowning in the extremity of her bereavement and distress, his solid presence notwithstanding.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair jolted awake, not even remembering when he had fallen asleep, and hectically blinked the haze of slumber away.

He sat in the same spot where he had been holding Lenya in his arms as she fell apart and cried without surcease. He couldn't discern how much time had passed since then, only that it felt like never-ending hours of misery with no solace in sight. A sickening mix of corruption, death, and burnt wood lingered In the air, the fireplace long forgotten in the nightmare it had all become. The night was still dark, though hints of dawn hung high in the horizon, promising to break through the starless blackness. The camp was eerily quiet save for Shale's heavy footfalls patrolling around its borders. In spite of not wanting to succumb, both rogues and the witch had dropped into bouts of fitful sleep in its chaotic remnants of the camp. He couldn't blame them. The events had been exhausting: physically but especially emotionally, beyond any measurement. Alistair didn't even want to think about the march still needed to finally reach Redcliffe's safe borders to lick their wounds and hopefully recuperate.

Now, however, his arms were empty. What startled him most was not only Lenya's absence, but that Tamlen's body was missing. Alistair felt her presence and not a moment later his searching eyes spotted her shadowy figure beside a few trees. He couldn't discern what she was doing, only that her movements were frantic. Rushing over to her as fast as he could, Alistair finally recognized that her hectic motions were those of digging, Tamlen's corpse next to her. Without relent and in a mechanical pattern, she plunged her bare hands into the earth, again and again. The sizable hole in front of her and heap of muddy soil beside her indicated that she had been at it for _hours_.

"Lenya…" She didn't react at all. He wasn't sure that she had even noticed his presence. Alistair swallowed, this situation so like the other that he found it hard to speak. "….love?"

She stopped for a moment, blinking up. _"Atish'an…"_ Her voice was weak and stricken like her demeanor, the fire in both extinguished. It was almost physically painful for him to see her like this. "Can you help me? I need to find twigs of oak and cedar."

Never minding the fact that there wouldn't be any of that to find in the withered lands surrounded by the Blight, Alistair already had a horrible inkling for why she wanted it. "Why?" he asked nonetheless, hoping so very much to be wrong.

Lenya frowned at him, incredulous that he dared to question the most obvious thing. "To bury with him, of course. So that he finds his way to the Beyond, where Dirthamen awaits him. And a sapling. Do you think we can find anything like that here?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, every breath a lesson in emotional agony. _How can I tell her that– _Alistair gritted his teeth, forced the words out, "…You can't bury him, Len. Tamlen is… tainted."

"Oh…" Her matter-of-fact tone made him look at her again. He instantly wished he _hadn't_. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, one cheek under all the grime swollen and bruised. There where the ghoul–_Tamlen_–had hit her, before he could stop it. "Right…" She laughed, mirthless, desperate. "I…I forgot... Stupid of me." Standing up in an all too calm way, Lenya brushed the loose earth and mud from her underarmor, the motion erratic, trembling.

He erased the little gap in between them, taking her into his arms. "I am so sorry."

For a moment there was no movement, the silence broken only by the dim sound of footfalls as the camp slowly awakened. Lenya squirmed out of his embrace, stepping away. She looked up at him, her tone eerily composed. "So you have to burn me too, when I die - because I'm tainted, as well. Can't have me poisoning the soil, right?"

Alistair raised his hand, feeling as if had been punched in the stomach. Hearing her talk so casually about her demise was too much, too painful. "Don't! Please…"

Her lips set in a straight line and her eyes narrowed at him as her mood swiftly darkened. "I can't even die like my people. Even _this _the taint has taken from me. _Everything_ has been taken from me. And _you?_" she yelled at him, her whole body tense, shaking. "You will be king for humans who only see me as a savage. You are going to leave me, too. It is not as if there is really a choice and you _know_ it."

"No!" Shocked to be called out, he vehemently shook his head, tears blurring his sight. "I won't." _I need you._ What he couldn't articulate in words, Alistair tried to express in pulling her closer to reassure not only her, but himself.

But Lenya ducked under his arms, scowling at him. "Don't touch me!"

Three words that left him in pieces, that pulled the ground from under him. Yanking his hands back as if stung, the opressing feeling of helplessness returned, tenfold. "We… should burn the bodies and move on," said a sudden voice behind them, belonging to Zevran. The elf grasped the situation astonishingly quick, and thus adjusted his words. "We can build a simple, but separate pyre for your friend, Lenya. If this is what you wish."

Lenya stared at the heap of loose earth, then at Tamlen's body, face blank. "Yeah… whatever." With that, she whirled around and left, as if she didn't care at all anymore.

Yet Alistair _knew_ the exact opposite was the case, that the wound was even deeper than before.

And that knowledge _hurt_.

.

~V~

.

The flames devoured his body greedily, illuminating the sky with its bright light.

Lenya stared numbly into it without moving or showing any sign of emotion. After endless hours of crying and lamenting, she simply didn't have the strength to _care_, and felt nothing but emptiness. She barely registered the foul smell in the air, retreating to a faded memory instead: a verse Hahren Paivel had recited the first time they held a service for Tamlen, without a body or evidence of his death.

_Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky, hast'ning to place one last kiss upon your eye. Tenderly land enfolds you in slumber, softening the rolling thunder. Dagger now sheathed, bow no longer tense. During this, your last hour, only silence._

Now everything was different. Tamlen was dead, definitively so, after being turned into a ghoul and sent after her. The archdemon _knew_. Frowning, Lenya stashed those facts away to deal with them _later_, or preferably _never_. Turning numb was better than facing the overbearing guilt inside, or the circumstance that he couldn't even be _buried_. Even in death, the taint would dominate her, taking away her control and removing any choice she might have in her own demise.

_I will end like this too.._.

Slowly her body would turn from being resistant to the taint to being poisonous itself, succumbing to its corruption. Maybe it would have been better if Duncan hadn't found her back in the cave. _Easier_. She would have been spared all the hurt and loss, that shattered her heart again and again until it would become too brittle to be put back together. Until it all became too much to bear.

If it not already was.

Lenya squeezed her eyes shut, escaping into the comfort of nothingness, the numbness. Away from Alistair, the pain, from everything. She lingered still, until her ears twitched upon hearing the sound of Leliana's voice and lute. The words were so hauntingly familiar that they carried a kind of ache with its somber tune that she tried so hard to escape from.

_In Uthenera._

_Souver'inan isala hamin. Vhenan him dor'felas._

How ironically fitting these lines were for her wreckage of emotions. Fitting, and far too close for comfort. Shaking herself, Lenya turned away from the heat of the three pyres, refusing to listen any longer.

"Let's go."

.

.


	102. Where Do We Draw The Line?

_**A/N: **Thanks to all still reading, reviewing and faving the story. (I actually had a few new reader subscribing to this monster last week. You brave souls!) The real A/N is this time on the end of this chapter, for spoilery reasons. Special thanks to my beta extraordinaire **tklivory**, who never stops to be awesome, and thus all should read her blight story too. /./_shamelessly advertises her writing._ Long chapter, for reasons. Heh. Enjoy._

_._

* * *

_**The weight of loneliness stands on your feet  
The cage already there around the bird  
What does tomorrow want from me  
What does it matter what I see  
If it can't be my design  
Tell me where do we draw the line **_

– _Poets Of The Fall _

* * *

.

**Chapter 95: Where Do We Draw The Line?**

.

"What happened?"

It only took a single glance for Wynne to know something was amiss. Then again, to _not_ see the bloodied, begrimed appearance and dejected expressions of the group in the bright light of the midday sun was somewhat _impossible_. They stood within the the castle courtyard, each of them silent against the constant stream of shouting from the practicing troops.

"There...was an ambush," Alistair said eventually, when no one else spoke. He was beyond exhausted; the darkspawn horde they had run into just an hour past being only the newest, unwanted icing on many days of utter misery. Worse, during the battle Lenya had shown next to no resistance to their attacks, which left him fighting for two in order to protect her. His gaze flicked over to her, her posture oozing pure defeat. Not that he had expected her grief to change or progress in so little time, though her complete apathy to everything was hard to bear. She had neither spoken, nor truly slept, in the remaining days of travel and had distanced herself from everyone, especially him.

It hurt.

Without a word or care for Wynne's concern, Lenya left and vanished into the castle. Bewildered, the mage looked after her, frowning even as she turned back to Alistair. "I repeat: What _exactly_ happened?"

"'Tis not explanation enough for you? How _very_ surprising," Morrigan groaned as she threw her hands up. Having enough of the older mage's nosiness, she followed the Dalish, no longer caring about the rest of them.

Alistair paid the witch no heed, his mind still reeling with his incapability to do _something_ for the woman he loved. Well, he could at least take over her leading role for the time being and become the voice of the group, he supposed. What before had been so frightening and unthinkable was now not more than a footnote in his mind. Or maybe he was simply too bone-weary and preoccupied to be really bothered by it. "Brother Genitivi...didn't make it and –" He fell silent, didn't want to discuss _it_ in middle of the courtyard with too many people surrounding them. "Can we talk about it later? This is not the time or place for it."

Wynne thankfully caught the grim tone in his request, and nodded. "This is most troubling, but you are right. We should discuss this as soon as you all have had some rest." She hesitated. "...The Ashes?"

"...are safe, if for a high price." Leliana said, eyes cast downward. "We should bring them to the Arl before we settle down to sleep."

"Yeah...this is probably for the best," Alistair agreed and set out to face his own bout of guilt. It would at least take his mind away from Lenya being somewhere in the castle, grieving and all alone. In comparison to this, meeting Eamon for the first time after ten years _and_ after what he had done, was somehow the lesser evil.

.

.

* * *

.

He drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, tossing and turning about so much that he eventually fell out of bed and hit the floor.

"Ouch!" Alistair yelped, yet didn't move one bit. The stony ground felt cool against his bare skin, heated from the fragmented nightmares and thus welcomed. For a moment, even the thought of moving even a little bit was too much. He finally only pushed forward due to an incessant rapping at the door.

Reluctantly, he got up and steered towards the noise, half-naked as he was. "Oh. Wynne..." Alistair couldn't stop his face or voice from showing disappointment. It was naught more than a foolish hope that his guest could be Lenya, who had barricaded herself in a room across the floor, but hope nonetheless.

With the keen gaze of a healer, the woman grabbed his arm, a frown on her face. "Are you quite all right, dear?"

"No..." he answered in all honesty and stepped aside to let her in. "Is there something you want?"

"Yes. To check up on you, for one. I thought I'd leave you to rest first, after what seemed to be an ordeal, but I was worried that some wounds might have been left untreated."

"I'm fine!" he said, more harshly than intended." His hand automatically touched his stomach, feeling a long, ridged line under his fingertips. While the potion had knitted the flesh together from the deep cut and healed the injury, it hadn't prevented the scarring. Yet for all the times he simply hadn't cared about his looks, he still wished that he didn't have to bear a lasting reminder of _that_ fight and night, of all things. Naturally he was not blessed with such luck - or _any_ lately, to be precise - and the cut had scarred. "Physically, at least," Alistair added in a softer, near apologetic tone.

Her eyes wandered to the new reminder of too many battles, examining it. "Shriek," Alistair said with a shrug, wanting to appear nonchalant. Sadly, subtlety had never been his forte and thus the quiver in his voice gave him away.

Neither did it slip by Wynne's notice. "I see." He flinched at her probing touch there, the tingle of magic raising the hair on the back of his neck. "I can lessen the scar to a degree, but overall it will remain visible. The tissue of your skin is already too marred there for me to heal it completely. Do you want me to-?"

"Yes, please." He breathed out and forced his templar-trained senses to stay calm during her treatment, as well as everything else. He failed. "She didn't want to see me. I tried... – I mean I understand her need for solitude, but she is so distant, so apathetic. It is so hard for me to stand about and simply do _nothing_."

"Lenya?"

Alistair nodded, miserable. Before he knew it, the whole story had tumbled out of him. Merely speaking of it left him shaking, the horror still too fresh. "I love her. It's just...I can't get through to her, as if the encounter has snuffed out _all_ of her emotions."

"She needs time, Alistair." With a sigh, the elder mage straightened the crumpled folds of her robe. "Grief can be powerful, harrowing thing. Such an experience can even cause a complete state of shock - particularly in this case, where the one she is grieving for was one long loved. Pushing Lenya to deal with it will only make her retreat further."

"I know." Alistair bit on his lip, almost tasting the futility of the situation. The muted light and growing shadows across the walls indicated the impending evening. Arl Eamon would want to talk with them – the _Wardens_ – soon for the further plans. It was a thought he dreaded not only for the sense of guilt it brought, but even more that Lenya wasn't given the time she so direly needed. As one of the two remaining Wardens, it was expected of her to function, to be present at any time for the matters of the Blight. In fact he doubted that anyone outside their group cared for her well-being or problems, or saw the person behind the enormous burden she had already shouldered for so long now. That, certainly, was also a feeling he knew all too well himself, as only the responsibilities were new.

_Bastard. Illegitimate. Unwanted._

Alistair blinked at the knocking at his door, the thoughts fading before the repetitive sound sound - even though the gloomy feeling within did not. "W-warden, ser?" A meek voice permeated through the door. One of the servants then. "The Arl has requested your presence in the main hall."

"Understood," he replied, and waited until the footsteps faded before turning to Wynne.

The mage stood up from the edge of his bed, smiling sadly. "Difficult circumstances notwithstanding, we need to discuss our next steps. Loghain won't be idle for long, that much is certain."

"Yes... you are right. I will get ready and meet you there." As soon as Wynne closed the door behind herself, he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh. _No rest for the wicked or the wounded._ Relentlessly, they pressed on with a merciless urgency. The Warden in him understood the reasoning behind it, the importance of acting quickly. Yet Alistair the man, with his whole being and heart compassionate for Lenya's loss and distress, wanted nothing more than _time_. Time for her to heal and get back up on her feet, like the strong, amazing woman she was. Time for her to recognize that not all was as bleak as it currently seemed, and most of all that she wasn't _alone_.

Void, if _this_ was what she needed, Alistair would fight with tooth and nail for it, no matter the cost. It was the least he could do for her.

.

~V~

.

Wynne realized it was likely a bad idea, yet still she found herself standing in front of Lenya's room. Unsurprisingly, her knock went unanswered, a reaction which did not surprise. She hadn't been Senior Enchanter for all those years without learning the nuances of the young. Unperturbed, she took the handle and entered nonetheless. A bit intrusive, perhaps, but she needed to see for herself if the young Warden still carried any injuries of a physical nature, and heal them. Alas there was no healing for the heart but time, something that unfortunately wasn't hers to give.

The image the mage found before her eyes was pitiful. The otherwise vivid Dalish sat motionless and hunched on the bed, her unkempt hair a straggly curtain for her face. "Lenya?" No light illuminated the room, and the food on a nearby tray remained untouched. Wynne summoned a wisp of light, if only not to stumble in the shadowed room. Lenya blinked, a spark of recognition in her eyes, but that spark quickly faded. She still wore her full armor with the weapons on her hips, a clear sign that she had not slept or cleaned herself in all these hours.

"We're all worried about you, dear," the mage spoke softly, letting her magic carefully reach out to check for injuries. Thankfully she found none. "It is your right to grieve about what happened, yet you must also take care of yourself. You haven't slept or eaten much these past days. Your vaunted Warden stamina can only sustain you so far."

She acknowledged her words with an humorless snort. It wasn't much, but at least it was _something_. "Have the Dalish arrived?" Though unrelated to Wynne's, at least Lenya _spoke_ - even if it was with a tiny, rough voice so unlike herself.

Wynne wasn't surprised to hear her longing for the company of her people. "Not yet, but we expect them any day now. However, Arl Eamon wishes to see us in the main hall, to discuss the next steps in dealing with the Blight and Teyrn Loghain."

Normally this would have called up a great bout of protestation or snarky comments from Lenya. Now, however, the Dalish only nodded numbly. "I see." With that, she walked over to the open door and toward the main hall like a docile, half-dead sheep. Left behind in bewilderment, Wynne shook her head and extinguished the swirling wisp of light overhead with a flick of her hand.

Not for the first time the mage wished she could cure broken hearts as easily as she could broken bodies.

.

.

* * *

.

It was odd to see Eamon again after such a long time.

The last time had been when Alistair yelled at him in the monastery as a boy, after which the Arl had never returned. His hand flicked towards his mother's amulet which still dangled from his neck, the gesture reassuring as a sudden surge of panic gripped him. Eamon would already _know_ at this point, because after waking up Teagan had briefed him extensively about what had transpired in Redcliffe. Arl Eamon had seated himself in a bolstered chair on the dais, still visibly weakened and pale from the extended length of his sickness. Teagan and Isolde stood to each side of him, as if keeping vigil.

"This news is most troubling, but I welcome you here to my halls nevertheless, Warden." He specifically looked at the Dalish upon his words, not regarding Alistair. While Lenya stood not far from Alistair, she seemed miles away with her emotions and thoughts, unreachable to him in spite of the physical proximity. Her expression was no more than an impassive stare in the direction of the human nobles. "There is much left to be discussed, but first let me thank you for my rescue. Is there anything I can give you–"

Her expression and voice remained apathetic. "No, I don't want anything."

"Ah, maybe new equipment and supplies at least, yes?" Zevran piped up at her refusal. Nosy as the two rogues were, Alistair wasn't surprised to find Leliana and Zevran among those present, in addition to Wynne. The part of their group who could not be bothered with the Arl's request wish showed it with their absence. Hearing Lenya speak for the first time in days, Alistair was pretty sure that she rather wanted to be one of _them_. Actually, after everything she had been through, he was baffled to see her here at all.

"That goes without saying, naturally. You will have access to whichever of my resources you need for your cause." Knowing the elf, he would make good use of Eamon's generous offer, and then some. The Arl finally shifted his gaze towards Alistair, and it cost him every ounce of his being not to flinch under his stare. But then the Arl unexpectedly _smiled_. "Alistair! I'm pleased to see you are whole and well. Maker forbid if _you _had perished in Ostagar."

Alistair blinked, surprised. He had expected many things from his foster father, but kind words had _not_ been among them. Yet as soon as the smile had come, it vanished from Eamon's face, replaced by a grim hint of sadness. "I grieve for my son, but I believe that had you not acted as you did, it would have been far worse. I know you did what you had to." Alistair snapped for air, his chest so tight with guilt that he felt himself drowning in it like water.

"_What?_" Isolde's glare of contempt on him like a knife slicing through his guts. He lowered his eyes, unable to bear the unadulterated hate within any longer. "You forgive him? Th-this _murderer_? Is your son not import–"

"Enough!" Eamon snapped, his loud objection effectively silencing his wife."Whatever personal grudge you hold must be pushed aside, for a greater threat is before us. Loghain has instigated a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep, and poisoned me to keep me from acting." Shaking his head, the Arl sighed, saddened. "I can scarcely believe that we are talking about the same man here, for I have known him for many years. Loghain was always a sensible man, one who never desired power."

"I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon," Teagan spoke up beside him, heat in his voice. "He is mad with ambition, I tell you!"

"Whatever happened to him, he must be stopped." The Arl frowned, leaning forward in his chair. "I will spread word of Loghain's treachery, both here and against the king. But it will be a claim made without proof."

"If I may ask a question, Your Grace?" Leliana stepped forward and curtsied elegantly to show her respect. "What about the Landsmeet your brother spoke of? We have gathered all our allies, and – with all due respect – shouldn't wait too long to act now, or we will lose the advantage of Loghain being unaware of your recovery."

The bard had a point. Packed in too many words and niceties - manners toward the nobles she probably had learned in Orlais - but a point nonetheless. It wasn't that he liked the prospect of urgency, not when Lenya still needed time to recover, but... Alistair scowled. Void, even he didn't had time to process the latest events, not really.

Of course, when did they have a choice, really?

In a way, Alistair could understand Lenya's silence, even aside from the crushing weight of grief which caused it. Once more, he looked at her, silently pleading her to show anything aside from a mere physical presence. Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out to touch her shoulder. Lenya flinched and, without looking at him, stepped further away from him. Somehow this non-verbal rejection was even more hurtful than Isolde's harsh – if justified– attack.

"Yes, the plan still stands and is set in motion," Eamon answered with a nod, ripping Alistair out of his thoughts. "This is first and foremost the best possibility to confront Loghain for his crimes without giving him the chance to thwart our efforts, and mark _us_ as the traitors."

Alistair snorted, bitter sarcasm coloring his tone. "Oh, _that_ already happened, don't you worry."

"So I heard. Which is why we must combine the spreading of our words with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore." Alistair disliked the severity in Eamon's voice, outright fearing what would come next. "We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen."

"What?" They couldn't be serious about this. Hadn't they told him all his life that he was no king, but a commoner? No, this couldn't be. He _must_ be hearing things.

The Bann turned to Eamon, completely oblivious to Alistair's sudden surge of dread, or ignoring it. "Are you referring to Alistair, brother? Are you certain?"

And there it was. His heritage sprawled out on a figurative table, clubbing him over the head with the force of a battering ram. Consternation turned into bitter frustration upon hearing them casually talking about his future, as if the topic were the weather - especially since they hadn't even _acknowledged_ his presence in the discussion. "Hey! I'm right here!" he ground out.

Eamon didn't even look at him. What? Had he suddenly become invisible? Was this one of those nightmares where he was the only one naked, except without all the staring? If so, now would be a _damn _good time to wake up! "I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred. We both have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim, however, is by blood."

"And what about _me_?" Alistair snapped. Balling his hands into fists, he swallowed hard, his throat tight with unspent fury. He wanted to smash something, yell at them for their audacity, yet remained still and composed. "Does anyone care what _I_ want?"

"If it ends the Blight, maybe it is for the best..." He turned to Lenya, unable to believe his ears. Each one of her words was a slap in the face. Of all the people in Thedas, he had thought Lenya would be the last to ever giving those words voice. For a time that felt like eternity, Alistair simply stared, too shocked by the immediate change of events, of the blood in his veins once more ruling his life, and more horrifyingly, of Lenya _agreeing_ to it. He had been wrong. This was _worse_ than a nightmare.

"You have a responsibility, Alistair," Eamon said, in a calm, pointed way, as if explaining something to a child. "Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?"

Lenya spun on her heels, literally fleeing out of the hall. Dazed, he gaped after her until she was out of sight. "No!" His mouth worked of its own accord, surprised by the particular word which came out.

"Good." Eamon was pleased. "Then I will send out –"

"I said _no_!" Firmer now and with an added glare, Alistair repeated the prior accidental word now with full intent. "My duty is elsewhere." With that, Alistair bolted out of the hall to follow her, uncaring for the indignation following his impulsive flight.

Once upon a time, duty had meant everything to Alistair. It still held great significance to him, and gave him purpose. Yet above all else, there was now the woman who had showed him that life meant more than just a task or an obligation. A woman with whom he had experienced what it meant to _feel_, good and bad, and how it was to love and to be loved in return. Wanted. _Accepted_.

Thus it had shocked him all the more to hear her agree with the same people who had treated him like air just moments ago.

And he needed to find out _why_.

.

~V~

.

He couldn't find her.

With each empty corner and room he found in the castle, the feeling of panic within rose. Alistair knew of her tendency to flee from situations where she was in over her head and everything was too much. He didn't blame her; far from it, he understood all too well _why_ she did so. Yet this time there was an underlying feeling of doubt about her return, unlike her previous disappearances. He was acutely reminded of earlier, when they had run into a darkspawn horde and Lenya had hardly fought back - almost as if she'd given up. She didn't care if they would injure or kill her and without his doubled effort to keep her alive and whole, they surely would have succeeded. The thought was scary in and of itself, because Lenya was anything but suicidal. Reckless at times, yes, but not weak-willed when it came to her need to live.

Normally.

Alistair raced down the courtyard, past the tents erected even there. He only stopped to listen to for her constant hum and found nothing but appalling silence. Not to feel her through their bond of taint meant that she had already exceeded its limits, or – _No_. He shook himself, his whole body rejecting the notion. All too soon he reached Redcliffe's borders, still without any sign of her. Beyond it was nothing but pitch blackness. Catching his breath, he stared into the nothingness for a moment and pondered his options. Alas, there weren't that many. Either Alistair would step into the darkness and hope he would stumble into her and not a band of darkspawn, or he would need to trust her to return at sunrise - which meant hours of agonizing waiting and worrying. Neither option appealed, especially since he knew that Lenya was very good at avoiding discovery when she wanted.

Robbed of the chance to find her or do anything useful before the break of daylight, Alistair sank onto the red-dusted ground. Eyes still fixed on Redcliffe's exit, he murmured, pleadingly, "Please Len, come back. I need you."

Somehow he had the feeling that it wouldn't be quite as simple.

.

.

* * *

.

She didn't return.

_Stupid, stubborn fool of a Dalish._ Morrigan cawed angrily, the sound nearly swallowed by the wind beating against her wings. Up in the sky, she had a better view of the fields than the futile attempts to search organized by the imbecile and their companions on the ground. 'Twas past time to find Lenya and smack her up the head to motivate her to return. Another day of her absence and Morrigan was certain she would strangle or electrocute Alistair. Preferably _both_. Not that she hadn't enough reason already to do so without Lenya's disappearing. But during the two days of her absence, he had turned out to be an even more incoherent, love-sick fool than usual. The witch already had a low tolerance for their sickly-sweet displays of affection without the idiot _pining_ for her - especially without having him play through the one hundred thousand scenarios of all the horrible things that could have happened to Lenya.

Which had Morrigan... worried, since disappearing without a word was so unlike the Dalish. She wasn't the type to just quit like that, without putting up a fight. And that fact made it only _worse_. Beating her wings to gain height and speed, her raven self cried out in frustration once more.

.

~V~

.

Morrigan had lost all sense for how far or how long she had flown. Considering that the rays of the slowly sinking sun were falling across the back of her small bird body, it must have been quite some time and distance crossed. All for nothi–

She immediately slowed down and flew in a loop back to the point where she thought she saw _something_. Lessening her altitude gradually, she indeed recognized the distinctive figure of the Dalish. She lay motionless on the grassy ground, two burly humans towering over her body. Pushing thoughts away of the meaning of it, the witch searched for a safe place to land and transform back. She was exhausted from the long flight, yet couldn't allow herself a pause to recover.

Thankful that her mother taught her to keep most of her equipment after leaving her animal form behind, Morrigan stepped into the sight of the two men who were unabashedly raiding Lenya's weapons and coin purse. Engrossed in their discussion of how to divide the loot and what to do with the 'knife-ear', the two bandits didn't notice her approach, which gave her time to call on the elemental forces she controlled with ease. "My, my, what have we here? Scavengers, I wonder? Or rather filthy looters?" Pressing in, as they flinched away from her presence – or rather the fireball growing in her hand – Morrigan ensured they moved away from Lenya's form. The last thing Morrigan wanted was for them to do any harm to Lenya while she was unconscious, if they hadn't already – she mentally shook herself, rejecting the idea. "Leave everything you took here, or I will burn you alive, scum. With joy, I might add."

To her fortune, the two shaggy humans seemed not to have any companions and bore the typical, pathetic – but in this case _helpful _– fear of anything magic. "Y-yes... w-witch," they stammered in unison and scrambled further away from her. Lenya's swords and the money landed with a dull thump in the grass as the men turned tail and ran away, screaming about _Fire!_ and _Witch!_

_So much for them._ Hastily, Morrigan extinguished the flames in her hand and bent over the still motionless Dalish. "If you are dead, I swear I will find you in the Fade and slap you out of it, you fool!" What limited knowledge of healing arts she had, Morrigan instantly used on her. A part of her made the mental note to direct her studies further in this direction in the near future. As reckless as Lenya was, Morrigan was aware that the old biddy and her cattle magic from the circle wouldn't be enough. And she would be damned if she would let the sensible part of Ferelden's remaining Wardens die before their task was finished. _Or at all, _her mind applied, causing her to frown.

The witch stopped the flow of mana and healing, frown deepening. Lenya was still unconscious, yet uninjured as far her magic told her. Then why wasn't she waking up? If the Dalish were a mage, then demons would have been drawn in flocks to her misery, but that wasn't the case. So they couldn't hold her captured in her subconsciousness, feeding of from her life-force. A moment of contemplation later and Morrigan finally knew what caused it. After all it was _Lenya_ she had in front of her, easily one of the most stubborn and willful person she had ever encountered. Thus the Dalish _herself_ had probably retreated back into her mind to forget her grief. Add to that the exhaustion she must have succumbed to at some point – Warden stamina or not– and Morrigan knew she had solved the mystery of the Dalish's persistent unconsciousness.

With a sigh, her frown turned to an exasperated scowl. No wonder magic wasn't helping. Morrigan had simply thought in too grand a scale before, but she wasn't at the ends of her wits yet. It seemed as if it was time for more... _unconventional_ methods to wake this obstinate idiot up.

The first slap rang loudly through the deserted planes of the Hinterlands and was oddly liberating for the witch herself. All these insufferable hours and days of Alistair's whining and bouts of panic, _ugh_. She let another one follow, actually angry now. "Wake up, you damn fool of a Dalish!" And another one.

"Ouch!" Morrigan stopped mid-way through the fourth slap upon seeing her bleary eyes blinking up at her. "M-Morrigan?"

Huffing, the witch immediately backed away from her, whirling around. "Twas about time you woke up. Slapping you for your newest bout of reckless tomfoolery was... liberating, I confess."

No smart comment or apology followed her words, an outcome so unusual it caused Morrigan to turn back to Lenya. The elf simply sat there, hugging her knees. Morrigan's eyes narrowed at her impassive manners, temper flaring. "Have you any idea how _close_ you were to getting robbed and your throat slit, Lenya? Don't you care at all?"

The Dalish looked left and right and frowned, confused. "I..don't remember how I got here." Then she gasped, her eyes growing wide as if having a sudden epiphany. "You... cared?"

Another huff. "Sometimes I wonder _why_, since you seem to be going out of your way to get yourself killed. You are maddening!"

"S-sorry?" Lenya offered, ever so tentatively. "I remember running, away and away. Only _away_ from all this. And then... nothing. Blackness, silence. Peace. Better than it is now."

Hearing her speak like this made Morrigan want to slap her once more. Maybe even twice. "Lenya, don't make me... _argh_." The great bout of anger and frustration inside let her uncharacteristically stumble over her words. "And if I have to pull you back there by your hair, we will return, this I swear."

Lenya blinked, dumbly. "Why are you here?"

"Because you _left_, you idiot. And ever since, the castle has been in a chaos and Alistair has been driving me insane." Morrigan paused. "_More_ than usual. Have you any idea how we have turned over every stone to find you?" She threw her hands up. "No, of course you _haven't_. Because you were out here playing the martyr of idiotic self-sacrifice for something you are hardly to blame for. Accept it and move on. You aren't guilty of what happened to your friend, nor how the Archdemon used this knowledge against you! If anything turn your anger on this fact and the Archdemon. 'Tis your job, the last time I checked."

"No guilt?" Now the Dalish spoke in heat. At last. _Finally_ a flare of emotion from her, other than this sickening apathy. "_I_ was the one who urged Tamlen to go into the cave and explore it. Without me he would have never touched the mirror and gotten turned into that... thing, so don't tell me I'm _not_ guilty!"

"Does it change anything to run away _now_? What's done is done. Let the past rest." Morrigan paced back and forth to get rid of the unspent tension inside. "Damn it, Lenya, don't test me! I'm at the end of my patience, nor have I much interest in you crying on my shoulder. I just know that you aren't a simpering weakling to give up that easily. The Lenya _I_ know fights, with pride and wit, and even more stubbornness. Sometimes frustratingly so. So this here..." she pointed at her hunched, meek posture, the calming breath escaping her as an exasperated puff. "... 'tis not _right_."

"Maybe it isn't, Morrigan." She shook her head. "But it is also not that easy."

"Giving up is _easy_. Dying because you gave up is also that." The witch was yelling now, fed up by her self-pity. "But since when are you choosing such an easy, cowardly way? You never d–"

"Since I always lose everyone important to me!" Lenya snapped, her face scrunching together with a whimper, which devolved into a sob. "Again and again. And I can't _take_ it anymore. Even when I survive the Blight, what exactly is left for me then? Alistair is going to be king and in case you haven't noticed..." She scoffed. "...I'm not really the ideal queen in the eyes of these _shem'alas_, even if I wanted to be. Even _he_ is going to leave me, like everyone else!. The one person I–" The rest of her words were swallowed by sobs ripping through her.

"Ah, so 'tis about him?" Morrigan gave in to the impulse to roll her eyes. She should have known.

"No!" She sniffed, trying to compose herself again. "And yes. But there are only so many blows one can suffer, until it is simply easier to stay put. I'm _tired_, Morrigan. Too tired to get back up after the ground has been pulled away from me, again and again. For _what_?"

The witch grimaced. She _really_ didn't want to go there. But it seemed she had no choice. "Then let me tell you that the obnoxious fool has been even _more_ obnoxious ever since you disappeared. I do my best not to pay heed to him, obviously. But from what I have heard, he wasn't at all ecstatic about you agreeing with the Arl about kingship. As a point of fact, he told the old man to shove it and ran after you. Never thought the fool would develop something like a spine. Your influence, I take it?"

Confusion and... something else clouded her expression, breaking through her desperation. "What?"

"Not to mention that Alistair is worried sick about you. Every waking minute is spent either searching for you or driving us _insane_. Or both. Honestly, I never thought it possible, but he is even more insufferable after your disappearance. And while I like you and am indeed happy to find you _alive_, Lenya, _this _has been my foremost motivation to find you, lest I kill the last remaining Warden of Ferelden out of sheer incapability to endure him any longer."

Lenya remained quiet, seemingly letting the words sink in. Then her head perked up and she gasped, "...Darkspawn."

"Oh, _fantastic_. Just what I needed to end my perfect day." Morrigan smothered her irritation, tried to channel it into another, more _useful_ way. "How many? Can you fight?"

Getting up, the Dalish rolled her shoulders and briefly concentrated. "A small group, fortunately. Genlock– and Hurlocks are approaching, as far I can tell." Ducking for her weapons in the grass, her lip twitched up in a morbid fashion. "And yes, I _can_ fight. It is not as if I have a choice anyway, is it?"

.

~V~

.

For all her laments and bemoaning of fate, Lenya's Warden senses worked just fine.

The horde of darkspawn was indeed only a smaller one, and, without an emissary to guide them, quite foolish in strategy. Thus, though while still a nuisance in and of itself, it proved a welcome change to all the complicated, long-winded battles of recent days.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Morrigan made a mental note _not _to throw a fireball at more than one darkspawn. She would _never_ get used to the reek of their burnt flesh. Then again, it had proven to be the easiest and quickest way to get rid of a few and to plant panic amongst the rest. Granted, that tactic wasn't exactly _needed_, seeing as how Lenya hacked away with what looked like long pent up anger and frustration at a duo of Hurlocks who mistakenly deemed her an easy kill. Even if she could feel something like remorse for their pitiful existence, she had no time left to show it. Whirling round in an elegant circle, the witch murmured hasty words to turn the pursuing creatures into walking devices of self-destruction. A new spell she had found in her mother's grimoire and according to the following fountains of blood exploding from their rotten bodies, more than effective. To fight without her staff felt odd, but it wasn't mandatory to master her magic. It simply helped to channel her mana better, something she quickly noticed in her tiring mind. Without it, her magic was more raw, unrestrained and not as effectively bundled as would be necessary for a longer fight.

So she made sure to keep it from becoming too long a battle.

Another one fell to a stream of ice, shattered into many pieces an instant later by a magical fist. The last genlock cost her the final shreds of her mana, but repaid her with a display of amusing twitching upon her lightning before breaking down. Hands on her knees, Morrigan gasped for air and momentarily fought against a wave of dizziness. Looking up, the witch saw how Lenya _still_ hacked away at the hurlocks, despite the fact they were long dead. The Dalish, however, either didn't notice or didn't care. Morrigan surmised it was a mixture of both, reminding her of the _other _Warden doing the same after a different ambush.

More stumbling than actually walking, Morrigan approached Lenya's frenetically chopping form. "I suppose 'tis a Warden thing, then?" she quipped, but the humor fell upon deaf ears.

The hurlock under the elf wasn't much more than a bloody mush anymore and yet she didn't stop. One, two strikes followed before her knees buckled and Lenya broke down, weeping. It took a several heaving sobs until she was capable of speech again. "They... rule my life, no matter what I do. I can't escape them."

"Then _fight_ it, or embrace it. Everything is better than giving up, you damn fool!"

"I... am tired."

Morrigan groaned. "That again?"

Lenya shook her head, the mixture between a sob and a laugh sounding odd. "No...this time I mean it _literally_. Every fiber of my body burns. One darkspawn more and it would have become nasty. For us, that is."

"You seemed livid enough mere moments ago."

She shrugged, her whole body shaking. "Adrenaline. Alas...it is gone now. I... feel odd, dizzy."

"Don't you dare!" she warned her, yet the pressure behind the words was missing, lost in exhaustion. "We can't linger here in the open. 'Tis too dangerous."

"I know."

"We have to get back by walking. I can't carry you!"

Underneath the blackened blood on her face, Lenya's lip twitched up. "I know."

A fierce gust of wind suddenly enveloped her being, prickling her sweaty skin. It smelt like rain, heralding a change of weather and the likely arrival of a storm - soon. _Oh, of course._ Gritting her teeth in frustration, Morrigan reached for the small pouch at the side of her ragged leathers. If the vial of lyrium hadn't survived her transformation, she was quite frankly not sure what to do. Her heart felt like stopping when she found it empty before finding the vial in the furthest corner of her pouch. Letting out a relieved breath, she downed its content in one go and almost instantly a surge of mana rushed through her.

"But I can sustain you with a spell of regeneration," the witch added, and did so. It had to suffice for what might be at least a half day of marching back to Redcliffe. It was better not to think about it. Noticing a small object in the grass, the witch went to it and retrieved the nearly forgotten coin purse. 'Twould be a shame to leave it here, after all.

Slowly, Lenya stood up, inhaling deeply. She wasn't exactly smiling, but the expression of gratitude was unmistakable. "T-thank you. For everything." There was a light in her eyes again: dim, but _there_. "I'm still... I don't know. I haven't really had time to come to terms with... that. It will take... time."

"You will have enough of it on our trek back, no thanks to your stupidity," Morrigan answered with a hint of anger. Yet it was missing its edge and not meant to be wholly serious. Snorting, she shook her head in disbelief at the woman: Grey Warden, friend... sister. But most of all, utterly and completely _maddening_.

"Now _move_, before I resort to slapping you again."

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair threw his gauntlets in a corner, disgruntled.

The storm and accompanying darkness had made further search impossible and forced them to return. Even before the storm had struck, they had found little but darkspawn or raiding bandits. It was as if Lenya had disappeared from the face of Thedas, a fact he couldn't - _wouldn't_ - accept.

Lightning flashed outside the barriers of the windows and illuminated the room in an eerie white light for the brink of a moment. A loud rumbling of thunder followed soon after, momentarily drowning out even the incessant drumming of rain upon stone. Alistair stared in its direction, silently shivering. It wasn't the chill in the air what was to blame, however, but the one claiming his heart. Just the thought of her being out there somewhere, _alone,_ was unbearable. He needed to think of her as alive, for him to function, to go on. Yet with every passing hour, it became harder for him to do so. The Mabari hounds of the Arl had been their best chance to find her trail, but now with the downfall of rain, every last bit of scent which might have been _somewhere_ on the ground would be washed away.

"Maybe... she ran back to the Dalish?" Leliana was the first piercing through the leaden silence that had descended upon the room. Like himself, his companions were at the end of their wits about what to do, and the bard's sentence seemed a futile, last hope. Alistair disliked how they looked at him now for guidance. Well, not for reasons of any incompetency on his part, since it wasn't as difficult as he had thought. No, he hated it because it reminded of the void, the nothingness at his side, where _she_ used to be.

A hole that slowly threatened to swallow him whole.

Granted, it had only been two days since Lenya had stormed out of the hall, never to be seen again. Lenya was very much capable of looking after herself, but considering how mad the world outside Redcliffe's well-secured borders had become, her survival was anything but assured.

And _that _trail of thoughts he completely refused to follow. So he adapted Leliana's idea for the sake of his own sanity. "Maybe." Even to his own ears, the weak agreement sounded hollow. Alistair swallowed, blinking rapidly to contain the lurking tears. _Not here, not now_. To distract himself, he started to shed his armor, heedless of where they fell.

Leliana stepped up to help him, discreetly ignoring the trembling hands on his buckles, or his clipped, short intakes of breath as he suppressed the urge to cry. "We will find her, Alistair. Do not worry."

Maker, he wanted to believe her, _needed_ to. But when he looked into the room and saw the stone-faced expression of his companions, this _helplessness_ of what to do slowly shining through, he couldn't. Lenya was the glue that had held the group together, the necessary element for everything... especially for him. "I... can't do this on my own. How am I supposed to–" The rest of his words got swallowed by a too tight throat and a momentary lack of air. Absentmindedly, he registered the chill of the night as the last piece of armor was set loose.

"You aren't alone, Alistair," Leliana said softly, completely missing the point. They couldn't understand, they weren't Grey Wardens, not like _her_. For him, Lenya's presence had always been solace, long before loving or even _liking_ her. He couldn't bear the thought of being the _only_ one left in Ferelden. There was a silent pat on his back and a flagon was placed on a table nearby, and then he was alone in the room.

Ironic, somehow, considering the bard's prior words, and yet exactly what Alistair wanted. Sitting down at the table, he let his head fall into his hands, and cried.

.

~V~

.

The hours until dawn passed all too slowly, even with the support of Oghren's booze.

Alistair sat staring out of the window in silence, wishing he could stop the never-ending night and rain through sheer willpower. The flames in the fireplace had died down long ago, leaving him lingering in the darkness of a cold, empty hall. _Fitting_ somehow. During those hours of agonized waiting for... something, _anything_, he had dozed off a few times, despite his best intentions _not_ to. Fragments of whispers and laughter in _her_ voice had mocked him then almost instantly, and made him start up again.

Alistair inhaled deeply, fixing his gaze on the slowly brightening sky with new intent. "I know I don't talk with you as much as I used to in my time in the Chantry. Maybe that's because you left us and all, not sure. Or maybe because I've heard enough of the Chant of Light for various life times. Well, if I have to choose one, it would be the latter reason. Anyway, I wasn't exactly devout and have probably indulged gladly in one or the other sin ever since..." He grimaced upon her picture dancing before his vision. "...but fighting the Blight must be worth something, right? Maybe just one bonus point? If so, Maker, bring her back to me. Please. I need her. She is... my Andraste. Err... in a totally non-blasphemous way, of course. And without the burning-her-to-ashes part."

_Damn, I really would have made the worst templar ever._

He snorted, laughing in spite of or due to the situation. Or perhaps the alcohol was finally getting to him.

A flicker of light caught his attention and set his heart to racing. If Alistair would have known it was so easy, well–

"You are still here, boy?" The voice and shadow turned out to belong to Arl Eamon, much to his disappointment.

Shoulders sagging, Alistiar didn't even look at the Arl, instead taking another pull from the flask. The last one left, he noticed. _Damn it all._ "Is this forbidden now?"

Eamon placed the torch into its holder on the adjacent wall and settled down next to him on the table. He looked... rumpled, for lack of a better word in Alistair's addled mind. Clearly just right out of bed, now here for... for _what_? Alistair had no mind for company and even less for a discussion of _any_ future. "Of course, it isn't, my boy. Yet you shouldn't sit here all night drinking. You need to take better care of yourself. And–"

He snorted again, now without any humor, as he interrupted the Arl's words. "You _do_ know that you can talk to me as if I'm not ten years old, right? Because I'm not. Not _anymore_." Bitterness laced his tone, fueled by the remembrance of years of neglect. Or maybe it was the bravery of alcohol talking out of him. Alistair wasn't sure which was accurate, the lines blurring ever so swiftly.

"You... must excuse me. It has been some time since I last saw you, Alistair. I shall try to figure out into what kind of man the boy I knew has grown." The Arl smiled, no ill-meaning in his words. "As far I can tell however, he has grown into a fine one."

"Good for me, I suppose?" He was aware that he was being too harsh to the man who had taken him in, his foster-father. Sighing, Alistair amended his words and tone. "In the off-chance that you still haven't noticed: my fellow Warden, the only one besides me in whole of Ferelden, has vanished. So excuse me if I'm not exactly in the mood for chit-chat at the moment. I just want to wait for it to be dawn and continue the search."

"Which is why I am here."

Alistair leaned forward, perplexed. "What?"

"What happened..." Eamon took a deep breath. "...is tragic. But we can't linger forever on searching for your...fellow Warden. We did what we could and it is obvious that she doesn't want to be found. So we need to direct our attention to looking forward again. To the task at hand."

"_What?" _He sounded like he was somehow caught in a loop, but this particular word described his utter disbelief in what he was hearing. The fact that his hand was still curled around the flagon prevented him from doing something very impulsive, something very _stupid_. "It has been only _two_ fucking days!"

"Yes, I am aware of this." Nodding, Eamon stroked his beard. "But Loghain won't be complacent for long and we need to act _now_, Alistair. We need to confront him, with or without your other Warden. We, and especially _you_, have the great duty to reunite the country under the banner of Calenhad. It is time to move o– "

The flagon flew with full force into the wall next to the Arl. The ensuing silence after the earsplitting noise was deafening, the Arl's face shocked. Eamon gaped at him, disbelieving his reaction. Alistair couldn't either, in a way. But hearing the Arl casually prattling on about how to leave Lenya behind made him so damn... _angry_, and he'd needed a release for the sudden burst of wrath. Better it to be Oghren's flagon than Eamon's head.

"Please be reasonable, boy." Eamon tried anew, after having regained his bearings. "Don't let all her achievements end in vain. You gathered the troops with her, so it is time to–" Again, the Arl was interrupted, for the third time in a row, by the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps. Alistair's head snapped up in rapt attention toward the source. Not as much for the sound, but the feeling underneath, a distinctive _hum_.

He jumped up, gasping, "Lenya?"

Before Alistair could do so much as run in the direction of that wonderful, unique buzzing, a shadowy figure appeared in the hall's door frame. There were no words, only steps quickening in the need to see her, to wrap her into his arms. Despite the sobs rippling through him, despite her being drenched and reeking of dirt and blood, in that moment, his world righted itself again. She was here, whole and _alive. _Alistair held onto her with his dear life, still hiccuping and planting kisses upon her head, grime and mud notwithstanding. "Maker, I was so afraid. So _afraid_."

"I'm...sorry," she ground out, weakly and muffled against his chest. She clawed her hands into the fabric on his back, her whole form quivering. He had the feeling that his embrace was all that kept her upright. She was beyond exhausted, near fainting. "I'm s-sorry," Lenya repeated, once more, her words devolving into weeping.

"It's okay." His hand brushed through her rain-soaked hair, the feeling still so unreal, but utterly wonderful. "You are here now. That is all that counts."

"I think you spoke too soon, old man. Too bad." More than unwilling, Alistair glanced at the source of the derisive comment directed at the Arl. Morrigan was equally drenched and disarrayed like Lenya, but positively oozed _smugness_. The witch noticed his gaze, and for a moment their eyes met. Hers instantly narrowed. "I didn't do this for you."

He nodded. "I know." With a scoff, the witch whirled round and left the hall as suddenly as she had appeared. Not waiting any longer, Alistair put one hands under Lenya's knees to heave her up and carried her out of the hall, Eamon's words and presence long forgotten.

.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Guess my burning hatred for Eamon is showing... cough. No seriously, twas the characters talking. Really. I had planned for Alistair to be far less catty or dismissive of him, but (OEaH) Alistair said no. He loves that word lately xD Snort. Next chapter will be another one in Redcliffe, to give Lenya time to heal. Quite literally. She will need every bit of her strength for what is to come in Denerim, after all. Review?_


	103. Illusion Of Choice

_**A/N: **Thanks to all still reading, faving and reviewing. Your feedback is very much appreciated and (a part of) my motivation to see this never-ending thing through. Special thanks, like always to my wonderful beta tklivory._

* * *

_**Whatever tomorrow wants from me  
At least I'm here, at least I'm free  
Free to choose to see the signs  
This is my line**_

_**- **Where Do We Draw The Line, Poets Of The Fall_

* * *

.

**Chapter 96: Illusion Of Choice**

.

Despite his own fatigue, Alistair had a hard time staying asleep.

Every time he nodded off, he started up again, petrified that Lenya would be gone the next time his eyes opened. As illogical as it was, he couldn't help it. It was a reaction created by the days and nights of her unexpected disappearance. During those days, any time not spent searching for her had found him in a state between waking and sleeping - and not really living either, consumed by worry and fear as he was. Jerking up once more from sleep, he sighed, fed up with the new habit already. Scooting over to her curled up form on the bed, he brushed a damp lock away and wrinkled his nose. Lenya smelled horrible. Blood, dirt and mud were still accumulated on her skin and even the downpour of rain had done little to wash it away. Alistair had removed her filthy, drenched armor and clothes and had wrapped her in various blankets to keep her now bare form warm. He had left the rest to deal with _later, _too exhausted to face the conflicting emotions within of what to think of her impulsive action, even knowing it was born of grief. Alistair embraced her from behind, needing the contact to assure himself of her presence.

Lenya was _here, _in his arms. For now, that was all that counted.

.

~V~

.

He had finally managed to achieve a sleep so deep that not even the jarring pictures of darkspawn, fire, and destruction disturbed him enough to wake. Given his physical and emotional exhaustion, this had been somewhat of a mercy in itself.

And yet he was still _tired_.

Disoriented, he blinked at the room, noticing the weak rays of light which broke through the high, small windows and cast his surroundings in pale shadows of dusk. He had been sleeping all day, then, and their companions had had the decency to let him–_them_–do so. The thought moved his gaze to the unmoving bundle of blankets beside him, uncertainty fading as worry rose to the fore. Lenya still rested like she had no care for the world, when that was anything _but_ the case. She had been through so much lately - maybe even _too _much.

Unbidden, Eamon's words echoed in the back of his mind in all their absurd, clear ignorance of Lenya. In and of itself, the Arl's intent had been... understandable, seen from the cold, distant perspective of someone who did not care for her beyond her function as a Warden and an extended weapon against the Blight - someone who did not know what a price Lenya had paid to gain the cure, the Ashes. Still, in spite of Alistair's awareness of the overall urgency to act against Loghain before that traitor could move against them, this all had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Lenya stirred with a whimper beside him and instantly his focus was back to the present, and her. To calm her sudden bout of trembling and gasping, he bent over to her and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. Underneath his lips her skin was hot and ridden with sweat, startling him.

"Alistair..." she croaked more than spoke, her eyes searching his face and yet remained bleary.

"Yes, I'm here, love," he assured her in a whisper. _And you are, too._ Reaching over, he touched her cheek and frowned. "Maker, you are burning up!"

Before Alistair could stand up to get help, her hand closed around his wrist to stop him, her reddened eyes pleading. "Don't leave me..." The irony of her words didn't escape him and yet there was no time or reason to let unfounded anger win him over. Lenya seemed to notice his inner conflict, for she added, "I.. am sorry. For everything."

These words smothered the sudden irritation, grounding him again. Enough to focus on what was important _now_. "We need to lower your fever. I will fetch Wynne. I... won't be gone for long." He drew in a shaky breath and forced a smile. "Don't worry."

"O-okay." Shivering, Lenya let go of him, albeit reluctantly. Not bothering with boots or shirt, Alistair hurried out of their room to find the elder mage.

.

~V~

.

"Ah, you are awake."

Alistair had barely closed the door behind him before he almost ran into Teagan in the hallway. The man looked as if was on his way to the study, the pile of documents in his hands an obvious sign. Self-conscious, Alistair drove a hand through his tousled hair, not at all inclined to smalltalk. "Yes, somewhat."

The Bann smiled. "And I'm happy to hear you found her in the end. It would have been a shame if we had given up on your fellow Warden like my brother wanted. She saved Redcliffe, after all."

Eamon's willingness to leave Lenya behind was yet _another_ topic he didn't wish to tread. "I... uh, have you seen Wynne?"

"The elder mage?" Teagan frowned. "Why?"

"Do I need to justify _all_ of my actions? I'm not ten years old anymore, remember?" he snapped, though he regretted the tone and words almost the same moment the words left his mouth. Sighing, he brought his hands up in apology. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. It's just–"

"–you've had a few rough days. I understand," the Bann answered with a shrug. "Nothing to be sorry about. Both of you carry a great duty, especially you and with the days to come–"

"Look, all this talking about heirloom and duty is certainly _fascinating_, but I really need to find our healer," Alistair interrupted. "Since my– Lenya is feverish and I don't want to leave her alone for very long. So I truly have no time to stand here in the hallway and discuss of what may or may not be."

These words were clear enough to finally get his point across, if Teagan's surprised expression was any indication. Apparently he wasn't used to hearing Alistair speak _this_ plainly, though the warrior couldn't care less for hurt feelings at the moment. "Oh, of course. I was hoping to speak with you, actually, but I can see that it will have to wait." He smiled. "I'm mostly chained to my study and papers the next few days, as there is a lot to prepare before the journey to Denerim, what with all the remaining invitations to the Landsmeet to write. Please come see me there, when you feel up to it."

Alistair snorted as the word '_never_' danced in his mind at the offer, but quickly smothered the amusement - as well as the more complicated emotions which also arose. He was aware of avoiding the matter ever since he had run out on them with an unusual, distinctive 'no' on his lips. Not only had he been too focused on the search and too worried about Lenya the past days, he had also done his best to avoid Eamon in general. Alistair did not feel ready to face the Arl and his easy forgiveness for the murder of his son, or what the Landsmeet would actually _mean_. It was all too overwhelming, too much to think about at the moment, and so he preferred _not to_.

"For now, however," the Bann added, noticing Alistair's sullen mood, "just find some rest. You still look dead tired. I hope Lenya will get well soon. The mage should be in her quarters."

"Thank you." Alistair nodded, feeling gratitude for Teagan's empathy. Even if it was only motivated out of the reason for them to function properly in their roles as Grey Wardens ...and _more_, it was all but a given these days.

.

~V~

.

Alistair sat on the edge of the bed and softly brushed a knuckle over Lenya's cheek. For a moment he became lost in her peaceful expression in the firelight, every thought distant but her presence. She slept more quietly than before, thanks to Wynne's healing arts Her previously furrowed eyebrows were relaxed, and her cheeks less flushed with feverish heat.

"I was able to greatly lower her fever, but she will need to rest for a few days."

The loudness of Wynne's voice in the silence startled him, made him look up to the mage. She had seated herself in a chair near the fireplace, taking a well-deserved rest. Together they had not only cleansed Lenya's face and arms from the worst of the muck, but had also changed the sweaty sheets and blankets. A servant had brought fresh linen, along with a large tray of food. He guessed Teagan must have ordered it, since it arrived before he had figured out where to find those things. Alistair was so accustomed to doing everything on his own that it felt odd for him to have it done for him. Remembering he still owed the mage an answer or at least a resemblance of reaction, he nodded.

Wynne leaned forward in the chair, hands folded under her chin with a sigh. Beside her the flames devoured the freshly supplied logs in a slow but steady pattern. The light enveloped everything in a warm, red-golden glow and pushed back the shadows of the room, but not the ones claiming his thoughts. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't, reveling in the silence instead. Finally, Wynne asked, "Do you wish to be left alone, Alistair?"

As always the mage was catching onto his mood, even faster than he ever could. Alistair supposed that this insight of body and mind came from her long years and experience as a healer. "I'm not alone," he said without thinking, and glanced at Lenya's sleeping form. _Not anymore._ "But yes, I think I would like that. So much has happened lately that it makes me less than the most entertaining company right now." He smiled at her, almost apologetic. "Sorry about that."

She shook her head. "You don't _have_ to be, my dear. It is only natural that you need time to process recent events. I guess we all do, though you need it most of all." Alistair nearly expected Wynne to burst out in a lecture about duty and kingship, and was relieved as she proved him wrong. "_Both_ of you. Lenya's fever is an expected results of her complete exhaustion. As a healer I should be angry about her downright suicidal behavior and mistreatment of her own body, but it doesn't surprise me. I saw her briefly before the meeting with the Arl, in her room. And the person I faced there had little to do with the spirited young lady I used to know. It was heart-breaking to see her like that. Yet this time, after Lenya ran away... she returned. I think _that_ says more about her character than her newest bout of utter recklessness."

"Yes. And she is back thanks to Morrigan, no less," Alistair agreed, still feeling weird about the fact that the witch, of _all _people, had been the one to bring Lenya back. Abruptly he remembered Zevran's words about her caring no less about Lenya than the others – or he– and had no choice but to deem them true. Morrigan _was_ her friend, as foreign as the concept seemed for the witch's normally indifferent demeanor.

It was harder to decipher the emotions that accompanied Lenya's disappearance and return. Beyond obvious relief and joy to see her back, there was uncertainty, and the feeling of not knowing how to deal with it and her further grief. Surely she didn't want to be wrapped in cotton and pampered, did she? Or should he do exactly that?

"She needs time, Alistair. And so do you, I think." Smiling, the mage stood up. "I will talk to the Arl tomorrow and tell him that Lenya is currently in no condition to travel."

_As if he'd be bothered by that._ Alistair suppressed a scoff and swallowed the bitter memory of Eamon's words. "Yes, that should buy us some time to breathe. Thank you, Wynne."

"Just make sure she drinks a lot of water and rests enough to let her body regain its strength." She chuckled. "After all, you know best how stubborn Lenya is. I will check up on her in the morning, right after talking with the Arl. I don't think it will, but should her fever rise again in the night, don't hesitate to call for me. Good night, my dear."

Alistair escorted her to the door, more out of courtesy than true necessity. "Good night, Wynne." He let out a deep sigh as the door closed behind her, glad to be able to absorb the silence once more. Taking the tray of food with him, he settled down on the ground, next to the bed where Lenya slept. Giving in to his Warden-induced hunger, Alistair dug into the rich selection of food on the plate, though it was mostly his need for sustenance which drove him, not enthusiasm for eating. Once he was done, he stared into the hypnotic rhythm of the flames for a while, letting his mind wander without direction.

He didn't notice when his eyelids became too heavy. He only knew that somewhere between one thought and the next, sleep became too huge a need for him to ignore it any further.

.

* * *

.

.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

Teagan blinked in surprise from his desk, apparently not expecting Alistair to take him up on his invitation so soon after Lenya's return. It wasn't that Alistair had any desire for this sort of discussion, but it had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since he had stormed out of the main hall. So it was better to take it like a man and finally put it behind him, right? Standing now in front of the Bann – even knowing the still sleeping Lenya was in the safe care of Leliana – he wasn't all that certain anymore. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to run back to his room and curl up next to his fellow Warden again.

Straightening in his chair, Teagan set his quill down. "If I'm honest, Alistair, my brother is the one who wishes to have a conversation with you." Alistair flinched at that, a reaction he suspected Teagan noticed. "Barring that, he believed you would prefer to speak with me instead, as you seem less inclined to avoid me."

Settling down on one of the chairs without waiting for Teagan's bidding, he scoffed. "_That_ depends on the content of this conversation, really."

"I understand why you would do this in your situation, but you must know that Eamon is neither angry, nor holds a grudge against you for the events which occurred during–"

Alistair swallowed, but kept his face even. "Cut to the chase, please."

The Bann leaned forward in his chair, his expression serious. "Well, you are aware of the current situation we are in, I hope?"

"That has been mentioned time and time again. Landsmeet in Denerim, facing Loghain and hopefully having the chance to lop off the traitor's head for his crimes. And so on, and so on." His eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Oh, I get it. You want to know if I've changed my mind about the throne ever since walking out with a 'No'?"

"You are... surprisingly blunt, but yes."

Alistair shrugged. "I've _learned_ a thing or two since I was forced to leave. Ten years is a long time, you know?"

Teagan nodded. "So I noticed. You have changed a great deal since I saw you walk into Redcliffe months ago. You have become more confident, more... mature. I would imagine that is the result of having to shoulder such an immense responsibility on your own."

"Oh, thank you for your vote of confidence."

"And I'm fairly sure you could adapt to governing just as easily."

"_Nope_," Alistair replied, rolling the word over his tongue. "That is the short answer to your unasked question. The long answer is that I'm a Grey Warden. It's what I'm good at and where my duty lies: on the battlefield fighting the Blight and darkspawn, not in the throne room pampering nobles." He sneered, his voice taking on a bitter tone. "Void, the very thought of governing a country makes me want to curl up in fetal position and wait for an ogre to distribute my precious Calenhad blood all over the scenery."

"It's not _that_ bad, Alistair," Teagan said with evident amusement. "You wouldn't be abandoned to the job. Early in your reign, you would always have people around you to help you wade through the morass of the world of politics. And it is an undeniable fact that most nobles could easily be swayed to support the last living descendant of the Calenhad bloodline."

Alistair made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, disliking being treated like a prize Mabari. "Yeah? If that's so important, maybe they should put my blood in a jar and put _that_ on the throne." He stopped his outburst with a sigh, driving a hand through his freshly cropped hair - _anything_ to keep his resemblance to Cailan at bay. "I don't know, Teagan. I may sound like a petulant child to you, but for the first time in my life I have figured out what _I_ want, what is important to _me_. Is it more important than Ferelden, or the political consequences if I elect not to serve? Probably not, but I _am _fighting for the country to continue to exist. Is that worth nothing?"

"Not if it devolves into chaos and civil war soon after the Blight ends." The Bann shook his head, looking at him. "I truly believe you would make a great ruler, for you have a kind heart and you are able to adapt quickly to a situation. I believe that your true duty could lie there, should you be willing to accept it."

Duty. Once his only purpose in life, now a word misused as a catchphrase to lure him into compliance. "Minor detail, I know, but for that, we have to survive the Blight first. Just saying." He scowled. "So following your plan means me just shutting up and sitting on the throne, then? Oh, I can see how _that_ would be better, not to mention _easier_."

Teagan frowned. "No one ever said that, Alistair. Where did you get that idea?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe when you and the Arl talked about my future as if I wasn't even in the room!" Alistair heard his voice rise in volume with each word and stopped himself right before it became outright yelling. Where had all that anger come from? Controlling himself with a deep breath that came out as a resigned sigh, he continued, "But it's not as if I really have any choice in the matter, do I? As if there ever was. My blood has ruled over me my entire life, why should it be any different now? Well, I should be used to it by now."

"Alistair..." Teagan began, an expression of pity in his face. "That's not how-"

Alistair didn't even bother to let him end the sentence, caught up in the recitation of the bitter facts of his life. "Nor did _I_ choose for my father to father a bastard with a starstruck maid, then put me aside without a second glance." Now that the can of worms had been opened, long suppressed frustration poured out in abundance. "I have been told I'm a commoner my whole life, that I have no right to the Theirin name, because of the inconvenience I represented to Cailan's succession. And now suddenly I should step forward as _king_? Excuse me if I have a hard time coming to terms with that, or even _dare_ to deny it at first. I know that it doesn't matter what I want, but you can't fault me for trying, can you?"

Teagan leaned back in the chair, his whole body tense. In fact, his fingers gripped the edges of the armrests with such a force that Alistair expected to break into pieces soon.

"I–" Rendered apparently speechless, the Bann gaped at what once had been such an easygoing, always joking boy. Unfortunately, that boy was too sulky to emerge, and Teagan had to deal with the more bitter and serious man lying underneath all the humor instead. The Bann opened his mouth again, obviously reconsidering his approach, and thus the silence lingered, _stretched_. The break from argument and accusations, however, did not mean that Alistair's tension diminished. His broad muscles remained flexed, and his rigidity caused the wood of the armchair underneath to creak. Teagan stood up, walked over to a sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy. He downed it in one go and turned back to face his guest. "What _do_ you want, then, Alistair?"

Alistair blinked. Clever tactic or not, the unexpected question threw Alistair out of his mood. He exhaled slowly, feeling the tension within dwindling, his arms relaxing. "To survive the Blight and not end up smashed to a pulp by a giant dragon would be a good start. And _not_ being pushed down a path that isn't of my own choosing. To be _asked_." The harsh lines of his face softened, a faint smile tugging at his lip. "Eating cake in Orlais."

Teagan observed him for a moment, head tilted. "So it is about _her?_ You... really love her."

"See?" Alistair snorted, not even angry about the man being able to read him so easily. "This is why I would make a horrid politician, just as I would have made a horrible templar." _And neither were of my own choosing,_ he added in silence.

The Bann smiled. "Well, you do know that you can have your cake and eat it too, to use your metaphor? Being king doesn't have to be a punishment. Even if Lenya is only an elf and–"

"With all due respect, Teagan, should you end that sentence, I may consider _punching_ you."

"Touche." The Bann raised his hands placatingly and laughed. "You are just like your father."

"You mean chasing after women's skirts and abandon my child as soon as it is born?" He scoffed. _"Hardly."_

"No...I thought you knew." Teagan frowned, apparently regretting bringing it up."A long time ago, Maric loved an elven woman. Even thought about putting her forward as Queen."

Alistair stared as he digested the hitherto unknown information about the strange man others called his father, then fell into a fit of laughter. The sudden change of mood visibly confused the Bann. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it is all right." He waved him off, still laughing. "For some reason I imagined Lenya as a queen. All grumpy and glowering on her throne, yelling at the 'stupid noble shems' daring to bother her."

"Well," Teagan drawled, amused. "She does have a certain temper and point of view. And I'm not saying it is due to her being a Dalish, but she is a bit...rough. Like an unpolished diamond."

Amusement fading, he looked at the elder man, suddenly serious. "She is brilliant _enough_ for me."

"Hmm." Teagan caught his mood, the humor also gone from his voice. "But... it won't be possible to put her forward as queen. Not from our weakened position and with Ferelden being so unstable. Perhaps it would been different had you been raised as Maric's son and our country were not on the brink of war and already mired in chaos. I'm sorry."

He paused to let the words sink in, but to Alistair it wasn't exactly _news_. Not after he had seen how elves - even Lenya - were treated in this country. Of course, with _her_ those narrow-minded bastards quickly regretted their racism, but others of her kind were less willing or able to fight back, and thus were subjugated. He was under no illusion that the nobility would even _bother_ to look past Lenya's race and see the wonderful woman behind it. Just as a sigh escaped his lips, the Bann spoke again. "Whatever you decide, Alistair - whether to take on the role your blood destined for you or put your support behind Anora instead - it is of the utmost importance for you to be prepared for the Landsmeet. We can't afford to lose to Loghain, or Ferelden will be doomed and flooded with darkspawn."

"Oh, _no_ pressure," Alistair quipped, but his expression remained straight.

"Which means I can offer you a compromise. As you said, you were raised a commoner and thus understandably have little idea of the mechanism of politics. Ferelden isn't half as complicated as Orlais in this, but you still need to have a certain level of knowledge to prevail in front of the Landsmeet with all its nobles and factions." Hands behind his back, Teagan started to pace. "My compromise is that you let yourself be schooled in the basics by Eamon between now and the Landsmeet. Essentially, that you play along for now."

Alistair crossed his arms and shifted in the chair, still skeptical. "And what is in it for me in all this?"

"Freedom of choice," he answered, pointedly. "To be able to make the decision on your own, without having my brother pressure you any further into the role of kingship. Just how you want it."

"Interesting." Alistair leaned forward, considering the more approachable offer. "But how is that going to work, even? Are we going to swear a pinky promise now and snicker each time Eamon show ignorance of our secret?" He grinned, actually amused. "You are _such_ a bad man, Teagan."

Shaking his head, the Bann smiled. "A simple yes would already be enough, and I will do the rest. To be honest, my brother expects a full report of our conversation anyway - though I may omit the little detail of my offer."

Alistair's eyebrows drew together, confused by the apparent loyalty of the Bann towards a virtual stranger. "Why?"

"I do it for your own good, Alistair. Our discussion clearly showed me that you are not yet ready for such a huge decision."

Alistair sighed. "I doubt I ever will be."

"That remains to be seen. This is a yes, I take it?"

"Yes, it is. Thank you, Teagan." He sealed the semi-secret deal with a handshake and stood up to leave. Alistair was still all but euphoric about the hours of lecture concerning politics and proper manners that would follow this promise, yet it appeared to be the most sensible outcome at the moment. Most of all, he hoped it would buy him some space to breathe and put a stop to the insane pressure. He needed that to be able to focus on the Blight.

Hand on the doorknob, Alistair halted with snort. His well-known, morbid sarcasm kicked back into place, covering the raw interior of a hurt, unwanted boy again. Compared to kingship, fighting a Blight – even with him being one of the two last Grey Wardens – seemed to be a walk in the park.

.

.

* * *

.

.

_She ran, trying to get away, the darkness in her wake slowly swallowing her._

_Suddenly hands grabbed her ankles, bringing her down. She crashed painfully on the hard stone floor of the ruins, the air escaping her lungs at the impact. _"Lethallan_, why did you leave me in the cave?" A voice - _his _voice - asked, riddled with agony and hurt. His fingers clawed into her legs, scratching them bloody and keeping her in place. The lingering darkness in the air consumed her. Her lungs burned, her heart racing as panic rose. And yet she didn't turn around, didn't dare to. "I thought you cared, _lethallan!"_ he said, every word a lament on its own. Suddenly he was in front of her, his face torn to pieces, rotted by the taint. "But you only saved yourself and left me to become _**this**!_"_

Lenya jerked awake, screaming.

"Shh, everything is all right, Lenya. You are safe!" a soft voice said, and there was a hand on her sweat-dampened hair. Neither belonged to Alistair. Frantically, she blinked, needing to clear her eyes from the remembrance of yet another nightmare of him. _Tamlen_. She shivered, her breath coming out only in small, rapid gasps as her heart thudded in her chest. Another moment passed, and Lenya finally felt strong enough to raise her head and face reality: the one thing she kept trying to leave behind and yet, in the end, _couldn't_.

_Fight against it, or embrace the anger. Just don't give up, you fool! _She recalled Morrigan's words, deep down knowing her friend was correct. She wasn't someone who would give up like this and leave every little step she'd gained in her life since her clan behind. But... staying meant facing and dealing with all the grief and guilt that had consumed her a few days ago.. _still did_, relly_._ And Lenya wasn't sure how to manage that, only that she had to. From the corner of her eyes, she caught a speck of red hair. It shimmered in the sunlight, which poured in from the windows above. It was day then. Only which one? How long had she slept? The air in the room was stale, smelling of herbs and her own sweat. Lenya wrinkled her nose and regretted the motion instantly, as it was punished with the throbbing pain of a lingering headache. In fact, her whole body ached; it felt too hot and positively _filthy_.

_Ugh_.

"How are you feeling?" the voice – _Leliana's voice_– asked, clearing the fog within her mind. "Your fever rose again and I needed to call Wynne. But you should be fine now. Here, drink this."

The bard handed her a cup, filled to the brim with some sort of brew. Lenya took a sniff and recoiled at its sweet, earthy smell. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of drinking it. She knew the mixture all too well: Linden blossoms, thyme, and elfroots. It was an herbal drink used to lower fever and symptoms of a cold, not unlike the ones Ashalle forced her to ingest when she was young and sick. With a pang of wistfulness and a moment of sheer will to calm her stomach, Lenya downed the cool contents in one go. Its sweet bitterness made her grimace and yet fit her mood. Leliana took the empty mug and put it aside, apparently waiting for her to speak.

Lenya sighed. "I... feel like death took a shit on me. And I probably smell like it." She swallowed to soothe her rough throat. "I hope that is clear enough an answer."

The bard laughed. "It is not _that_ bad, Lenya. Give it another day or two and you will be back upon your feet. Wynne again showed her skill in healing. Without her, you would been sick for far longer. But most of all I'm glad you are back again. We all are."

"Yeah..." She looked down, a twinge of uncertainty and even more remorse nagging at her guts.

"But you... are not?" Leliana caught her reaction, not surprising considering her all-too-keen skill at reading someone's body language.

"No... it is not that. Not exactly," Lenya answered honestly, and tried to clear her throat once more, though it had little effect. While the feverish heat had subsided, her throat was still sore and her head and limbs ached. Shifting awkwardly in the bed, Lenya noticed that she wasn't exactly dressed to meet visitors. "Where is Alistair?" As soon the question left her mouth, she already regretted it. She didn't know how to face him after leaving him behind and alone with what was actually their shared duty. "I came back because it is the right thing to do. To fight the Blight. I didn't want to leave you all with it."

"Us... or Alistair?" She felt Leliana's gaze on her, though didn't raise her own eyes to meet it.

"Both." Using her hands, Lenya rubbed her face, trying to dispel the dizziness and lingering ache. She quickly realized that this one wasn't of the body however, but one which reached far deeper. "Though I don't know what is left for me once this is done. I can't return to my people, and Alistair –"

"–loves you dearly," Leliana finished, robbing and altering her words. "He searched day and night for you while you were gone. He pushed himself and us to the limits and beyond to find you."

Right. The awareness of his desperation upon her disappearance wouldn't make it any easier to look him in the eyes. Lenya always had a knack to appear eager for confrontation, to oppose and be tough. But deep down, she was usually simply _scared_. It was a side of her which she preferred to remain locked away and hidden from the rest of the world. That one still loathed the sheer weight of her task and froze shell-shocked even at the thought of facing the fears, regrets and doubts. Thus it was easier to run, to hide, and to hope it would _go away._

_I'm such a coward._

"It is all right, dear." Lenya felt arms wrap around her, a gentle hand patting her bare back. It was an oddly intimate gesture by Leliana, and only the trembling intake of air she made and the sudden blurred view told Lenya _why:_ she was crying. "We understand why you did it. No one is blaming you, especially not Alistair." Lenya lingered another moment, sniffed, and, a bit awkwardly, drew away from the offered solace. She was not used to showing her feelings so openly, particularly not to the bard.

"I don't want to run any more. But sometimes, all the pressure and old mistakes haunt me, robbing me of air to breathe, and I can't bear it. It is _too much_. So I run, fleeing from what I actually should _confront_. It is not right, I know, but it is–" Lenya bit her lower lip, ashamed by her own most glaring shortcoming, one she shouldn't have as their leader since she was the one most responsible for their success.

"But it is _easier_." Leliana nodded and looked at her, her gaze soft and understanding. "I know."

So few words, and yet so much significance behind them. Leliana, the Orlesian spy, who had sought refuge in Lothering's Chantry and the belief in the human god to escape from her old life. Yet she had been caught by her past in the end. "How do you do it?"

The woman blinked, needing a moment to sort out what she meant. Then, leaning back in her chair, her eyes strayed past Lenya in reminiscence. "For years, I was happy. I felt peace with the simple life in Lothering, to help people and make amends for my less than honorable deeds as a bard. Still, there had been always this nagging voice in the back of my head, taunting, reminding me."

"Of what?"

"Of how I loved the Game. The intrigues in court and on the streets, the freedom and absence of the rule of law." She released a breath and folded her hands in her lap. "That I was only hiding behind my belief in Lothering, so that I would not have to face the fear of being just like Marjolaine. It was a life I didn't want to live any longer and yet I... missed it. Stupid, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't," Lenya didn't hesitate to say as she shook her head. "I was happy with my clan, and fought with tooth and nail so I wouldn't have to leave, even if it meant my death. But looking back, I think it was for the best, and not simply because I was already tainted. I was an ignorant and hateful little shit, my horizon narrowed down to the borders of my clan. I didn't mind back then, never bothered to look beyond it. But now that I _have_, reluctant as it was and in parts still _is_, I cannot return to that life, to what I once was, even if I wanted to. And Creators, more than often I wish I still had the bliss of ignorance. It means I can only look forward, straight ahead, and it is a struggle to see anything but battles, pain and death waiting there for me."

She blinked back the tears reforming behind her eyes. "It comes with being a Grey Warden and never goes away. And I'm certainly no hero like it is told in the legends of old. I'm just a nineteen years old Dalish trying to survive in a foreign world gone mad. More often than not I am scared out of my mind about failure, to lose even the little bit of life I still have. So I ran away. Because leaving it all behind, to lose it all at once seemed easier to me than having it chipped away bit by bit."

"I see." Leliana took her hand and gave it a soft squeeze. "Hearing this, it makes a lot of sense why you reacted the way you did."

Lenya didn't draw away from the gesture and laughed without mirth. "And still I was wrong. It made everything _harder_."

"Is that what brought you back?"

"The hope of being able to choose brought me back, to be honest. To have something beyond the bleak prospect of darkspawn slaying for my remaining years, if there are any." Funny, how _both_ of her wishes connected with Alistair's name and person, but she didn't dare to indulge in the thought any further. Not now. "I can't choose how or when I will die, because that is taken from me by the taint. So I want at least have the choice _how_ to live it, Grey Warden or not."

"Yeah..." Leliana nodded. "It took me a long time to see this, but I'm not Marjolaine, I'm _me_. I can choose who I want to be and so can you, Lenya. You are more than just a Grey Warden. Certainly it is a part of you, like my past of being a bard is for me. This will always stay with you and me, yet it doesn't define your whole being, not if you don't want it to."

Lenya heaved a long sigh and let the woman's words sink in. "Let's hope you are right, because more often than not it is hard to see anything _but_ the Warden." In all these months – nearly a year, come to think of it – this had been her first conversation with the bard without a heated word or animosity between them. Given, she had talked with her in a more civil way before, but it wasn't the same. Not like this, not like a _friend_. The word resonated within her and stayed, making Lenya feel once more embarrassed for her unfounded hatred toward her. "Thank you."

Leliana smiled. "Anytime."

"How..." The Dalish halted and looked down at her hands, unsure whether to breach another topic, especially _this_ one..

"Yes?"

"How did you deal with... Marjolaine's death?" If Leliana's gasp and the widened eyes were any indication, she had been too daring. "I mean, she had been your friend and _more_, and yet you killed her."

"She betrayed me, _used_ me and–"

"This wasn't a judgment, Leliana," Lenya said quickly, to calm her bristling. "You were in your rights to act like you did. But... how do you deal with that? I had Tamlen in front of me, twisted by the taint, begging me to end his life, to end his suffering. But I couldn't. And yet... the guilt, his face... is still haunting me."

"I see. I apologize for my reaction. Old habits die hard, I suppose." The tension building up within the bard left her system. She leaned back, mulling the words over. "There is no overall magic recipe when it comes to grief or guilt, alas. Even if her death had been a point of closure for me after years of fear, I needed time. Time to process what happened, to recognize that I'm not the one to blame, that I'm not like her. I fear there is no easy way to come to terms with something like this, Lenya. But... I was not alone, and so aren't you."

"...I know."

"There is a saying in Orlais: '_Une joie partagée est une double joie, un chagrin partagé est un demi-chagrin.'" _Leliana rolled the foreign words with such an ease over her tongue that Lenya couldn't do anything but gape at her in awe. Noticing her stare, the bard smiled. "It means: '_A joy shared is twice a joy; a grief shared is half a grief'_. Though how much you want to share of your sorrow is up to you."

"I guess you are right." Lenya nodded. "How did you know one of our songs, the one of my People? _In Uthenera_, the one you sang at Tamlen's–" Tears stung at her eyes, making it unable to speak any further. It hadn't even been a burial, was no more than a quick, practical disposal of a tainted body, in truth. After all the suffering Tamlen had gone through, left alone as a monster, he had deserved _better_. As painful as hearing those words had been, the sentiment of Leliana raising her voice for him – in elvish, even– helped to lessen the impact of wrongness in that moment. But... it returned not much later and lingered persistently.

"I know it from the time when my mother died. A wise elven woman comforted me and told me that we shouldn't fear death, or hate it. Death is just another beginning. One day we must all shed our earthly bodies to allow our spirits to fly free. It's a beautiful sentiment, I think - one that brings peace and hope to the grieving."

"Hahren Paivel used to say the same, when someone of our clan passed away. But being tainted myself and seeing what happened with Tamlen, you must excuse me if that does little to appease me." Lenya had still no idea to stop running away from him in her dreams. How to manage to not being swallowed by the swirling darkness that symbolized her guilt. She was tired of doing so in her nightmares and yet had no choice other than to repeat the cycle.

Shaking her head and the grim thoughts away, Lenya tried to stand up, but her knees nearly buckled under her weight. Stars swam before her eyes. Overwhelming blackness swarmed her senses, trying to get a hold of her. She gasped, feeling arms around her and pulling her back onto the bed. "_What_ are you doing?"

Slowly, Lenya breathed in and out. The tightness in her chest eased, and her vision cleared. "I want to clean myself. I feel filthy."

"Then let me help you. I will go and fetch water and fresh clothes for you." Lenya looked at her, uneasy and ashamed of requiring assistance with even such simple matters. The bard noticed her hesitation. "Accepting help when needed is no weakness, Lenya. No one will think less of you when you do so. I surely will not. It is no trouble to do this for you. So let me help, yes?"

Lenya tucked her blanket back in place and nodded. "...All right. _Ma serannas_."

Turning around at the entrance, Leliana smiled. "I will be back with everything as quickly as possible."

.

.

* * *

_**A/N²**__: You may think be thinking in confusion, wait, isn't Alistair hardened? (Yes he is, if you want to speak in game-terms here) So why is he so reluctant and noncompliant toward taking the throne? He certainly must jump at the chance to become king, eager to please his foster father Eamon. And I may answer: NOPE, he doesn't/isn't. Hence, ladies and gents welcome to my further version of Alistair, who isn't taking anybody's shit anymore. This development was planned from the start and variously hinted at in previous chapters. And seriously after nearly a year with Lenya and all the BS I have put him through, it was to be expected, right? However there is still lot in store for him, so this isn't the end of his development or changes. Which is very much valid for the other characters as well, as Lenya's/Leliana's teaming up shows ;)_


	104. Vir Lath Sa'vunin (Part 1)

**A/N**: _Cue obligatory excuse for vanishing for a month, but I really, **really** needed a bit of distance to all things writing for a while. Hence this update now on a whim. I haven't written the RR's yet, so they follow later (as in tomorrow/in two days) with the other (yet unbetad) chapter. Yes, double chapter time to make up for my disappearance. And because I'm wordy as hell. Yay?_

_Vir Lath Sa'vunin – Means 'We love another day'. Originally it used to belong to the prior chapter. But I needed to part it, since I can't write short chapters even if my life depended on it. Sigh. This one is (almost) exclusively Lenyastair and dealing with the aftermath of the events, their choices and fears. While I'm aware that it is slowing down the story once again, I needed to take the time to establish a few things. Because once we reach Denerim, there will not much opportunity for this left. Too much pre-Landsmeet plot-work to do. So yeah,enjoy my long-winded drivel in two parts._

_Thanks to tklivory for the beta-read. Hope you are alright. And all the wonderful people still reading and giving me feedback for this never-ending cause of my demise...err...story. Wow._

* * *

.

**Chapter 97: Vir Lath Sa'vunin (Part 1)**

.

On the way back from Teagan's study, Alistair happened to hear the voices of two gossiping Redcliffe guards in the hall.

"Did you hear? A clan of Dalish elves arrived in the night."

"Yes, but why in the night like thieves?" asked the other, distinctive female voice, and scoffed. "Who do they think they are? Even now they keep their distance, as if they were somehow better."

"Maybe they just value their freedom, given that the representatives of the Chantry and templars are also here to watch over the mages," Alistair spoke up and smirked as they started like children being caught doing something bad. "In my experience, they do not react so _well_ to other religious beliefs, nor unrestrained magic, Blight or not."

The female knight turned to him, brown eyes blinking rapidly in fear. "U-unrestrained magic, ser?"

Being around his companions all the time, he had forgotten that mentioning the bad M-word wasn't really a great idea outside of their rag-tag group. Smiling, he lay a hand over his heart and raised the other. "Only to roast darkspawn. I swear by my Warden honor they won't kidnap any children to eat them, nor dance naked in the moonlight."

The knight blushed, the red spreading over freckled cheeks beneath the helmet. "You are _the_ Warden. Forgive me, I should have recognized you right away, ser."

He shrugged. "_A_ Warden, to be exact. And my fellow Warden is actually a Dalish, so you can trust me to be some kind of an expert here." He winked at her and her blush deepened, though this time the cause appeared to have little to do with embarrassment.

"I-I see," she stammered and cleared her throat. "That is good to know, indeed."

He shifted his weight from one foot to another, leaning in to her ever so slightly. "What is your name?"

"E-Elissa, ser."

Noticing that he was causing her discomfort, Alistair retreated. "Elissa? That is a pretty name."

"No, not really." Underneath her helmet, she grimaced. "I was born and raised in Highever, before coming to Redcliffe and joining the Arl's guard. It is a very common name there, nothing special."

"I see," he answered, wanting to return to the actual topic. "So, Elissa, what can you tell me about the arrival of the Dalish?"

"Not much, as we said," her fellow guardsman spoke up, before she could. "They keep to themselves at Redcliffe's borders, not even bothering to mingle with the rest of us. Their leader is a young woman, I heard, not much older than the Warden. Not you, of course. The other one. Err...the elf, ser."

Alistair suppressed the reflex to correct what he found to be a disrespect of Lenya and nodded instead. The man meant no harm, after all. "Thank you."

.

~V~

.

Alistair had had many bad ideas in his life so far, but wandering unarmed and in civilian clothes into the encampment of the Dalish must have been one of his most idiotic ones. The group of hunters, who had encircled him with loaded bows and drawn weapons, had proved him correct.

"Why do you want to speak with the Keeper, _shemlen_? What is your business here?" Not answering, he searched in the sea of tattooed faces for a familiar one, but found none. They didn't recognize him, either. Maybe he'd been wrong and it wasn't Lanaya's clan, which wou–

"Alistair!" He let out a relieved breath he didn't remember holding at the voice calling his name. The circle divided readily, making way for their Keeper as Lanaya stepped closer, mildly confused. She issued sharp words in her tongue toward the hunters, who reluctantly returned to their former posts. "You must excuse the harsh greeting," she addressed him. "Outside the boundaries of our woods, we have to be cautious. Blight or not, I'm sure your Chantry would like to get a hold of us. We prefer to remain secluded from the rest of the army until the siege. This won't bring us new friends among your people, but it will ensure our safety, and you must understand, that is my foremost concern for my clan."

"A sensible notion, actually. Though I'm glad I explored Redcliffe's outer borders as a boy, or I would have had trouble finding you."

She gave him a weighing look, her eyes slightly narrowing."Do not think I'm not glad to see you, Warden, but _why_ are you here?" Behind the Keeper, there was still a busy commotion. Commands were yelled in their tongue, boxes unloaded from carts, camps created in the field. Alistair had chosen a bad time for his visit, it seemed. Still, ever since hearing of their arrival, the idea had come to his mind and didn't let go.

He shielded his eyes against the sun burning down from the clear, blue sky, suddenly hesitant. "I... wanted to ask you something. Please hear me out."

The keeper considered his request before nodding and leading him further into their encampment. "_Ma nuvenin_, let me hear it."

.

.

* * *

.

Rumors traveled fast and even to the most secluded corners, it seemed. Or had they both been so obvious with their feelings, that the Keeper had noticed they were more than fellow Wardens? Whichever was the truth, Lanaya didn't take long to broach the subject, shocking him.

"I hope you are aware of the consequences of a Dalish loving a human," Lanaya had said. "It is individually up to her clan how they handle it, but such liaisons are generally more than frowned upon. It won't be condoned and for some of my people it is even considered betrayal. So should Mahariel choose you over her people in the end, it could happen that she wouldn't be welcomed among the Dalish anymore."

"What? Not even in your clan?" Alistair had been taken aback. He'd guessed the reaction would be poor, but he hadn't expected _exile._

She had shaken her head. "Both of you will be always welcomed here, for all you have done for us. I'm just telling you this from my knowledge as a First and Keeper. I want you be aware of the possible consequences of her choice for her future, Grey Warden, or not."

Even after he'd returned to the Castle, the conversation left a bad taste in his mouth. Alistair smothered the urge to kick the pebble in his way. The tray he carried swayed already enough, without him giving in to a gesture of frustration. What was it with everybody and their meddling in his relationship with Lenya? It was as if the whole if Thedas was against their love and enjoyed throwing obstacles in their way whenever possible. He rounded the corner to their shared room, barely missing a collision with a servant who hastened to get out of his way. Why did everything have to be this _complicated_, even after all they had achieved?

It wasn't fair.

Well, at least he'd gotten what he wanted, his request granted by Lanaya in part return for their deeds for her clan. It had to suffice, and would hopefully be helpful.

Managing to open the door despite the tray in his hands somehow, he found Lenya sitting on the bed, chatting with Leliana. He shook his head in disbelief at the plateau - the day just kept getting weirder by the minute.

Leliana beamed at him. "Oh, Alistair, you are back!"

His attention, however, was solely focused on Lenya. "You're awake! I, uh, brought you something to eat. Are you hungry?"

"No, thank you," the bard answered with a grin, knowing well that it hadn't been her Alistair addressed. "In fact, I think I will leave you both alone instead and... err, see if I can find Zev somewhere? Yes, that will do. Goodbye, my Wardens."

"Th-thank you," he was just able to say before the door closed behind her.

Silence descended, stretched. Lenya still didn't look at him, her fingers clawing in the fabric of her blanket. "So you and Leliana? New best friends? Can't say I saw _that_ coming, but I'm glad you get along with her now."

No answer save for the scraping of her teeth on her lower lip. Sighing, he placed the tray of food on the ground and walked to the bed.

"You are not angry?"

Her abrupt question stopped him in his tracks. "What? Why?"

"For abandoning you during the Blight, perhaps?" she snapped, challenging him.

He didn't take the bait. "I was scared, more like. Okay, _maybe_ I _might _have cursed you once in a while," he confessed, voice calm, "though I did it in the same breath I used to pray that you were safe. But angry? ..._No_." Kneeling to be at her level, he took her hand and placed a kiss in its palm, looking up to her. "You are here now. That is what counts."

Lenya let out a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "You are impossible."

"Impossibly _what_? Good-looking? Charming? Witty?" He _tsk_ed. "You _always_ make me fish for compliments, love." Her hand curled around his neck, pulling him closer. Alistair complied readily, meeting her lips half-way. Undemanding and soft, the kiss unfurled all the knots in his stomach and banished any lingering doubts. _This_ was important, nothing else. His arms came around her, pressing her body to his, needing the contact to ground him. "I missed you. So _much_..." he breathed out in between the kiss, placing a second one on her lips, before drawing away in exchange for air. Alistair stayed close, keeping just enough distance to look at her in silent, comfortable reverie.

"Impossibly... _kind_," she finally answered, gaze downward. "I'm sorry."

"Hey if you really insist on getting the magic wagging finger of scolding, I can go get Wynne." The quip even elicited a laugh out of her, if only for a second. "Was that a smile? Did I see that right? I'm not sure, can you show it to me ag– " The corner of her mouth remained turned upward, when Lenya used it to divert his rambling into a much nicer activity. She let herself fall back on the mattress with him following, not letting go. The long tresses of her hair were still damp, freshly washed. She noticed his gaze lingering there. "Leliana helped me with it..."

"Hmm..." Shifting his weight off her, Alistair embraced her once more. Trailing along her neck with his lips, he buried his nose there for a moment, inhaling her scent. Her familiar smell of soap and herbs was most welcome and soothing to his senses, his whole being. _Home_.

"_Atish'an?_" A pause. "...Are you _sniffing_ my hair?"

"Oh, err..." Alistair retreated, blinking up to her. "I just love how you smell. Is that... wrong?"

"No, it is not." Laughter bubbled up in her throat, threatening to burst out. " A bit weird maybe, though it reminds me what an oversized puppy you sometimes are."

He snickered. "Thanks?"

She couldn't hide her amusement any longer and let it break free, its sound liberating. "And only _you_ manage to make me smile in spite of myself."

"Weeell," he drawled, voice low and teasing. "I think it's fitting, since you're probably the only one who laughs at my jokes..."

Suddenly serious again, Lenya studied his face and drove a hand through his hair. "It's shorter again. Did you crop it?"

Alistair grimaced, blushing slightly. "Yeah, it got too long. Old habit of mine, I suppose. Since I, uh, look too much like Cailan, otherwise. So I prefer it short."

"So _that_ is where your obsession with your hair comes from? The fear of someone recognizing your lineage at first glance?" He nodded, feeling a pang of embarrassment. "But you aren't your brother, nor your father. You are _you_. Err...that sounded better in my head." She paused, reconsidering her words. "...I mean you are more than your blood. Oh... Creators, I had better stop now."

"No." Now he was the one laughing at her babbling, which was normally his expertise. "I get it and... thank you, love. Alas, this kind of opinion has become rather rare by now."

"_Bel ir alasbora, shem'alas_," she swore under her breath and for his sake. "Did you–" Lenya fell silent, teeth scraping at her lip again. She always did that when she felt unsure of something. It was a rare event, but all the more noticeable for him because of that.

"Hmm?" he hummed and kissed her cheek to coax her to continue. "Did I what?"

"...ever speak with your brother?"

Alistair propped himself up on an elbow to look at her. His other hand remained wrapped around her, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on her back. "No, I haven't. Not even in Ostagar, when he was near. I don't think he knew who I was or even cared much about my existence if he did. I didn't mean anything to him." He halted with a sigh, the spoken words tasting like ash in his mouth. "...Well, maybe I did _once," _he added after a moment of silent thought._"_Maric and Cailan had come to Redcliffe to visit the Arl. I was very young then and we were introduced. I believe I said, "Greetings, your Highness." He said, "Ooh! Swords!" and ran off to the armory. So, yes, that was the extent of my relationship with my so-called _brother_. We drifted apart after that. _Very_ sad."

Lenya frowned, clearly not buying his flippant tone or the sarcasm he used reflexively to talk about bitter memories. Alistair wasn't surprised at her being able to see through him whenever he tried to veil his words with humor. Unlike his father and brother, his so-called _family_, she _knew_ him. Cared, even. Lenya chose to not comment on his habit, though her brows furrowed further. He sighed and moved to the edge of the bed, needing the momentarily space. "And now I made you sad. Wow, super."

"I asked, didn't I?" He felt her touch upon his back and relaxed again. "And no, I'm not sad. Just puzzled about the coldness of humans. We handle such things differently."

"Well, you're not only one who's puzzled then," he muttered under his breath, hoping she didn't catch it. Of course, considering her keen hearing, that was probably a futile wish. Alistair stood up to get the abandoned tray, not wanting to dwell on the topic. It wasn't important, anyway - not anymore. "Are you hungry? I... kind of plundered the kitchen, took whatever I could find. Which... wasn't much, since I, err, got shooed out." He chuckled. "Just like old times, when I was fishing for scraps. I think the kitchen has been warned about Wardens and their appetites."

Lenya gave him a dubious look for the sudden change of topic and mood, but let it drop. "I'm more tired than hungry." She tried to suppress the yawn, but failed. "I have been up now for quite a while and my stomach feels a bit funny. The icky herbal medicine Wynne makes me drink aren't really helping in that regard, Warden or not. And I'm still not my old self yet. That will take time, I guess. Not to mention that my head is killing me."

"Oh... of course. Sorry, love. I haven't even asked how you feel. How stup–"

Her sigh interrupted him. "No, it is okay. I wanted to see you, although I was a bit afraid of facing you."

"Me?..._why?_" Another pointed look of her. "Oh, right. As I said, Len, the offer with Wynne still stands. But actually, I'm not sure if her lecture will be genuine. She's glad that you are back, all of us are." Putting the plate of food aside, Alistair sat down on the bed again. "Though if I may be so brazen, no one is as happy about it as I am." He ducked his head in for a slow, appreciative kiss and felt her smile against his lips.

"You don't need to prove it to me, _Atish'an_. I believe it, you know?"

"Or... maybe I simply _like_ kissing you?" He smirked. "After all, I have not been able to do that nearly enough the past days, so I feel a bit cuddly."

"Hmm..." Lenya hummed in agreement and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Nothing wrong with that." Taking her hint, Alistair bent over to discard his boots. Once done, he scooted a bit awkwardly to the center of the bed to lie down. Not a moment later, Lenya cuddled next to him, resting her head on his chest, eyes closed. "This is better."

Alistair smiled, but didn't answer. He instead enjoyed the silence and the absence of pressure. Being with her always brought him peace, a much needed element in these hectic, demanding days. Yet there was one nagging thought left, in between the calm rhythm of her breathing and the comfortable press of her body to his. "How...how did Morrigan find you?"

She didn't reply immediately and already sounded drowsily as she did. "I don't know. I don't remember, actually. I was out cold."

"..._What?"_

Lenya's eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't think, I just needed to be away. So I ran until I passed out, I guess." She sighed, remorse in her voice. "I ran a long time before fainting, though. The way back was long. In fact, Morrigan turned into a bear and carried me the rest of the way on her back after I collapsed."

He blinked. "You _are_ having me on. ...Right?"

"Nope. She did that indeed. It was quite glorious. Without her, I wouldn't have returned, I think. I was too caught up in my grief and guilt to realize that running away was a mistake. She slapped that out of me. Quite literally."

"Now _that _sounds more like her."

Lenya nuzzled his chest, inching even closer. Her words sounded as if they were getting hard to form. "I'm glad she found me."

"So am I, love. Very much so."

She let out a long breath, sounding content. For a long while Lenya lay still, curled up at his side. Then, out of nowhere, she jerked awake. "Oh, Creators, what about Denerim? And the Landsmeet? When do we travel? I completely forgot. There is so much to–"

"Don't worry about it," Alistair interrupted her, voice soft. "Your only concern should be getting healthy again. I'll take care of things in the meantime."

"But–"

"No buts, Len." He nudged her affectionately. "Leave it to me, okay?"

As suddenly as the tension rose, it left her body, relaxing it again. "Okay," Lenya murmured, before drifting off to sleep in his arms.

.

~V~

.

Lenya ducked under the incoming blow and smirked at Zevran's frustration.

After another day and a half of rest and drifting in and out deep slumber, Wynne released her from bed rest. She wasn't sure if her healer would endorse sparring so soon after her sickness, but her body ached for some physical exertion. Lenya had never been good at being idle for too long. Her lack of patience and joy of swordplay was another reason to seek this challenge, and Zevran was the ideal partner for her first, tentative rounds of sparring. Due to his similar fighting style, she needed to think less about strategy, or how to overwhelm her opponent, or how to find weak points in his armor. She could simply fall into a rhythm as natural as breathing for her - a rhythm that the other elf had slowed down to coddle her, she noticed.

So she sped it up, taunting him again with a feigned jab and another smirk to let the pretense drop. Probably not the best idea, considering how her breath already came out in small gasps and the sun burning down on them made the sweat run down her face. Lenya was aware that she was not in her best form, but that wouldn't stop her from indulging in training. Fighting should be instinctive: reacting and acting without having to think. With Tamlen's twisted face still so prominent before her eyes and the nightmares still haunting her, it was _exactly_ what she needed.

Grip tightening around the steel of the training dagger's hilts, Lenya recognized his feint and side-stepped the real attack. The action elicited a loud murmur out of the moderate crowd that had gathered around the sparring ground to see '_the Warden elf_' fighting. One of the dwarven warriors had even created a makeshift yet busy betting station, though Lenya had neither the time nor the interest to pay heed to who was their favorite. Nevertheless, the thought of them betting amused her. "Come on, Zev. I expect better of a Crow."

"Ah, this would be the wrong moment to remind you that I'm no longer a Crow, I take it? As for the rest: are you sure you can handle me, my dear?" It was cute how he actually _asked_ to heighten the tempo. He did so half-mockingly, but it was endearing nonetheless.

She circled around him, never stood still. Zevran moved with her, equally light and graceful. "Care to find out?"

Now _he_ was smirking, the last sign of peace before he rained down a series of attacks. Lenya managed to stand her ground against them, though she noticed the strain in her limbs that would not plague save for her less-than-perfect health. She couldn't afford to remain on the defensive any longer, or she would kiss the ground and lose as a consequence. Evading the last strike instead of parrying, she used the momentum to reach Zevran's unprotected side. The elf noticed her move and, more quickly than she expected, corrected his position and deflected her jab. He _tsked_, taunting her. "Now, now, we can't have that, dearest Warden."

Lenya laughed at that, not angered in the slightest by her failed attack. While her lungs burned and yearned for air, the exertion made her feel _alive_. She rolled her shoulders while circling him again, letting the tension within dissipate. Finally, he had given up all pretense, and was noticeably on his guard and constantly searching for an opening. She didn't offer him one and – probing here and there with an attack – it was obvious he would not, either. Once more deflected by his blades, a well-known hum filled her being, making her smile. Alistair had evidently become the latest on-looker in a crowd silenced by the tension and anticipation of the even match. Unfortunately, his presence also caused a flicker of inattention, something Zevran used immediately to his advantage. Instead recognizing the false opening he offered to her for what it was, Lenya fell for it, stumbling into an empty space just like he wanted. In one movement, he rounded on her, and not a moment later, she felt the press of pointed steel on the back of her neck.

_Damn_.

"Come on, Lenya. I expected more of a Warden," the elf mirrored her words mockingly from not long ago, laughing.

"Okay, okay, you got me, Zev. I yield!" Lenya said and threw one dagger away for show, while the other landed next to her feet. Coins changed hands and she heard the disappointed muttering of that part of the crowd which had pegged her as invincible fighter. Fingers curling around a handful of red dust where her weapon had been, she grinned at their quick judgment of her loss. Lenya couldn't see Alistair in the sea of faces, but felt him and winked in the direction where she thought he was. Zevran approached her from from behind to collect her weapons, an opportunity she had been waiting for.

Ducking under the blade pointed at her while he was distracted, Lenya whirled round and flung the dust into Zevran's face. Blinded by her unexpected counter, the elf stumbled back, coughing. Lenya used the movement and momentum to regain one of her discarded blades and one of Zevran's. Instead of slashing across his front as she would in a true fight, she used the weight of their hilts to force his knees to bend. Losing his balance completely, the elf fell gracelessly into the dirt. There was a moment of shocked silence within the crowd, the sudden turn of events surprising them. It lasted another heartbeat before converting to cheers and applause as Lenya loomed over the elf, grinning. One of her boots pressed lightly into his back, ensuring he would stay down.

"Remarkable how this reminds me on our very first encounter, my dear failed assassin."

Zevran turned his head away from the dirty ground, coughong profusely before answering, "Save that then you only flung insults at me, instead of dust."

"What can I say?" The grin in her face broadened. "I learned from the best. I think it was you who said that fighting fair is boring, right?"

And like in their first encounter, he was unperturbed by the circumstances. "Ah, I think I'll take that as a compliment, my dear and very _apt_ student."

"It was never meant as anything else." She helped him up before leaning over to rest her hands on her knees, exhausted. It was a typical sunny, cloudless day for this season, but still uncommonly hot for Ferelden's climate. "Still, it is always nice to kick your butt."

"And it is always nice to watch you doing so, love." Too busy with catching her breath, Alistair's voice and presence needed a moment to sink in. When she finally looked up at her lover and fellow Warden, he had a waterskin stretched out to her. "Thirsty?"

"Why, thank you, my dear Alistair," Zevran said with mock politeness. "Attentive as always, I see."

Alistair thwarted the elf's attempt to snatch the skin and shot him a glare. "This isn't for you, Zev."

"_Zev_?" he asked, amused. "My friends call me that. Are we _friends_ now, Alistair?"

"I wouldn't go _that_ far, Zev_ran_," he put extra emphasis on the last part of his name. "Though I confess I want to kill you less lately."

"Hah," the elf laughed out. "I _knew_ no one can resist my natural charm for long."

"...A feeling which can change quickly again, I might add."

"Ah, don't say that, my dear _friend_. You know that I'm ridiculously awesome."

Alistair looked at him up and down and snorted. "Rather ridiculously _dirty_. Lenya wiped the floor with you."

"...Jealous?"

"Should I leave you both alone until you have finished your flirting, or can I have the water?"

"_F-flirting?_" She loved how she could still make Alistair stumble over the simplest of words, in spite of his now broader experience and self-esteem. "Wh-what?"

"Well, I _certainly_ wouldn't mind..."

"Dream on, _lethallin_." She threw Zevran a pointed look. "I don't share."

"For which I'm truly glad, since I don't want to be shared." Lenya bit back a quip about Isabela in the Pearl and took the proffered refreshment instead. She was heated all over from the sparring, a fever of a different kind burning on her skin. Unbinding her hair, she uncorked the flask and, looking skyward, let the water run over her head until it was empty. Perhaps a bit of an unnecessary, dramatic way to refresh herself, but Alistair's rapt attention was _really_ worth the trouble.

"Oh...Maker," she heard him murmur under his breath and decided to shake her head for added effect. He swallowed audibly as Lenya slowly drove her hands through her long wisps to bind it back into a haphazard mixture of ponytail and bun.

Once done, she leaned in and handed him the waterskin back, voice low. "_Ma serannas_, _Atish'an._ Just what I needed."

While Alistair still stared, the elf beside him chuckled. "It seems that dirty fighting is not the _only_ thing you have learned in these past few months, my dear."

"I, uh, completely lost my train of thought." A pause." Oh, here it is. Can I talk to you?"

"Ah, my cue to leave, is it?" Zevran rubbed through the dusty strands of his hair, trying to free it from the dirt. "Well, it appears as if I need to clean up the mess you created. Hmm, funny, isn't that what–"

"Zev, _no_!" Lenya glowered at him. "If you finish your superfluous innuendo you will taste _more_ than just dirt. Do I make myself clear?"

"Most clear, oh-scary leader." Not bothered by her threat, he grinned and turned to go. "Have fun playing with each other, kids."

With the show fight over, Lenya noticed the crowd behind and around her slowly dissolving. Loudly chatting, the men and women returned to their prior activities. She waited until the elf and most of the troop were gone before turning to Alistair. "So you wanted to ta–" Any further words were cut off by Alistair's mouth as he claimed hers in an impulsive, searing kiss that curled the toes in her boots.

Drawing away, he cleared his throat, slightly blushing. "Err, sorry. Talking. Right."

She smirked at him. "We don't have to talk, you know..."

To his credit, it took him a moment to deny her 'subtle' request. "Err...no. I have to – I want to show you something." A pause. "And no, it is not that what is currently on your mind, love."

"Oh, so you are a mind reader now?"

"Yes, you got me. That's me. Alistair, Grey Warden, bastard of a king _and_ mind reader. I'm here all week." The chuckle was short lived. "Seriously though, if you could stop being sexy for a moment and–"

"Sexy, huh?"

"...and let me end my sentences, I would appreciate it."

"Okay," Lenya purred, having found amusement in messing with him. "I'm all _yours_."

"...You are _not_ helping." He drove agitated through his hair, before taking her hand. "Just come with me, okay?" Noticing how very much he tried to stay serious, she dropped the teasing and let herself being led away by him.

.

~V~

.

They walked in companionable silence for a long while, away from the center of Redcliffe to its borders.

"Where are we go–" The familiar sight of aravals lined up on the horizon and a faint scent of jasmine in the air made her forget her words. Once, Lenya would have called the growing twinge inside homesickness. Now, she wasn't sure anymore _what_ the feeling was when she was close to her people and the remnants of her culture. Wistfulness, perhaps.

Alistair only stopped walking when they had nearly reached the Dalish encampment. He released her hand and turned to her. He seemed to be nervous, somehow, looking everywhere but in her eyes. He fidgeted in the pocket of his linen pants. She frowned, bewildered. "You... aren't going to propose now, or?"

"_What_?" His eyes grew wide. "No, no! I mean... not that I..." He stopped with a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Lenya could practically _see_ how he put a figurative foot into his mouth to hinder it from more words falling out. She didn't know whether to be amused or offended by his vehement protest against bonding. It was far too early, impulsive, and completely unlike Alistair. "Um, how do I start this without you thinking that I– Just hear me out, okay? Before we enter and meet Lanaya." Lenya nodded. "Do you remember that day in last winter, before we headed to the Circle? After the return from Orzammar, I mean."

Even after searching her memories, she was at a loss for its meaning. Why had he led her here? "I don't understand..."

Having taken control of his inexplicable nervousness, Alistair was back to his old charming self. He flashed her a smile, every bit the dashing, young man she felt so much in love with that it was sometimes frightening. "Close your eyes and give me your hand." Confused, Lenya obeyed. She still didn't know what this was all about, but she trusted him like no one else. Creators knew, she _did_. She unfurled her fist as requested and felt the press of a round object in her palm. "Now look. Maybe now you know..."

Tentatively, Lenya blinked and glanced down at her hand. It now held a plain fruit stone, rough in texture and thoroughly clean. While she put the pieces together in her mind of its significance on the particular day he had invoked, he continued his explanation, a bit abashed again, "Like back in the day in winter this is only symbolic. But unlike then, you can have the real deal. Thanks to your people being here in Redcliffe and agreeing to my request. Well, Lanaya did, that is."

"You..." Every fiber of her being went tense, her throat felt too tight to speak. She remembered. In crystal clear detail, and the meaning was suddenly _there._ Right before her eyes, Lenya saw the Circle Tower distant in the horizon again, felt the all-too-familiar undertow of guilt and grief keenly inside. This time it was not for Tamlen, but for... _Nithius_. She recalled Alistair digging a deep hole, in spite of the frozen earth: hours spent so that she could bury a symbolic fruit stone that would never grew into a tree. And yet it had brought her peace, soothed her grief. It had been... closure.

_Closure._

The word resonated inside her with all the yearning and fear alike. She stared at the pit in her palm and enclosed her fingers around it.

"I saw how you desperately wanted to bury Tamlen and _couldn't_. It wasn't possible because of–" His voice broke and he inhaled sharply. "I saw how that crushed you... and it hurt me in the same way." Alistair sniffed, erasing the small space between them, yet didn't touch her. He left the choice of physical contact up to her. "Because there was nothing I could do to help, to change it. So while we have the chance, I wanted you to have some... closure, perhaps. I don't know. Maybe it's stupid and you don't want it, because it's not your, nor Tamlen's clan, but it was important for me to at least try to do _something_ for you." He paused, and she could feel his gaze on her, waiting for some kind of reaction that did not came. "We don't have to–"

The sob stuck in her throat given voice silenced his attempts of justifying and explanations. Finally the strange paralysis released her so that she could wrap her arms around him. Lenya was overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions; gratitude and the stifled grief being the most prevalent ones. Though among the murmured strings of _'thank you's'_ and the sea of tears falling free, there was nothing as strong as the certainty of her love for him. Alistair held her, still tentative, still leaving all choice of contact to her, until Lenya's lips on his showed him her resolve and need. Nothing else mattered but he for that fraction of time and what he had organized for her sake. Closure. Such a leaden word and yet what she wanted. The yearning to reach peace within suddenly became stronger than the guilt, grief, and fear of forgetting about Tamlen. Still entangled in his arms, Lenya heard someone clearing their throat. She let go and turned with heat in her cheeks to face the approaching Keeper.

"I heard of your arrival, Mahariel," Lanaya said softly and with a straight face. Only the flicker of her eyes to her, Alistair and back gave some... dismay away."So I decided to bid you welcome myself. _Andaran atish'an, lethallan!_"

Lenya flinched at the last bit: too fresh were the memories of _him_ calling her so in his last moments. She recovered quickly and inclined her head in respect. "_Aneth ara, vhen'hahren. Sa nehn na inan'an a emma bel'serannas."_

"_Na'nehn, su ma vhen'elvhen, Mahariel." _Noticing the bemused look of Alistair, she switched to the king's tongue with a smile and perhaps even a purpose. "I suppose due to your reaction before my arrival, you are already aware of your... fellow Warden's request?"

Lenya didn't miss the connotation of her words. Crossing her arms, the previously open expression vanished into a scowl. "I don't need to justify myself to you, nor anybody. I will always be Dalish, yes, but I left my clan – no matter the circumstances – to become a Grey Warden. And that is what I am now, first and foremost. What I do in the private hours in between, when I'm but a woman, is nobody's concern but my _own_." With a glance to Alistair, she added, "...and perhaps the person I choose to spend it with."

A terse pause followed, something Lanaya finally dispersed with an amused shake of her head after another moment. "Then why _do_ you justify yourself to me, Mahariel?"

"Reflex, I guess." Tension fleeing from her posture, she shrugged. "Old habits die hard. Especially if you were summoned to the Keeper's araval for a lecture more than once a week."

The laugh came from Alistair's more distanced position. "It seems we have even more in common than I thought, lo – Len. Only it was the Revered Mother in my case."

"_Atish'an_..." Lenya deliberately chose her nickname for him to address him, to gauge the Keeper's reaction. A flit of surprise was all she got, so she increased the provocation by taking his hand and intertwining it with her own.

He leaned in, the good-humored tone accented by the soft squeeze he gave her hand. "Once a rebel, always a rebel, huh? _Exciting_, though not worth getting perforated with Dalish arrows, you know?"

The shake of her hand and negation was immediate. "Without you, I wouldn't be here. Without you, I–" Lenya's voice broke. Too much significance, too many leaden and conflicting emotions lay within, for the words to end without tears.

Lanaya's expression softened. No doubt she caught the change of emotions in the younger Dalish. "You have nothing to fear from me or my clan, Mahariel. The opposite is the case: you will always be welcome within my clan, as will Alistair. This isn't the reason for your presence, however. As you know, Mahariel, my clan had been close with yours and thus it is a given that I honor this request." She gestured them to follow further into their encampment and pointedly eyed their still entwined hands, as they did. "The preparations are done. Some of my people did know Tamlen in person or stories and wish to attend as well. I do not know how they will react to this... newest development between you both, but this shouldn't undermine the importance of the overall ritual."

The words made their point well, and Alistair started to take his hand from hers, but she tightened to grip to a vise. "Please, don't," she muttered, her words really meaning '_I need you_' without being able to actually _say_ it. He understood her anyway, smiling gently as he stayed close to her as she wished.

After all, her wish was his command.

.

.

* * *

.

**Elven notes:**

_Bel ir alasbora, shem'alas - _They are all idiots. These bastards. (Lenya, meant Eamon, mainly. Cough.)

_Aneth ara, vhen'hahren. Sa nehn na inan'an a emma bel'serannas." – _Greetings, keeper. A joy to see you again and many thanks for everything._ (Lenya toward Lanaya)_

"_Na'nehn, su ma bel vhen'elvhen, Mahariel."_ _– _You are welcome, for all what you have done for my clan, Mahariel. _(Lanaya to Lenya)_


	105. Vir Lath Sa'vunin (Part II)

_**A/N:**__ Cue apology for long ass A/N* Here is finally part two of a rather giant chapter, hence the parting. Just as a warning/note aside, for the off-chance you like Eamon and are puzzled about my way of portraying him. Often I see him being portrayed as lovingly father figure to Alistair in FF's and err...__**nope, nope, nope**__. You won't find that in my story. I do and will write Eamon...differently, obviously. I see in him rather as a cunning and very...err...single-minded politician, who goes at length for his goal to put a Theirin on the throne, and possibly grab power for himself. He is not evil (it is not that easy) but I don't see him genuinely care for Alistair either. What he is – a Theirin – yes, but not for the person Alistair. _

_Hence you won't see any cuddly uncle Eamon portrayal in my story (which is frighteningly often to find in other stories) and more of the politician that tries to snatch the best deal for himself, and is kind of openly hostile to Lenya. Because she is an elf sleeping with Alistair, and thus inconvenient to his king-making plans. _

* * *

.

**Chapter 98: Vir Lath Sa'vunin (Part II)**

.

Everything was achingly familiar.

The sights of hunter adjusting her bow and blades, the smell of burned incense in the air and the sounds of her native tongue whispered as she passed them by. They awakened a sense of belonging and yearning in Lenya that belied her earlier oath of being a Warden first and foremost. It took her a moment to recognize that the whispers were directed at _her_, and not in a friendly manner. She knew those sort of glances all too well. The accusatory stares and disappointment, the same kind Lenya had earned when she'd turned out _not_ to be like the brilliant Keeper her father had been, when she had shown reluctance to be molded and fit into the same confined, suffocating expectations and rules. Most especially when she chose to break out of them and – at the price of their respect – wanted to be _herself_ instead.

Being here now was like traveling back in time, to the day when it became clear she had no magical talent whatsoever. What had meant freedom from the shackles which threatened her for Lenya became a bitter disappointment to the people of her clan, invested as they were in their hope for _more_. For what, she wasn't even sure. Continuing Nethras' legacy, perhaps, but without magic, that was an impossible feat. They had loved her in spite of that 'shortcoming,' certainly, but her father's footsteps always had remained too big and wide for her to fill.

_Damned if I did, damned if I didn't._

Lenya stiffened at the memory of those looks woke in her, trying to brush them off with a defiance of her own. It was a natural mechanism which came as easily to her as sarcasm did to Alistair, all to hide the uncertainty underneath. This time, however, she was frowned upon due to the man at her side, the swirling rumors confirmed when she held hands with him: another act of her defiance. The motion certainly didn't sit well with the still narrow-minded view of her fellow Dalish, in spite of his deeds for the clan. There were quick to forget that, apparently. Alistair sighed, glancing at her as if to apologize in advance for giving in to their demand, and let go.

Lenya more or less accepted it, understanding his uneasiness and the reason behind it. It was unnecessary to focus attention on their relationship when the reason to be here was... Tamlen. Mithra's presence and her persistent scowl in Lenya's direction as she passed made that obvious. The hunter had always liked Tamlen and – despite all the differences in a not-so distant past – Lenya was glad she was not the only one wanting to honor him.

Lanaya came to a halt before a pile of loose earth, beside the hole wherein lay two staves of oak and cedar. The tingling of old magic familiar to her hung in the air, prickling her skin. The Keeper observed her work and turned to Lenya, a bit apologetic. "The soil isn't as rich here, but I did what I could to enhance it."

Before she could dispel Lanaya's concern, a young, blond man surfaced from the sparse crowd of attendants. It was the same hunter who had insulted her and Alistair during their first stay with the clan. Considering the purpose and anger in his steps, it seemed as if he intended to do the same. Lenya squared her shoulders and steeled herself. This time, she was fully willing to punch him in the face, should his idiocy know no bounds again. "Keeper, what is the meaning of this? Why is a _shemlen _here, when we are about to proceed with the sacred burial ritual? Why are you giving away our secrets to a _shemlen_?"

"Surin, contain yourself!" The older man Lenya helped to find out about his wife's fate – _Athras_ – spoke up, with genuine indignation. "How _dare_ you to question the judgment of the Keeper, nor to attack our honored guests?"

"_Honored_ guests? This _shem'alas_ and his whor–" A punch ended his hateful tirade and sent him sprawling on the ground.

Mithra – of all people – towered over him, trembling with ire. "_Ma hamin, alas'bora!_ You are allowed to think what you want about her choice of a mate, but you are _not_ allowed to insult and degrade one of our own. And especially _not _the one who saved our clan from its extinction." The hunter glanced at Alistair, overwhelmed by the situation. "_Both_ of them, actually."

"I...better go." Alistair's eyes flitted nervously over the various faces, and frowned. "My presence here only brings– "

"No!" Lenya cried out, stopping him in his tracks. She had finally overcome the shock about being named in such derogatory way, though Mithra's unexpected reaction was very welcome. Still it did little to change the fact that she was on the verge of tears, completely taken aback by the hostility of her own kind. "_Ar in dartha,_ Alistair. Stay with me." Lenya took his hand and let the backside run over the outlines of her _vallas'lin_, then placed a kiss on his palm. Aware of its meaning and the shocked gasps issued by some of the onlookers, she deliberately added in elvish, "_Na dar ma lin'vhen, emma sa'lath a ma atish'an. Na dar salen."_

Lenya paused to let this sink in and gauge for reactions. When nothing but confused silence followed, her soft expression hardened to a furious glare toward Surin. " And _you!"_ she gripped him by the buckles of his armor and yanked him toward her, raging. "Don't you _dare_ judge me, or him! Don't you _dare _assume you know anything what I have gone through, or that you have any say in who I am allowed to love and especially _not_ to insult me for it. You don't know shit about me. _I_ know me. You know _nothing!" _She let go of him and a string of elvish profanity follow, since she was too agitated to immediately be at ease again. "Now, if anyone else has a problem with how I live the little of life I still have or with the presence of a human, _leave_. Because he will stay!"

"Len..." Alistair tried to placate, but she was having none of it.

"_You_ will leave, Surin." Lanaya fixed him with a glare of her own. "We will have an extensive conversation about respect and conduct later, that is for certain. Until then, you will assist Felas with cleaning the dishes. That will take an edges off your abrasive temper." The Keeper calmly turned away from him. Her body language signaled clearly that the discussion was over and no further words from him would be tolerated. With a huff, the young man came back to his feet and stormed away, muttering curses under his breath. "_Abelas_, Wardens," she added, after the hunter was gone. "I did not wish this to happen, for it shows my clan in an unjustified bad light."

"Do not think us monsters or ungrateful, Mahariel, " Athras chimed in, voice calm. "The concept of a Dalish loving a human may be foreign and strange to many of us, but it is your choice. We have no right to meddle in it, especially not since you are more than _sa_ _asha'vhen elvhen. Na dar dorfen._ _Na dar Bellanaris'din._" The older man looked at Alistair and switched to the common tongue again. "Both of you are. And you, Mahariel, have helped me to find peace over the fate of my wife. Now let me help you find yours over the loss of your beloved friend and clan mate."

"Shall we proceed?" Lanaya asked, waiting. Not trusting her voice, Lenya only nodded. Her head turned to Alistair in surprise as she noticed how his fingers curled around her hand again, keeping her steady.

Closure.

She took a deep breath to brace herself for this, to say goodbye. Then, with his encouraging smile still in mind, she turned to Lanaya again."Yes, let's begin, Keeper."

.

.

* * *

.

The walk back to Redcliffe Castle was spent in silence.

Lenya felt his gaze upon her once in a while, but either Alistair didn't dare to break the quiet, or was still too overwhelmed by recent events. Maybe both.

When their gaze met, he finally took the chance to speak. "Well... that was interesting - for lack of a better word."

Lenya inhaled deeply, the night air clear and bearing a faint chill. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep herself warm. "Which one, you mean? The burial ritual - a ritual that has never been witnessed by any human until you? The general douchebaggery of my people towards you and me concerning our relationship? Or the stories of my youth?"

"I'm tempted to say I was most impressed by the story where you climbed a tree at the _Arlathvhen_ and threw acorns at anyone who dared to tell you to come down there."

"I was eight years old, okay?" She pouted. "And I really didn't like how they constantly told me it was too dangerous to climb up there, and how it was not behavior fitting a Keeper's daughter."

"Well, yes." He smirked. "As I said, I was impressed with how you were already the Lenya I know back in those days."

"Hey, I've changed a lot since then, okay?"

"True. Today you would probably throw daggers at them rather than acorns. And bricks."

"Haha, very funny, Mr. Snarkypants." Her amusement about his comment was, however, short-lived. "I mean, once I wasn't much different from Surin, as you kind of know. Ever since my father got murdered by humans and I became aware of his fate, I bore an intense hatred inside. So I understood where he is coming from, but –"

"He had no right to call you that. No one does!" Alistair finished for her, voice soft. "I would have punched his lights out if Mithra hadn't been quicker in doing so. Kind of a trademark of Dalish women, huh? ...Hmm, _exciting_."

Lenya shrugged. "I have brawled with Tamlen and other boys ever since I was little. So I know how to get an upper hand in a fight. So does Mithra, I suppose."

He stepped in her way with a smile. The look he was giving her sent a thrill through her body, his fluttering touch adding to the feeling. "You don't have to brawl or fight to gain that from me, love."

"But maybe... I want to," Lenya gasped and closed the gap between them, looking up. His hands were more assertive now, snaking around her and resting on her lower back. "Because you are worth the fight..."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Their breaths were a steady rhythm and the only sound in the stillness as their eyes remained locked together. Then he leaned in to her, his lip twitching up. "I don't think we are still talking about–"

Lenya gave in to the desire burning between them and silenced him with a fervent kiss. The heat, the press of his body: it all made her head spin and settled with a burn in the base of her stomach. With an appreciative hum, she drew away from him. Her fingers cradled his cheek, stroking affectionately along his stubbly jawline. "What you have done for me today, _Atish'an_... wow. It was amazing. Thank you so much."

He pressed a kiss into her palm. "Well... if you liked that, wait until you see the _second_ thing I have planned for you."

"Does it involve a dark corner and us getting naked?"

Alistair snorted. "You are _such_ a romantic, love."

"Why, thank you. But that is no answer to my question, dear."

He feigned a pause of consideration, amused. "..._Maybe_. This is your evening, after all."

"Yay."

Shaking his head, Alistair extended his arm to her. "Just follow my lead, my lady. I... uh, want to show you something."

Lenya linked arms with him, and grinned. "Oh, I sure _hope_ so."

.

.

* * *

.

Well, he got the dark corner covered, at least. Why it _had_ to be the one in the Arl's stable, Lenya wasn't sure.

She jumped at the horse's snorting in its box, the sound unexpectedly loud in the still darkness of the barn. Alistair laughed at her reaction. "I thought you are only afraid of cats, love?"

Lenya glowered at him. Considering that the silvery moonlight filtering through the woods' cracks was the the only source of light, it wasn't all that effective. So she swatted his arm instead, which only caused him to chuckle. His arms came around her, pulling her close for dramatic effect. "Don't worry, I will protect you with my life from the devious cat and horse monsters, my lady. Fear not!"

Another swat, in equal parts peeved and playful. The scent of hay and horse manure mingled and subsided for Alistair's alone, his proximity and warmth her sole focus. Whirling around in his arms, Lenya caught him off-balance and pushed him against the wooden wall. His breath hitched in surprise, the sharp intake of air all he could manage before the press of her body followed, lips claiming his with heat. Parting his legs with her own, her knee first brushed along his inner thigh, then against his length with a fraction more pressure. He broke the kiss in the need to set the stifled moan free and bit his lip to swallow another one. She took it as encouragement to go on, but his hand wound around her thigh and halted her movement before she could cause more havoc with it.

"Oh, you are such a minx." Alistair laughed again, though a bit more breathless and hoarse in tone now. "I approve. But this is not what I brought you here for, Len."

She grinned, leaning in again. "Liar."

"Well, not that the prospect–" he trailed off, gaze flicking to her lips, "–isn't _terribly_ tempting, love. Just humor me and listen for a moment while standing still, okay?"

"Right. Standing. Behaving. Got it." Which was easier said than done when everything in her yearned to replace the memories of their last, frenzied time together with a better, _happier_ one. She wanted to get lost in his arms and show him how much she cherished his presence and love. True, Lenya wasn't very adept in romantic gestures. Roses, moonlight and secretly planned surprises were _his_ strength, as he had aptly proven again today. Lenya, however, only needed him to be happy, no matter the place or time. Still it was endearing how Alistair put so much effort into helping her heal. And it actually worked, she noticed.

Ever since she saw the sapling magically grow and sang the last farewell to Tamlen, Lenya felt lighter. Freed from a massive weight, somehow. The pain and grief didn't magically vanish, but it had lost its iron grip on her as a result of Alistair's attention and care.

"I love you," Lenya blurted, suddenly aware that she had heard next to nothing of what he'd said.

Shaking his head, he _tsked_. "You didn't hear one word, huh?"

Not used to being called out, she felt her cheeks warm up. _"A-abelas?"_

"Never mind the words, it's better to show you, anyway. Come with me." He took her hand and led her to a ladder across the aisle. A faint sheen of light emanated from what must been the hayloft, its sweet smell filling the air. Noticing her hesitation, Alistair motioned her to get up first and steadied the ladder for her. Lenya arched an eyebrow at him, wondering if his chivalrous behavior wasn't just a veiled reason to get a good look at her backside. The thought amused her more than irritated, and hence she followed his wish.

The ceiling of the hayloft hung low and even she had to duck her head. It was long, narrow, and windowless. Loose hay was piled high up the walls, and the dim light came only from a few glowstones in its corners. Its somewhat warm and cozy atmosphere mingled fittingly with the sweet, heady smell of hay and reminded her of an _araval_. What caught her breath and eyes, however, were what was placed in the middle. Around the spread-out blanket stood a wicker basket, filled to the brim with all manner of food. Next to it was a bottle of wine with two cups and a trencher.

Lenya laughed. _He'd planned that all along._

His heavier steps on the ladder made her turn around and side-step to make way for his bulky frame. "Be careful or you'll–"

"Ouch."

"–hit your head," she finished, snorting.

Alistair glared at the offending wooden beam and crouched over to her, grimacing. "Somehow, this was easier when I was a boy."

"Well, you are a _big_ guy now, _Atish'an_."

"Huh, I guess you are right." Wary of his bigger self, he sat down on the ground, next to her crouched form. "This would explain why it looks smaller up here than I remember."

Lenya smiled, inching closer. "Now, let me kiss it better, so you can at least feel like a boy again."

"I never had–" he quickly stopped himself, biting on the insides of his mouth to keep the words from falling out. Maybe the frustration too. _Oh, right. _Silently, Lenya berated herself for her huge oversight. What had been a given for her through Ashalle and her clan, had remained unachievable for him all along. There had never been someone comforting him, when he felt sad, alone or had been hurt. She imagined him as a little boy up here all by himself and alone with the world, and suddenly the hayloft became more suffocating than cozy. Alistair shifted next to her, uncomfortable. "Is it okay, if I pull the ladder up?"

A not so subtle change of topic. "No..." He looked at her confused at that, but she only smiled and pressed a soft kiss on the light bump forming on his head. "_Now_ it is. ...Why are you asking anyway?"

"I, uh, just don't want you to feel trapped."

"Trapped with _you_? Oh, such bitter, cruel fate." Alistair turned with a smile as he pulled the ladder up in one, practiced motion and stashed it next to the hatch. He seemingly appreciated her humor to lighten the situation. "No, it is sweet and very considerate of you, but I feel safe when I'm with you. Don't worry."

His smile widened. "Good to know."

Lenya glanced about, more from pretense and awkwardness than from any real need to take her surroundings in. "So... you did all this?"

She heard the soft rustling of hay underneath, as he crawled over to her again. Alistair settled down next to her on the blanket and gave her a sheepish look. "Not really. I had help, I confess. But I do take credit for the idea itself. I just thought after the burial ritual for Tamlen that you'd feel sad and would need a little cheering up. It isn't much, but considering how crowded Redcliffe has become with the troops, this seemed to me the best place to simply be with you for a while." He paused, frowning. "Though in my memories, it was a bit more roomier up here."

Warmth flooded her as a wave of affection surged over her. Lenya leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck, her embrace hopefully scattering his doubts. "It is perfect."

"It _is_ nice here, isn't?" Alistair pulled her close, sounding relieved. She settled down in his lap with a contented sigh, her head resting on his chest. He was so warm, his scent so familiar, that everything about him comfortable. Lenya relaxed, letting go of her doubts and fears for the moment. "I mean, you're right, for us Wardens it is harder to be happy, but –"

"Wait." Lenya looked up to him, dubious. "I... didn't tell you that." Then she added with a grin, "...Ooh, Leliana." Well, at least that explained the multitude of voices she'd heard, while drifting in and out of sleep during her sickness.

Alistair had the decency to look guilty. "Sorry. We were all worried about you, you know?"

She felt the warm press of his palm on her lower back and shifted closer, content. "It is okay."

"Phew, I'm glad." He laughed, his breath tickled her neck. "I was saying that just because it is harder for us, it doesn't mean it is impossible. We simply need to seize moments of happiness as they come by." Curious, Lenya remembered Zevran saying something similar and wondered how much the elf was involved in this. It would explain the abundance of food and the wine, too. "...And I want you to be happy."

A sound between a laugh and a sob bubbled free from her throat, overwhelmed by the conflict between happiness and the fear of running out of time. They would leave for Denerim soon to attend the Landsmeet, she knew. But beyond that, everything was incalculable. Uncertain. Alistair shifted to look at her, worried. "Are you... crying? Did I do something wrong, love?"

"No..." Lenya shook her hand, the muscles of her arms flexed as she embraced him with a need near desperation. "You are a wonderful man. What you did for me, _Atish'an, _today and in general..." She left the sentence hanging, braced herself for the next, more difficult and foreign words. She swore herself to fight for him, with tooth and nails. But then came Tamlen and ripped old, festering wounds open to let them bleed again, and everything... vacillated. She wasn't sure how much strength inside of her was left to put up a fight. Not after the raw undertow of grief, the ever-returning _loss_. So it was better to always expect the worst from the start, less painful.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she could believe it in the end. "It just...will make it harder to give you up."

Lenya heard his breath catch, his back stiffened under her touch. Alistair's nose and mouth went to her throat and buried themselves there. Everything about this gesture oozed defiance, a bare unwillingness to _accept_. "Who said you _should?_" he asked, the words muffled, and Lenya shivered in return. The vibration of each his words on sensitive flesh and the warmth of his breath was thrilling, in spite of the glum thoughts that followed.

_They, _was the only answer that sprung to her mind and yet didn't leave her lips. _They_, the grey-faced mass of nobles and humans wanting to use him when it was convenient, and cast him aside when it was not. Like Eamon did. Like he still tried to do. They – _Eamon _– had never cared for him. The symbol and his blood, yes, yet never the person. Creators knew, she _did_, though what could a Dalish be to the heir of the human throne?

As if reading her mind and mood, Alistair hushed her with a soothing little sound. Then his mouth moved over the ridge of her jaw: teeth on skin, the slight wetness of inner lips. Arching into him, she ground out a trembling moan, her fingers gripping a fistful of his tunic. All grim thoughts scattered as suddenly as they had come and focused on something else, on _him_. He used her distraction to catch her mouth and let the tip of his tongue slip gently between her lips. Lenya welcomed him readily and deepened the kiss for a sweet, long moment before he drew away again.

Alistair smiled against her mouth, letting a second, more chaste kiss follow. "Here's the thing: being near you makes me _crazy_, but I can't imagine being without you. Not _ever," _he whispered, breathless, and looked into her eyes_._ "You're the first woman I've ever spent the night with, and if I have my way you'll be the _last_."

"Don't promise something you can't keep," Lenya blurted before she could stop herself, and felt miserable for it.

"Oh?" Playfully, Alistair sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing it. He let go again with a smirk, challenging. _"Try_ me, love."

Lenya laughed in earnest now. "Oh, is it that easy then? We simply tell them to go away and they will?"

A pause ensued. "I love you. That is all I know for sure, Len." _Not now, not tonight_ remained unsaid, a plea she was all too willing to heed.

_Damn them all. _They needed to face what was to come soon enough, so she preferred simply not to. Not now. "Well, this is more than a start, _Atish'an_. Because I feel the same. About everything_."_

"Good to know. ...And for the record," he added after a beat, while nipping along the pointed ridge of her ear with teeth and tongue. "...to lie with you isn't the reason I brought you up here."

"Liar," Lenya managed in between a shaky sigh, her fingers splayed underneath the tunic caressing his chest and ghosting over his back.

Chuckling, one hand pushed its way back down her pants and curved over her buttocks. The other slid up her leg, across the swell of her hip, and wandered up to cup her breast. He gently squeezed it, feeling its fullness through the light fabric. "But... what about the food?" Alistair asked in between a series of kisses, the words so out of place it made her snicker. Or maybe he just wanted an affirmation that _this_ was indeed the path Lenya wanted to thread now, instead of a romantic picnic in moonlight.

"It will still be there later, love. Let's say my attention is, at this very moment, rather focused on getting you out of these clothes as quickly as possible."

"Hmm, _saucy_, my lady." Grinning, Alistair leaned back and into the hay, taking her with him in a firm embrace. "Then... I have no other choice but to comply, I take it? Oh, such a cruel fate, that."

.

.

* * *

.

The light pouring through the cracks of the wooden walls and the faint chill on her bare skin woke her up.

Unwilling to leave the Beyond yet, Lenya tried to turn away from the light only to find that she was trapped in his embrace and couldn't really move much. Mildly irritated, she forced one eye open and found Alistair's arm wrapped around her waist, hugging her tightly to his chest. One muscled leg sprawled over hers, adding even more weight and warmth. And if the contented sigh and steady breath into her neck was any sign, he felt _very_ comfortable in this position. Well, at least he had the courtesy to leave her enough space to actually _breathe_. While having quickly learned to shift his main weight off her body so as not to not hurt her, Alistair had always been a cuddler. Lenya snorted, amused.

_Oversized puppy, indeed._

Alistair always sought her closeness and she quite enjoyed snuggling up to him or being held by him too. Yet it was sometimes hard for her to change position once they'd settled to sleep due to his bigger form and weight. Lenya literally pried his fingers free from her waist and managed to heave his arm up enough to turn on her back. Alistair groaned, displeased by the change, and eventually found himself a new resting place on her chest.

"Cooomfyyy..." he mumbled, hugged her again, and continued to sleep.

With a shake of her head and a soft laugh, Lenya gave in to her fate and smothered the wish to stretch herself. Her body ached all over, though in a good, comfortable way.

Alistair had been right.

Happiness _was_ sometimes an easy formula. In her case it consisted of food and wine in between bouts of slow, sensual love-making, nearly all through the night. For the first time in weeks, Lenya felt liberated, and all was right with the world - except for the bad aftertaste of stale berries and cheese in her mouth, perhaps. And the fact that the man who had arranged all this was slowly suffocating her with his heavy head.

She poked his face. "_Atish'an_..." No reaction, hence another, more insistent poke. "You are squishing my boobs."

"Don't wanna get up yet," he grumbled and nuzzled one of her breasts."'s cozy."

A grin bloomed in her face. "Oh, I can imagine _why_, dear. Just move a bit, because you are heavy and it is starting to hurt."

"S-sorry..." Heaving his head drowsily, Alistair ensconced himself a bit lower, on her stomach. His stubble tickled her sensitive skin there and his arms were sprawled over her again. Hence it was still impossible to move for her. Finally Lenya decided to humor him and massaged his scalp with her fingertips. He acknowledged it with a lazy kiss on her belly and a contented sigh, his breath calming considerably again. She smiled. Alistair deserved to make some happy memories of the place, where he had probably spent many lonely nights as a child.

She enjoyed the peace of familiar intimacy for a while, when suddenly the buzz of voices tore the stillness apart. "Have you found the Warden yet? Or Alistair? Everything is planned for our departure for Denerim tomorrow and we can't afford any more delay." The human voice – _Eamon_ – sounded quite stressed and Lenya couldn't help but to smirk at that. _Serves him right._ Steps were approaching the stable and the door rolled loudly open. Alistair stirred and blinked, confused, at the source of the noise.

"Delay? _What_ delay, brother?" the second voice – _Teagan _– asked. "We have been packing and scheduling until today, so we are right on track."

The Arl huffed. "Right on track would have been if the boy had followed my advice instead of being stubborn and clinging to a fool's hope." Lenya perked up and Alistair tensed in her arms, fully awake now.

"That fool's hope, as you called it, brought the Warden back in the end, brother. Do not forget that. Nor that she saved Redcliffe and found the Ashes to restore your health. You are too harsh in your judgment."

"Am I?" Eamon asked, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "I'm grateful for what she has achieved so far, but we need to move forward now and think of Ferelden's well-being." _Or rather _your _well-being, you mean._ Lenya suppressed a scoff, not wanting to give them away. Alistair sat up and started to search for his clothes, visibly uncomfortable with the situation and conversation. "Bad enough that she has wrapped him around her little finger. She is... stalling us. And him."

_What? _Anger flared in her, hotly._ How could this shemlen dare to –_

"Your concern is misplaced, Eamon. Alistair has agreed to your terms, after all," Teagan said, and her glare and indignation channeled toward Alistair all the sudden. He flinched, not daring to meet her eyes.

Lenya could hear the shemlen approaching the hayloft. The Arl would know of this place and what it meant to Alistair, naturally. "Maybe, but this is frighteningly similar to Maric and Kathriel. I don't need that situation to repeat itself, Teagan, lest the boy tries to put her forward as his queen. It would only throw Ferelden int–" Gripping her boot, she flung it toward the hatch and only scarcely missed the Arl below. Shocked silence ensued and she could practically _hear_ how the realization of her presence settled into the human.

"Oops, sorry, I thought there was a _rat_," she quipped, innocently. Lenya kept her voice even, in spite of the rage seething underneath. "And I hate rats. They are always scurrying around where they don't belong. Pesky things, that."

"Lenya..."

"Alistair? Are you up there too?" Eamon asked, having heard him, and pointedly ignored the Dalish.

A pause. "...Yes, I am," Alistair eventually answered, bashful.

"Are you all right, boy?" The harsh tone in the Arl's voice had completely vanished. _Wow, he is really good in that_, Lenya thought, bitterly. "We were worried. But then I remembered of this place and knew I would find you here."

"Oh, I'm sure, he is _very_ 'all right,'" a rather amused Teagan commented from some distance. "I take it we can stop searching for the Wardens, then? You truly did make too much commotion for nothing, brother. All is well and we can focus on the journey now." If the sound of fading footsteps were any sign, the Bann was already leaving.

Lenya would love for the _shem'alas _to do the same. "We have _heard_ about the planned departure tomorrow," she pressed through gritted teeth, giving up all pretense._ And so much more._ "So if you leave now. I want to get _dressed_." She stressed the word, for no other reason than to anger the Arl, to let him drop this charade of false care for Alistair's well-being.

He did her no such favor, though a bit of terseness laced his following words, "...Of course, Warden. Just make sure to pack today and be punctual tomorrow. We will depart for Denerim right after dawn."

"Oh, I will _remember_, my lord. That I will." Lenya was shaking with the effort not to let the heavier glowstone follow the way of her boot. Her fingers clawed around a handful of hay until it hurt, to keep the impulse at bay. "After all, I don't want to be left behind, right?"

Eamon didn't answer, but there was a hitch in his steps and Lenya was certain that he got the thinly-veiled meaning of her words. She wasn't surprised. For all his lacking interpersonal qualities, the Arl was cunning.

There was a moment of silence, then the door rolled shut. Lenya simply sat there, feeling a chill that reached her bones. Every bit of peace and contentment had been washed away by the tide of hostility the Arl felt toward her. Creators, she _hated_ him. Always had. And he gave her only _more_ reason to resent having to work with him, with no other choice. Still, it was disappointing how Alistair–

"Lenya?" She shrugged his hand off her shoulder, unable to endure his touch now. "It's not what you think."

She whirled round, not bothering with the effort to hide the hurt and ire in her expression. "Oh, it is not? Funny, that sounded different to me just now!" she yelled, trying through glaring to hold the tears back. "Listen and listen good, Alistair: I'm not some elven fucktoy you can use at will and cast aside as soon it becomes inconvenient."

"No! Noo!" Panic let his voice tremble and he made another attempt to get close to her, despaired. Her ensuing scowl stopped him in his attempt, but not his words. "It is not that. Never! How could you ever say something like this?"

"You damn well heard him, right? I'm–" Her voice broke, fading into an angry scoff. Anger was better than crying. She was so damn sick of wallowing in misery, and she let him know this. "You and the precious, nice shem that abandoned you at age ten reunited in one agreement and goal. Heartwarming, really."

"Lenya..." he tried, but she couldn't stop, even if she wanted to. All the unspoken fears and doubts tumbled out of her in one furious squall of words.

"Oh, when did you plan to tell me about it, I wonder? Before the Landsmeet?"

"Lenya..."

"...Or after the Landsmeet, when you have finally a reason to cast me aside, my _king_?"

"Maker-dammit, _listen!"_ Alistair snapped, his huge frame shaking with indignation.

She blinked up to him, taken aback by his intensity. He was so close all the sudden, nearly towering over her. "So Teagan was lying?"

He hesitated. "No, he wasn't. But, and _this_ is the part where you need to listen, I have spoken with Teagan instead and made a deal with him, not Eamon."

"Oh, that is so much better!" Lenya sneered. "...Wait, it is _not!_"

"But to _my_ terms, Len. Which means I agreed to get political schooling by Eamon in Denerim, but not more! Because let's face it, love, none of us has any idea how to handle Fereldan politics, nor the impending Landmeet. We need help in this. Yet, I never agreed to more, least of all to cast you aside like some plaything." He frowned, taking her hand. This time, she let him. "Maker, have you listened to yourself? This is such an absurd thought after last night, after everything we've been through." Alistair fell silent, his eyes locked with hers, beseeching her to believe him. "I love you, more than anything. Never doubt that."

Lenya felt herself faltering, the ire slowly dissipating. "And does Eamon know about the gist of your agreement, this _catch?"_

"No..." He sighed. "Teagan thought it would be better to omit that part and play along. For now."

"This is a dangerous game you play, Atish'an."

His lip twitched, curving upward. "Hey, give me some credit, will you? I'm not the stupid young boy anymore, docilely nodding at everything he is told. Like you said, I'm a big guy now and I know what _I_ want."

"And that is?" she asked before being able to stop herself.

"Isn't that obvious?" Alistair skidded closer and his arms came around her, pulling her close. He was still for a moment or two, his breath grazing her cheek. "You."

A shiver raced down her spine. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her racing heartbeat. The effect he had on her was overpowering each time and yet so welcomed. Lenya laughed, relieved in spite of herself. "It is that easy, huh?"

"I'll _make_ it so." He was dead-serious, every word the promise of a man in love.

She wanted to believe him, yearned for it to be _that_ simple. But as with everything in their life so far, it mostly wouldn't be. For now, this fact was acceptable, because he was at her side, supporting her. "_Vir lath sa'vunin," _Lenya murmured and chuckled at his puzzled expression. With a peck on his lips, she stood up, in search of the rest of her clothes.

"Let's get ready and packing, love. Impending big ass journey to Denerim, and all. _Again_."

.

.

* * *

**Elvish notes:**

* * *

_Ar in dartha_ – Stay with me.

_Vallas'lin_ – blood writing

_Na dar ma lin'vhen, emma sa'lath a ma atish'an. Na dar salen. _(Lenya to Alistair)_ – _You are my family, my one love and my safe place. I trust you.

_Shem'alas_ – literally: dirty human, but more "bastard" in its meaning

_asha'vhen elvhen_ – daughter of the Dalish/of Dalish origin

_Na dar dorfen_ – you are a Grey Warden

_Na dar hamin Bellanaris'din_ – You (help to) end the Blight (to exist.)

_Vir lath sa'vunin - _We love another day.

.


	106. The Ultimate Fling

_Wow, look guys. An actual update of my story *gasp* Can't promise the next one will be quicker published, but I can try. Anyway... 'Fling' isn't meant in the sexual context here. More due to everything being so unsure for them, it is like "taking a shot into the blue and see what happens." Thus another PotF song title that fits, heh._

_Aaaand the usual disclaimer, since there are still people who have problems differentiating between me as the writer/person and the character's POV I write from: I have nothing against Loghain (just vastly prefer Alistair) and I find him to be a well written character/antagonist. Just Lenya...hates his guts. Easy as. So yeah, there won't be nice things being said about him here, since I write her POV at the encounter. So all Loghain-fans umm...brace yourselves? Sorry for the otherwise rather pointless chapter. Enjoy nonetheless?_

_Thanks to tklivory for beta-ing the chapter._

* * *

_**Do stay, I'll need this sitcom to be re-run  
till I get the gist of just how it goes  
Can you gimme a reason, movin' into grey  
Something I can hold on to at the end of the day**_

_- Poets Of The Fall, The Ultimate Fling_

* * *

.

**Chapter 99: The Ultimate Fling**

.

In the weeks of their journey to Denerim – slowed down by carriage and darkspawn – Lenya had Alistair's undivided attention.

Whether it was out of remorse or simply an attempt to spend as much time with her as possible, she didn't know - and even more, didn't _care_. What was noticeable, however, was the rift, as small as it was, between Eamon and Alistair. It went beyond Alistair's usual avoidance of the Arl due to lingering guilt for Connor's death. The conversation between the two men was filled with stilted politeness, reduced in frequency to only when it was absolutely necessary. Lenya surmised the unexpected and rather unpleasant encounter with Eamon in the stable to be the cause for the tension between them, though Alistair never told her specifically. She never asked either, finding it too much a bother, considering how little she could stand the human noble herself.

Certainly Lenya benefited from Alistair's aversion towards Eamon. Whenever there was a chance or a small break, they would move away from the group and distance themselves from the Arl's and Arlessa's indignant stares. Independent under the blanket of stars or the warmth of the sun, they would huddle up to each other and simply talk, sometimes for hours. About his time in the monastery, about the reason of Lenya's fear of cats, about everything _but_ what would happen as soon as they reached Denerim. It seemed to be a mutual, if wordless, agreement to avoid that particular topic between them. The moments spent in peace together was more important than the thoughts of further complications and a future possible ending in tears. Even if each kiss and touch had the taste and feel of borrowed time, Lenya preferred it to the alternative. She had had enough of sorrow and grieving over the past few weeks, and was glad about the chance to heal without the need to question everything that would still follow. There would be a time and place where she would have to face its meaning, but not while he was still at her side and Denerim wasn't yet in visible on the horizon.

Sometimes, ignorance was indeed bliss; in the case of the impending Landsmeet and the climax of the Blight, that statement rang all the more true.

.

.

* * *

.

It was early afternoon as the large entourage passed the gates, heading in the direction of the Arl's estate.

The contrast with their first visit to Ferelden's capital was glaring. No longer did they need to sneak in like thieves, dressed as merchants hidden under hoods. Now they sat in a carriage with Redcliffe's finest soldiers framing it on either side. It certainly seemed far too pompous to Lenya, being typical noble-shem nonsense she rather would have avoided, and she had no patience for it.

She supposed if Eamon had planned to make their arrival known in the whole city, he had surely succeeded. Many pairs of eyes followed the carriage as it wended its way through the city: humans, elves, men, women, children. Some of the gazes watching them were curious, some impressed, and others suspicious. Lenya suspected that arriving with a small army of armed men had inspired that effect on the people here. Not that the Dalish truly cared. She was only glad for the mind-numbingly slow journey to finally come to an end, but at the same time feared its ensuing implications.

.

~V~

.

Dust had settled on the interior furnishing, a telltale sign that the estate hadn't been used in a long time. Only a few servants scurried around to do their usual household work, moving with a reinvigorated urgency upon their lord's unexpected arrival. Yet even their best efforts were apparently not enough to keep it in a condition befitting a noble. Disgruntled by the neglected state of their mansion, Isolde ordered the staff which had accompanied them on the journey to join in the clean up. A squall of what sounded like Orlesian profanity followed their agitated motions. The Arlessa was visibly fed up by the idea of standing uselessly about in the vast main hall, probably the only notion Lenya would ever share with the woman.

"Nice." Shale commented, dryly, and broke the awkward silence. "It looks as if there might be giant spiders crawling in the place. If so, I would very much like to squish them."

"We normally only use our estate in winter. For the annual Landsmeet," Eamon said to no one in particular, a bit embarrassed. "I hadn't expected to find it in such a poor state, however. Where have all the servants gone to?"

"Ah, it is not that bad, my lord. I could get to like this," Zevran quipped in his usual cheerful way. "The first time I came to Denerim, I stayed at an inn so filthy the bedbugs had fleas. The last time improved upon that, but this is far better. A little dusty, yes, but that energetic wife of yours is quickly solving that problem, yes?"

"Do not address me in such a manner, elf!" The Arlessa answered curtly, eyes narrowed. Deciding she had had enough, Isolde stormed away, a handful of servants carrying her luggage in her wake.

Morrigan's eyes trailed her exit and scoffed. "About time we lose her presence. And I would prefer certain company would be gone too. Are we done wasting time?"

"Oh, you mean me? So _subtle_, Morrigan." Alistair turned to her, annoyed. "But I assure you the feeling is mutual."

"You give yourself far too much credit of late, fool," she huffed. "I simply am not in favor of the thought of–" She lapsed into silence at the sudden, rhythmic sound of approaching footsteps and the metallic clatter of armor.

"Perhaps I will squish these instead..." Shale turned her stony head toward the newly arriving and most certainly _uninvited_ guests, three humans without any meaning to the golem _but_ the interesting sounds their heads would make under her fist. Not so much for Lenya, who felt the fire of hatred rising within. The way in which Alistair issued a strangled gasp indicated he thought no differently.

"Loghain," Eamon stepped forward to greet the other man clad completely in heavy armor. At Loghain's sides were an armed woman and a slimy weasel of a shem. _Fitting company for a _shem'alas, she thought, swallowing the bile down again to concentrate on glaring instead. "This is... an honor, that the regent would find time to greet me personally." Eamon's polite, if surprised words got instantly accompanied by the ring of weapons drawn, as soon the identity of the human was given away. Sten and Oghren were obviously as overjoyed as Alistair and Lenya to face the Teyrn and let him know this.

With the more than hostile gesture, the mood changed and the woman reached for her weapon as well, ready to attack. As much Lenya yearned to simply hack Loghain to pieces and be done with him once and for all, she was aware that it was a mistake to act _that_ rashly. She knew next to nothing of political schemes and games, but as a fighter she could recognize a provocation when she saw one, especially if it was as blunt as this. The humans were practically marking their territory like some deranged Mabaris.

"Stand down!" Lenya issued to the two warriors standing at her side. They only lowered their weapons with reluctance.

Sten was more than confused. "Kadan?"

"Are ya serious? The sodding nughumper is only a few feet away. We –"

"You have heard her," Alistair pressed out between gritted teeth, obviously struggling with the idea of backing away from a fight himself. "_Stand_ down!" Grumbling under their breath, both companions faded into the background again, their gazes warily fixed on the intruders.

"Is that one not the traitor which killed all Its fellow Wardens? So why not simply crush all their heads and begone? The painted Warden and the clown knight are making no sense, as usual." Shale sounded very disappointed and, oddly, Lenya could sympathize.

"Curb your... tongue!" came back as a warning from the woman, despite sounding a bit unsure. "Or I will make you regret your words, creature!"

The golem chuckled, unperturbed as ever. "It will certainly be amusing to see you _try_, little squishy traitor friend."

"Enough!" Loghain thundered, ordering the woman back in place with one steely look. "This is my city and I will not tolerate any word of slander or treason." Lenya had to bite her tongue hard enough to draw blood to keep a tirade of profanity from tumbling out. The shem was so close to her now, the neck bared in the plate armor, its weak point plain to see. It would be easy to simply take her blade and – _no_. Much to her mixed relief and regret, the Teyrn turned away, facing the Arl again. "What company do you keep these days, Eamon? First you are dragging every noble in Ferelden from their estate to Denerim and now you arrive with golems, dwarfs and qunari? Are you so desperate that you hide behind _savages_ who guard your inane attempts of usurping and scattering unrest in such a time of crisis?"

"The Blight is why I'm here," Eamon said matter-of-factly, then pointed in Alistair's direction. "With Cailan dead, Ferelden _must_ have a king to lead it against the darkspawn. Someone from the Theirin bloodline!" Normally, this would have prompted a roll of her eyes, but Lenya was too consumed by rage to do so.

"Ferelden has a strong leader: its queen," Loghain retorted, eyes narrowing. "And _I_ lead her armies."

"Considering how Ostagar went with your _tactics_, I say a change is in order!" Alistair hissed from behind her, hatred plain in his voice. The word '_traitor_' remained unsaid, yet hung leaden in the air.

"Ah, the royal bastard," Loghain considered Alistair with a hint of amusement, maybe even a hint of mockery. "And here I thought you only played nursemaid to wild strays you picked up along the road to Denerim, Eamon." His gaze fell onto Lenya and it took all her will to not launch herself at him and wipe that smug expression off of his face with nails and fists alone.

"Oh _wow_," Alistair replied, every part clipped and with open hostility. "Admitting the royal part? I feel so _honored!_" For a moment both men stared at each other in silence with bare, unveiled resentment. She noticed more than saw how Alistair's hand wandered to his blade.

"You know what I was asking myself, your regency-something? _Abelas_, I don't know which title is appropriate to address you, since I'm just a dumb, wild elf." Her face straight, Lenya raised her voice and thus channeled the intense tension and attention to focus on herself. "How can it be that you are even looking _older_ than you did in Ostagar? I mean last time I checked, it was us getting chased by your assassins while collecting the needed troops against the Blight and fighting darkspawn. And yet it is you, Your _lordship-something_, who has deep shadows under your eyes. Not sleeping well lately?"

She smiled sweetly at the Teyrn who seemed momentarily too perplexed by her frank way of speaking up. If there was one thing she could do better than ramming a sword through a darkspawn's skull, it was to provoke people in positions of authority - life-long experience and all.

And Creator-dammit, he _was_ old, looking bone-weary underneath the confrontational and possibly insane attitude. It was still playing with fire, since their willful presence was a trap for Lenya and her companions to stumble in. The three shemlen wanted a reason, an _official_ one, to slaughter the last remaining Wardens, before they had a chance to speak up against Lohgain in the Landsmeet. Lenya didn't give them that, only a few thinly-veiled hostile niceties to focus their attention on. Two could play that game, no problem. And it was still better a reaction than having Alistair ram his sword into the Teryn's throat, before it was officially allowed in the Landsmeet.

Something to look forward to, then.

The woman darted forward, enraged at the Warden's audacity. "How _dare_ you to speak that way to the Hero of River Dane? The warrior who freed all of Ferelden from the Orlesian occupation? Hold your tongue, or I will cut it out, _knife ear!_"

"You know, with me being a knife-eared _savage_ and all, this insignificant piece of _shemlen_ history means _nothing_ to me." She smirked, deliberately taking the label meant as an insult and making it her own. "I'm a Grey Warden, I'm here for the Blight and to fight darkspawn, nothing more. Leave your history lesson in the dusty books where they belong."

"Cailan depended on the Grey Warden's prowess against the darkspawn," Loghain growled, "and look how _well_ that ended. Let us speak of reality, rather than tall tales. Stories will not save us."

Lenya shrugged, unfazed. "That is what I am trying to say, oh _regency-Teyrn-something_."

The glare she received for this quip was icy, yet overall lowered the violent edge around them. The tension dissipated, if only because Loghain shifted his attention back to the Arl. He shook his head slowly. "There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden."

"_Illness_?" The calm mask the Arl had acquired fell away at this single word, unconcealed indignation in its wake. "Why not call your poison by its true name? Your assassin has failed and you will pay for your crimes, Loghain. Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these... _sycophants_."

"You honestly believe the Landsmeet will believe a single word you say?" Gaze moving back and forth, the Teyrn scoffed. "I think they will sooner trust the word of a man who has given the better part of his life for Ferelden's safety and freedom than the empty accusations of a wild elf and a would-be pretender to the throne. Nor you." Loghain motioned the human in his shadow to step forward and he readily obeyed. "You have been gone too long from court, Eamon, when you not recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, and Teyrn of Highever."

"_And_ current Arl of Denerim, after Urien's unfortunate fate at Ostagar," the shem corrected with an air of importance and a sneer. "Truly, it is an embarrassment of riches."

"Oh look, the regent owns a talking ass." Lenya snorted, looking rather amused at the human-sized rat that puffed himself to full size. Admittedly, it wasn't much, but he obviously compensated this through arrogance and giant ego. "My, so _many_ titles. Boot-licking appears to be _very_ profitable these days." The scrawny, hook-nosed shem was apparently the one who had murdered a whole noble family in cold blood to gain their title, and obviously the one who had arranged the contract with the Crows to hunt them down. A most _charming _fellow, to be sure. "Any more assassins you want to send our way? I could always use another companion, after all."

"You know who I am, yes?" Zevran stepped forward on this cue, a mocking grin in his face for the shemlen of many titles. "I was one of the Crows you hired to kill the Grey Wardens. Well, I just wanted to report that I failed my mission. I'm so _terribly_ broken up over it."

Lenya had to suppress a laughter threatening to bubble up. Annoying innuendos or not, she loved that elf.

The woman took another step forward, warning."You are either very bold or very stupid to insult the Teyrn before witnesses."

"Insults? _Please_." Instead of being annoyed by the woman constantly taking offense, Lenya simply rolled her eyes, sarcasm lacing her voice. "And here I thought we were getting along so fine and talking nicely. Pity."

"Be quiet, you insolent savage! Or I will–"

"_Enough,_ Cauthrien! This is not the time or place." Oh, so the barking mabari had a name. Interesting. After chastising his watchdog, Loghain turned once more to the Arl. "I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened: Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored." Lenya arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. One thing was sure: that human certainly loved to hear himself speak. "Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne."

"Oh, look who is talking here..."

For a moment the Teyrn looked ready to attack, fire replacing the cold steel in his grey eyes, as he loomed threateningly over the Dalish. Her hand wandered to the weapons on her hip out of pure instinct, a gesture that went not unnoticed by her companions. Before it went any further, however, the Teyrn backed away.

Before he could fully retreat, Lenya leaned forward, whispering, "You've hunted us, tried to kill us, and tried to break our will. Yet we have gathered all the troops to fight the Blight, and survived all this time." She paused, staring unblinkingly up into his eyes, unafraid whether he was the Regent and cause of their misery, or not. Ever since becoming a Warden, she had faced far worse things than an old, stubborn human. "...You've _failed_."

With that, Lenya whirled round and faded into the background. She stood next to Alistair's side, but not too close. There was no need to give anything away in this regard, not to mention that it would be stupid to do so. She didn't have to be well-versed in politics to grasp that. It was enough to have a heart and mind of a warrior to recognize that she should never hand something to the enemy they could use against her. Especially not something so _personal_.

And enemies they were. This hadn't changed with Loghain's and his lackey's appearance, not at all.

"I'll waste no more time on you," Loghain said, watching the group with contempt. "The Landsmeet will separate the true patriots from the frauds, the traitors and would-be kings. I already have freed this country once and I will not tolerate its fall to the Orlesians again. There is _nothing_ I wouldn't do for my homeland." With one final glare, the Teyrn spun on his heels and stalked away. His lackeys followed him immediately towards the exit, like trained dogs.

Zevran waited until they were gone. "Ah, he is quite charming with his paranoiac insanity, no?" Then he turned to Leliana, grinning. "I do wonder, however, how purple he would have turned, when you would have done as much as saying 'hello', my fairest, Orlesian flower."

"I could have easily tested it," Shale chipped in," if the painted Warden would have let me squish the traitor's crazy head." The golem huffed. "It can be glad I respect It so much, or I would crush Its head now instead."

"I have grown up in Orlais, true," Leliana looked at the elf, pouting, " but I still see myself as Fereldan, Zev."

"Why yes, but I doubt our dear Teyrn would see the difference, no?"

Finally, Lenya let out the breath she didn't remember holding, and, shedding her glove, placed a hand on Alistair's cheek. He leaned in to her touch, his tension visibly ebbing away. It was just a small gesture and yet so important, knowing what seeing Loghain meant for Alistair, to have the traitor, the _shem'alas_ who had killed his clan so close by, and yet be damned to do nothing. It must have roiled deep within him. She frowned as he ceased to move even one bit, the warm of her hand like an anchor mooring him. _"Atish'an,_ I –"

The long sigh of the Arl smothered any impending words. "Well, that was... bracing. I didn't expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon."

"He must have had spies reporting back to him before our arrival." Sten shook his head in disgust. "_Parshaara_, why all the hesitation to bring the enemy down, _kadan_? It is unwise and makes no sense."

Eamon decided to reply, for whatever reasons. "Acting prematurely would be unwise, Qunari. And calling the Landsmeet is only the start, we must also ensure that every noble here sees Loghain's duplicity. This will be all but easy."

His dark eyes narrowed on the human. "I did not ask _you_, old man."

"We need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here," the Arl prattled on, now wary of the Qunari looming over him. "The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage."

"Actually, Sten..." While the image of the Qunari squashing Eamon with his bare hands was quite endearing to Lenya, she couldn't allow things to get out of hand. "I've noticed ever since the last darkspawn ambush that your armor is in dire need of professional repair. Armor in your size is hard to come by, after all. And I know an excellent smith, if eccentric, here in Denerim."

"Why?" He snorted, derisively. "We are not here to fight. Obviously."

"I also know a store where we can buy those rounded sweets that you like." Given, to bribe him with cookies was not a shining moment of her leadership, but, considering Sten's resigning stance, an effective one.

"As you wish, kadan."

"An excellent idea, Warden." Eamon clasped his hands together in glee, a motion which made Lenya glare. It was an automatic reflex whenever the Arl appeared too friendly, especially toward her. "The rooms are not ready yet, so it is best if you have a look around and see what you can turn up. Better yet, find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet. Test the waters, see how many will support our cause for the rightful king. Many of them spent their leisure time in a tavern named _The Gnawed Noble_ in the center of Denerim." His gaze wandered to Alistair. "In the meanwhile, you can come with me, boy. There is much to be done."

Alistair looked ready to protest, throwing a frustrated glance in Lenya's direction. "But..."

"No but, Alistair. You have much to learn and very little time. You don't want to enter the Landsmeet chambers unprepared to face Loghain or your new role, now, do you?" Lenya narrowed her eyes at the human, not at all satisfied with the Arl's patronizing manners and his certainty of Alistair's kingship. _Ugh_. With a sigh, Alistair, resigned to his fate, followed the older man down the hall.

"My, the Arl is quite infatuated with the idea of making that fool a king." Morrigan scoffed after they were gone, sarcasm in her tone. "I wonder why that is."

"You mean he is not doing it for the goodwill of his heart and his care for Alistair?" Zevran gasped, purely for theatrics and mockery. "I'm shocked by such insinuations, dearest Morrigan."

"Bah, sodding politician. After Orzammar, I have enough of that for a lifetime. Gotta be cautious, Missy. I would trust each of their kind only as far as you can throw them."

"I can throw It," Shale offered, as a _by the way_.

Her glare moved from the now empty hall to the dwarf next to her, ignoring the golem's quip. "You don't have to remind me." Still it was nice to see that her opinion of the Arl was in tune with that of her companions.

"So a tavern, eh?" Oghren grinned. "Hah, I'll come with you, Missy, though not for the pampering of poncy nobles."

"I'm not planning to go there. Nor to jump when that _shem'alas_ tells me too." _Never_. "However the idea of getting some impression of the atmosphere in the noble tavern isn't all that bad." She gave Oghren a pointed look. " And with that, I don't mean the _ale_."

"Well, leave it to us then," Leliana declared with an all too suspicious smile toward Zevran. "We will have their votes for the Landsmeet in no time."

"Keep it to observing for now," Lenya replied to bridle her enthusiasm. "And no pickpocketing. ...Well not so much."

"Ah, you need to have more trust in our unmatched skills, my dearest leader."

She had all the trust in the world for their abilities, but here _afraid_ was more the proper word. As much Lenya as loathed the whole tedious human circus of politics, they needed to be very cautious about their further steps right now. Loghain's sudden confrontation just minutes ago was a telltale proof for this. Sten's brisk tone startled her out of her thoughts. "Are you done wasting time?"

"Y-yes. Just let me get a few things and then we can go."

.

.

* * *

.

Still in her armor and with the bag of drake scales slung over her shoulder, Lenya stepped out of the mansion into the slowly fading sunlight. The bulk of people had dissolved already, the interest in their pompous arrival only a fleeting impression in their hectic day. She heard whispered fragments of words and felt their glances upon herself, while passing through the main center of the market place. She wasn't sure if it was due to her being armed to the teeth, or the giant man moving like a silent wall beside her.

"You let the man you have declared your enemy walk away unscathed? Interesting tactic. In Seheron, you would be dead after showing such a weakness."

"Then let's be glad I'm not there, right?" Her attempt of humor fell unsurprisingly flat, so Lenya adjusted her tone and words. "Sten, I know you don't understand it. To be honest, I don't understand it either. I'm no human, nor do I know anything about their annoying politics. Only that we have to play by their rules."

"Rules?" He sounded a tad amused at that. "You?"

Lenya's lip quirked up. Even the Qunari knew her too well. "For now. At least until we have dealt with Loghain."

Instantly, his face darkened again. "And this brings us closer to the Archdemon... _how_?"

"What do you want us to do instead?" She sighed, frustrated. "Charge straight at the archdemon?"

"At least then we would be going in the right direction."

"This is not–" In her exasperation, Lenya didn't watch her steps and ended up stumbling into a human girl. The glaring color of her silken dress got only trumped by the scowl and distaste she immediately showed toward the Dalish. Even with the... liberal use of make up, she didn't look older than fifteen summer, and like a prime example of a spoiled brat. "Ouch, you stupid knife-ear! I should let my father send you to the south to fight darkspawn for your utter clumsiness in invading _my_ space."

Lenya stared, needed a moment to process the words spoken. Then, falling into a fit of laughter, she doubled over and simply couldn't _stop_.

"How dare you to mock me, churl? Don't you know who I am?"

Taking a deep breath, Lenya looked up, mumbled something of 'darkspawn' and 'vacation', before snorting into another fit.

The girl stomped her feet, enraged by the complete lack of respect toward her. "Seize her!"

If the disjointed sound of clanking armor was any sign, the guards hesitated. "B-but, my lady–"

"I said _seize_ her! Or I will make your life a living void!"

"...She is _the_ Grey Warden, everyone is talking about!" the other guard blurted out, wide-eyed.

Having finally recovered, Lenya looked at her, smirking. "Don't you know who _I_ am?" she mirrored the girl's tone, gleeful. "Given, I haven't been in the south for a longer time now, but it would most likely be a vacation compared to fighting a Blight."

Sten let out a displeased grunt, which caused her guards to wince in response. "And yet it seems more sensible a plan than wasting our time here in this city, _kadan_."

"A Grey Warden? _You_?" The girl heaved her chin up in defiance. "Then you are traitor to the Crown and should be arrested all the more." She waved to her guards. "Arrest her!"

Lenya took exactly one step backward, only to throw both men a warning look. "You don't want to do that."

"D-do what?" one of them had the guts to ask.

"Die a horrible death just because your lord's precious daughter throws a hissy fit caused by vapidity and wounded pride."

They visibly gulped, too afraid to move one bit. Which made her wonder _what_ stories were running around about the Grey Wardens and her. Here, however, it was all to her advantage. "Time to move on, Sten. Thanks for the laugh, though." With that, Lenya whirled to go, the Qunari in tow. From the distance, she heard the girl throwing a temper tantrum, with words like 'cowards' and 'knife ear' used at abundance.

Turning into the alley of Wade's emporium, Lenya couldn't care less.

.

.

* * *

.

After leaving the smithy again, Lenya let out a relieved sigh.

She had thought the two humans to be eccentric upon her first visit, though now they were outright bickering with each other, like an old married couple. And maybe they were exactly that, who knew? Yet far more important than Herren's peeved stare in her direction for _daring_ to return with even _more_ drake scales, was the actual repair of old and the acquiring of new armor. Alas, Wade's costly prizes for the much needed equipment left them nearly broke. Looking up at Sten beside her, Lenya pondered how to break the news of such extras like cookies being out of their budget for the Qunari. With his armor left in the smithy for repair, only the sweaty gambeson clad his bulky form. Of course, he was still imposing enough that people stepped, frightened, out of their way as soon they noticed the presence of the vastly disparate pair.

Then again, their fear made it easier to cut their way through the very crowded marketplace. It still brimmed with life and activity, in spite of the slowly sinking sun and coming dusk. A group of children ran past them without heed, chasing after a butterfly while giggling. Sten's gaze followed them, scowling. "Those were too small. Send them back to the priests for more training."

"These were _da'len_, Sten. Of course they are small."

"What were they doing?" Stopping his steps, he shook his head, confused. "It did not look like it served any purpose."

"They were playing. Children tend to do this," Lenya answered, matter-of-fact. Though it seemed as if there were cultural differences, so she reconsidered her words. "Well, at least they do so here. Certainly, the Qunari children play from time to time as well?"

"No. They study and learn their place in the world." His scowl deepened. "What do your priests teach the _imekari_, if not how to be adults?"

"That's not what priests do, parents raise their children." Noticing his puzzled expression, she added helpfully, "The people who have given birth and are responsible for a child's existence."

"Parents?" He rolled the word over his tongue, visibly unable to grasp its meaning. "Are you spouting nonsense on purpose? If you insist on speaking, use words that make _sense_."

"To quote Morrigan, dear Sten: Do you think I was spawned from a log? Of course my mother gave birth to me. Well, before abandoning me and running away." She frowned, hating the memory. "But that is beside the point. Even if I never knew my parents, I had my clan and other people raising and caring for me. Not priests."

"This explains much." Before Lenya could bristle at what sounded like a veiled insult, Sten continued, leaving her no chance to. "We have _tamassrans_. I do not know this other thing of yours. But the _imekari_ are not 'theirs.' They belong to the Qunari, not the priesthood."

"Children aren't owned by anyb-" A young boy ran up to them, a piece of paper in his outstretched hand, halting her words.

"I should give you this."

"Who –" she muttered, caught by surprise.

The boy shook his head, slipping the vellum into her free hand. "More to deliver. 'Bye!" With that, he ran off, dodging shoppers, and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

"What is it, _kadan_?" The prior argument forgotten, Sten's attention directed itself at the paper still folded in her hands.

Blinking away her astonishment, Lenya unfurled the document. "There is some kind of insignia, unknown to me. It says 'Warden, meet me in a back-room in the Gnawed Noble Tavern.'" She snorted, feeling sarcastic. "Yeah, _sure_. As if that doesn't have '_this is a trap_' written all over it."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We should find it out."

"Not now." Lenya shook her head, stalling his unusual eagerness with her negation. "Besides, it's almost evening and I'm too tired from the long journey to really deal with this shit today."

What sounded like a sensible notion to her apparently didn't have the same weight with the Qunari. "All you do is hesitate and search for excuses. Maybe I was too quick in trusting you with this task." His glare intensified. "You are a Grey Warden, yet you know little of your own order. You do not know yourself, or what you are for. It was cruel of your people to leave you this way. The _tamassrans_ see that all Qunari know themselves."

"No one can tell me who I am. I have to decide that _myself_," she snapped, fed up by his condescending attitude.

"Decide then!" he challenged her. As no answer ensued right away, Sten let out a scoff. "Thought so." With that, he turned and stormed away in direction of the Arl's estate, far ahead of her.

For a moment, Lenya simply stared after him. Her mind needed to catch up with the boggling events which had just happened. Then the anger and frustration about the Qunari's unrealistic expectations of her as a leader set in, and a new awareness of their situation in a whole. Perhaps she was indeed far too hesitant right now, but there were so many things taken out of her hands, things she was unable to change no matter how much she wished for it being otherwise. All these were circumstances the stoic Qunari failed or didn't want to recognize.

_Damned if I do. Damned if I not._

Allowing herself a string of elvish profanity but no more, Lenya decided to stash it away to deal with it _later, _preferably tomorrow, along with finding out the real purpose behind the message. For now, rest and a meal were more immediate needs weighing on her mind.

Arriving back at the mansion, Lenya was received by a chamberlain who led her to her room.

The man opened the door for her and revealed a finely furnished room with a wide bed in its center. "I hope all the accommodations are to your liking, Warden. Please let me know if anything is troubling you."

With the fire crackling in the corner and a tray of food already at disposal, Lenya had to confess that it looked nice and cozy - if a _tiny_ little detail wasn't so glaringly amiss. "Yes, there is. Where is my fellow Warden?"

He blinked. "You mean Maric's son? The last living descendant of the Theirin bloodline?"

She suppressed a flinch at how casually the human _that _as a reference for Alistair. Obviously Eamon hadn't been shy in spreading the news to his servants. Unsurprising, really. The whole man's world seemed only to consist of his obsession to put Alistair on the throne as if he were a prized Mabari or something. "Yes, exactly. Who is by sheer dumb luck also my fellow Warden."

This did little to clear the chamberlain's confusion. "Why should he be here?"

Right. It had been always a given to her to have Alistair at her side, in stark contrast to finding him absent. Still, that was only her way of thinking, not his. "Fine," she relented. "Where is his chamber then?"

"Across the hall, Warden. Not far from my lordship's room." He pointed toward a door in the far east wing of the estate and Lenya made a mental note of it. "My lord thought it would be more fitting to a man of his status as would-be king to have a single accommodation. He also assigned me to show you your own, as soon you'd arrive."

"Did he, huh? Interesting." While keeping her expression straight, Lenya was fuming inside._ That damn rotten bastard of an Arl. Trying to casually separate us and to make it look like a nicety._ Forcing a smile, she nodded to the servant. There was no need to give anything away that could alert him and, in reverse, Eamon. "That will be all. Thank you."

Lenya waited until he was gone before starting to shed her armor and take advantage of the prepared bath to clean herself. After all, just because she used what was at her disposal here didn't meant she intended to remain in her room the _whole _time. She had never been very good at heeding rules, and to disregard this particular one would be a personal joy.

In more ways than one.

.

~V~

.

Sneaking her way into his room was been easier than she had thought it would be.

Granted, it was partially owed to her tip-toeing and next to nothing clothing and partially to Eamon neglecting to position guards at Alistair's door. The Arl apparently trusted her enough to think she'd heed his given room order.

Little did he know.

Alistair still sat in front of a wide, wooden desk, the flickering flames of the fireplace casting his face in shadows. Yet it was bright enough for her to recognize how hard he tried to concentrate on reading and to blind out the new yet familiar sound that was her taint.

Lenya closed the door after her and turned the lock until it clicked audibly into place. His head snapped up in rapt attention, finally acknowledging her presence. "Lenya..."

"Not fair," she pouted, more for show than genuine indignation." ...Our connection through the taint makes it impossible for me to surprise you."

His gaze darted to her protruded lip, before trailing a lazy path down the sparingly clothed curves of her body. He took a stabilizing intake of air. "Can't say I am _not_, love. You are–"

"...positively unwilling to sleep alone," she ended his sentence with a smirk, sauntering closer. Let's see how long it would take him to notice that the linen tunic she wore was actually _his_.

"Oh, _good_." Alistair laughed out, a hint of nervousness in his tone. "And here I thought it was some new kind of insufficient armor you bought, _phew_." He did a double take, eyes widening. "...Wait, is that _my_ shirt you're wearing?"

Obviously not very long. "Well, yes. Do you want it back?" she asked innocently and tucked at the tunic's edges to pull it overhead. The chill of the air lingering in the room prickled on her bare skin, raising the little hairs on her neck. For a brief instant, she stood still, as if frozen in place. Lenya was hyper-aware of his gaze lingering on her body and the sound of his gasp, noticing the change from a controlled intake of air to something more tremulous. And it thrilled her.

"N-no, k-keep it, by all means." Alistair finally managed, shifting in his upholstered chair.

Immediately, she let the oversized fabric fall back in place, covering her. "Thanks. It looks better on me anyway."

He cleared his throat, lips curling up to a smile. "Yes, it does indeed, love. No objection here. But you must be insane to traipse about the hall in this, err, dress."

"I know."

"And you probably shouldn't even be here. Eamon will be furious, when he finds out that you–"

Her grin widened. "I know."

"You are _impossible_." Alistair shook his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "And I love you for it."

With another smile she eluded his attempt of a kiss, ducking under it. Slowly Lenya started to stroll through and glance about in his chamber, hips swaying. The slight tilt of his head to watch after her was not really subtle, but welcomed. "Another thing that is not fair? You have a much nicer and bigger room." She let her fingertips glide over various pieces of furniture, as she leisurely passed them by. The surfaces were cool and smooth to her touch. "I like your room better. I think I will stay here. Mainly because you are here." Her gaze flicked to the weighty tome in his lap. Not a euphemism, for once. "What are you reading, _Atish'an?"_

"Reading? Oh, _that_." Blinking away his reverie, ever so slowly, he closed the bulky book. Upon reading its title, he grimaced. "The complete Genealogy of the Kings of Ferelden."

"Wow. Is it as exciting as it sounds?"

"Worse, actually." He snorted. "Though I promised Eamon to learn most of it until tomorrow."

Giving in to her urge to touch him, she circled around and behind his chair, ignoring his questioning gaze. In that way, she was out of reach for him, but not he for her. Perfect. "For what purpose do you need to know that?"

"I–" he started, the rest lost in a shuddering moan as Lenya tipped her head and traced the tip of her tongue along a tendon in his neck.

Her tongue laved an earlobe. "Boring. Does this stupid Arl think we can impress Loghain with the number of dead kings we can list?" Her nails raked lightly down his chest and his muscles flexed beneath her touch. "No. We go into this Landsmeet thingie with blades blazing and officially kill him. Much more effective."

Swallowing audibly, Alistair clasped her hand into his to still her caress, suddenly serious. "I would have attacked him today, if it weren't for you." He gave both of her hands a light squeeze, his breath hitching. "To have him so close to me... I wanted to kill him. Screw the consequences."

The demon of cold revenge and bitterness reared its ugly head, momentarily replacing the idle teasing and lust usually so prevalent between them. Lenya understood him, his reasons why. Even if the old, disillusioned man had little resemblance to the picture of the all-encompassing enemy that had build up in their heads all these months. "Me too," she confessed quietly, and brushed her nose against the side of his throat. "All this waiting, these unrealistic expectations raised about you. All these rules of how to behave and putting us in different rooms. Maddening. I just... want it to be over with."

"'It' being what, exactly?" he inquired cautiously, seeming not keen on discussing the topic of kingship.

Neither was Lenya, so she settled for a simple, "Everything..."

Alistair laughed. Glad for the distraction, he played along."And then what, love? Elope to Orlais, eating cake and not leaving the bed for a week?"

She pressed a kiss on his stubbly cheek, smiling. "I like the last part of your plan. But to be honest, it doesn't matter. Anything but darkspawn, Blights and lunatic Arls with a compulsive king-making fetish would be great." _As long as you are here with me._ Thoughts she didn't vocalize, didn't _dare_ to speak. Too much was unsure, their future together dangling in midair.

"Anything, huh?" Distracted by her thoughts, Lenya let out a surprised gasp as Alistair turned all too quickly with his chair and pulled her into an embrace. His arms laced behind her back, pressing his lips to her chest in open-mouthed kisses, heedless of the fabric still in between. His hum of approval vibrated on her skin and sent shivers down her spine, as did each of his words. "Maker, I'm glad you are here. I haven't seen you most of the day."

"Oh, really?" Lenya managed, lost somewhere in between of muddled incoherence of lust and the desire to be closer to him. Settling down in his lap, she gave in to this specific urge, rubbing against him. With their bodies flush, the heat of him spilled into her and turned into a warm languor that settled low in her stomach.

"Hmm. I was thinking of you, in fact." Alistair accentuated each breathy word with a peck on her lips, before catching them for a lingering, long kiss. Each stroke, each touch of his tongue, made pleasure burst underneath her skin, a desperate pulse of its own that demanded satisfaction. "And besides," he added with a grin against her mouth, "you being here makes studying _so_ much more interesting."

"Oh? I wonder why that is," she murmured into his throat, amused, and her fingertips wandered underneath his tunic again. Lenya hummed as she felt the warmth of his hands on the small of her back, gliding down to curl around the flare of her hips. She squeaked with surprise as Alistair swiftly lifted himself and her up and secured her in his arms, only to place her down on an edge of his huge desk. "And _what_ is it you were thinking about..."

Instead an answer, there was a chuckle as he tugged at the hems of her over-seized shirt to pull it overhead. Anticipation prickled on her skin, along with a hint of uncertainty. She raised a questioning eyebrow at him."Here?"

While the desk was certainly big enough for her to lie down, it didn't look all that comfortable. Her gaze fell on the pile of books surrounding her, the one on top open and depicting less than tame pictures. His mouth fluttered over her naked body, hot and steady, diverting her attention fully back to him. The promise of _more_ in the kisses drew a moan from her, keeping her from questioning the meaning of the particular situation she found herself in, and the lewd book. If anything, it seemed to have inspired him, and obviously not for the worse. Lenya arched her back as he licked a trail from the underside of her breast down her navel. She noticed with frustration that his body was out of reach for her, not offering the friction she desperately sought. Her irritation heightened even more when his hands parted her legs, but otherwise remained idle upon her thighs. For a moment, she had to suppress the urge to snap at him or to jump down from the desk to have her way with him, a notion once more scattered by his lips and hot breath that wandered further down still. "Wha–?" Lenya tensed reflexively, conflicted in her desire. His destined path was more than clear, even without having any experience with this particular act of intimacy.

Alistair noticed the shift in her posture and halted, looking up. "I–" He struggled to form words in his state of arousal, each hitched exhale of warm air resonated upon her inner thighs. A thunderstorm on its own._ Oh, Creators._ Her eyes fell shut, sensitized to the erratic rhythm of breathing on her delicate skin, everything else became distant. Lenya had never thought that he'd ever be even bold enough to try _this_. Or that she wouldn't die of embarrassment on the spot then, but it felt... _good_. Like everything was when with him. The level of intimacy and ease they had with each other was a far more potent turn-on for her than she'd have ever surmised. She trusted him, loved how he wanted to bring her pleasure.

In the next moment, Lenya noticed him gone. His lips pressed further up to the dent between the lean muscles of her abdomen instead. One of his hands cradled her cheek, while the other remained wrapped around her thigh, tortuously close to where she want it to be. "We don't ha–" he was about to say, strained words that fell silent as soon as he felt her smile and a peck against his palm. Alistair looked at her from his odd, crouched position below, almost as if in wonder. He laughed at the situation and maybe to control his own nerves; a discordant sound conflicting his own desire. His fingers thread down her throat to her breast to cup it, his touch a single trail of fire. Lenya's head tipped back with a quiet moan, relaxing her posture. She tried to concentrate on the feeling and the constant yearning for more, the anticipation and his light caresses had incited in her.

"You are so beautiful..." She shivered at his mere words, the reverent quiver in his tone. Alistair peppered her inner thigh with soft kisses, changing her shivering to gasps as he slowly worked his way up. A bit too leisurely for her. It cost her all restraint to not push her hips up and demand from him to end this maddening ache. When his mouth finally found her nether lips in a mere blink of contact, Lenya couldn't contain the cry rippling through her.

"Maker..." She felt his prayer more than really hearing him, the sharp intake of her scent followed by the dip of his tongue, the first tentative stroke. The pile of books behind her was sent flying, scattered on the ground by her fierce reaction. Lenya squirmed helplessly, willing him to do it again. Alistair acquiesced to her wish, less shy now. And with each probing flick, each circle of his tongue the flooding waves of heat drowned her more. The pressure kept building in a frightening pace, harder and heavier each moment. Too much, too _good_ was the feeling to draw it out for a longer time. And Creators, she didn't want it to stop, never, _ever;_ heat and pleasure ascending to a sweet mixture of near pain.

Her cries echoed loudly through the room, too far gone to care beyond the thoughts of _yes_ and _more_. Lenya cradled his head with both of her hands, her nails scraping across his scalp for encouragement he didn't need. Finding the swollen bud within her folds, he captured it between his lips to suck gently, and suddenly she was coming harder than she ever had. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, her chest burned and her body trembled and tensed hard, coming apart. His hands on her hips, Alistair held her in place while she thrashed about, to keep her from falling off the desk. Through all this, he didn't cease his attentions. But feeling too sensitive all the sudden, she wriggled away, making him stop.

"Too much?"

Out of she breath and flushed all over, Lenya willed the fog of incoherence away, and herself to look at him. She nodded. "That was..." Words failed her as she let herself fall back on the desk to lie down, too boneless to care that it was so uncomfortable. "...interesting."

"_Interesting_, she says." Slowly standing up, Alistair let out a ragged laugh. His voice was hoarse with lust, but also amused. "Like it was a good book, or maybe a delightful pastry." He licked his lips, oozing smugness. "...Oh _wait_."

Snorting, Lenya shook her head at the form which loomed over her. "Creators, I have _totally_ corrupted you, haven't I?"

"Yep." He chuckled and trailed a lazy path up her body, languorously kissing every part of her on his way. "And you love every moment of it."

"That I do, indeed." She turned her head to claim his mouth with her own, making it a passionate emphasis of her words for a long, sweet moment. "Obviously, so."

"Good." Alistair's lips slid up her neck, nibbling at the ridge of her pointed ear and eliciting another moan from her. He paused to shift and to look at her, all humor and playfulness suddenly gone. His fingers gently threaded through the long strands of her hair, and brushed her cheek with unaltered affection. In this little moment of shifted mood, Lenya smiled back, simply grateful for all his love and the pleasure shared. One glance in his face and she knew that he understood.

They didn't need words.

Then, being reminded of her actually lying on his _desk_ and his own still too clothed state, Alistair cleared his throat. "Now, let us get more comfortable, shall we?"

She simply nodded her consent, not trusting her voice enough. Strong arms secured itself around her back and gently heaved her up into his embrace. Lenya readily wrapped her legs around his hips, enjoying the feel of being pressed against the heat and hardness of his body. He momentarily staggered, clearly fighting against the urge to take her here and now. Not that she would have minded. Chuckling at the thought, Lenya placed a kiss on his collarbone. Which eventually brought him back on track and to move toward the large bed close by, to continue their night there.

.

.

* * *

.

There was a rapping at the door, and its sound didn't stop.

Groaning, Alistair tried to pull the blanket over his head to ignore it. But of course it wasn't there anymore. Lenya, queen of all blankets he'd ever came across, had it firmly in her possession and did not share. He forced his eyes open, only to see her gloriously, naked body half on top of him, which was always a nice compensation for the constant loss of the nightly fabric.

"Meh, sleepy." She shifted, pressing her nose in the crook of his neck. "Make it go away, _Atish'an_." Nibbling along a particular sensitive spot, Lenya moved her hip just so and _that_ was drowning every other sound out for him. If only for one sweet moment, until the unwanted visitor added his voice to the incessant knocking.

"Alistair... open the door!"

Crap, it was _Eamon_. He started up, leaving a disheveled and glaring Lenya in front of him. "Creators, that human needs a hobby _other _than his obsession with you and your blood. This is _not_ healthy."

Searching for his trousers somewhere on the ground to snatch and put them on, Alistair sighed. "I agree, love. But I promised him t–"

"Alistair!" The now very peeved voice interrupted him, making him hurry.

"Just a moment." He rushed to the door to answer it, but not without throwing her a desperate glance. "Maker..."

"Wow, he has _such_ respect for your boundaries and privacy. Not pushy at all." Rolling her eyes, Lenya took his tunic from its displaced location to finally cover her bare form. "So I guess you have another lovely day of study ahead, huh?"

"Don't remind me..." Bracing himself, Alistair turned the lock and subsequently opened the door.

Not a moment later, the Arl stormed huffing and puffing into the room, his eyes widening at the chaos created within. "Maker's Breath, what happened here? And why are you still not up, boy? We need to–"

As if on cue, Lenya stood up and sauntered over to the older man, half-dressed and disheveled as she was. "Hello, Eamon," she said in her sweetest tone possible, smirking. Then, turning to a slightly embarrassed Alistair, she stretched herself to reach his lips. Too baffled to shy away from her, he responded to her demand, which led to a far more passionate kiss than he had intended in this situation. _Of course _she was putting on a show, but – oh Maker – did it need to be right under Eamon's nose? Knowing Lenya, the answer was a clear, headache-inducing 'yes.' Finally, Alistair managed to draw away and threw her a peeved look, which she naturally completely ignored.

"See you later, _emma lath_," she said more breathlessly than really necessary, and turned once more smiling to the Arl. "Bye, Eamon." With that, Lenya padded out of the room, hips swaying hypnotically with every step. Head tilted, he looked after her until she was out of sight. _That magnificent, impossible woman._

"Alistair!" The sharp use of his name brought him back from fond memories of last night to the harsh reality of the present.

"Yeees?"

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Not sleeping alone?" he asked, his tone innocent.

Unsurprisingly, Eamon wasn't impressed by his attempt of humor. "Are you thinking this is a joke, Alistair? Have you any idea what you are implying to the servants of this household with your dalliance with her?"

"That I have a healthy, consensual relationship with a beautiful, smart woman?" he answered, shifting to sarcasm. "I know, _such_ burden, it is."

"No, that the future king of Ferelden spends his nights in the arms of an elf. You can't –"

"With all due respect, that is none of your business, Eamon," Alistair interrupted his tirade of duty and conduct, slowly feeling his own temper rise at the Arl's renewed disregard for Lenya as a person. "I have agreed to learn about politics and the _possible _role of kingship ahead under your tutorship. As long we are not dancing naked on Denerim's streets, I don't see how the choice of how I spend my nights and leisure time affects this agreement, or the impending Landsmeet."

"That is not–" With a sigh, the Arl gave up. Finally. "Fine. We had an appointed meeting an hour ago, in case you had forgotten. ...So just get dressed and meet me in my study." Shaking his head, the Arl walked toward the door and turned around once more. "And no other procrastination."

"Such as actually _eating_ something before working the whole day?"

Eamon frowned. "I'm serious, boy. We have much to do."

"Alright, understood," Alistair gave in with a nod. There was no need for yet _another_ argument, in spite of his growling stomach. Honestly, it was time for the Landsmeet to arrive and this nonsense to be over, so he could concentrate on battling the Blight again. On the other hand, Alistair feared the moment of standing in its chambers, didn't know what to expect or what to do. King... that simply wasn't him. Not when he already felt bored of politics after one single day of tutoring. He normally appreciated learning new things and even Eamon's support in some aspects. Yet another long, dull day full of study didn't sound enticing to him, not even under the mental disguise of it being his duty.

As Alistair recollected his scattered clothes, his gaze flicked to the desk in the center of the room. Books and documents were still strewn about on the floor, a silent witness to the throes of passion which had happened there. His lips curled up, doubting the fact that he could ever look at a desk without grinning or blushing again. Most likely, both.

Well, as boring as Eamon's lectures probably would be, at least he now had a few memories to brighten the often too slowly advancing time.

.

.


	107. Master Of Disaster

_OMG guys, actual plot stuff will commence *gasp* So great to finally get there. Yay? Also I have to announce a change of beta, for the (hopefully not long) rest of this long, long way. I can't stress enough that these was due to personal reasons/time restrains of tklivory, not any qualities issues. So lol, nope, anon, this is not a caving in to your nit-picking bs, but life that happened. All the best for you, tklivory and thanks so much for all the help for so long. Don't be a stranger, kay? *hugs* _

_However, the new brave person combing through my wordy mess is long time reader and overall awesome person: __**Suilven**__. Welcome to the madness, darling xD Besides having perfectly fixed this mess of a chapter (in record time, no less) she is a great author for DA and ME herself (not that I see myself as *great* author, mind you) But she totally is and I fangirl hard for her since years already *squee* Go read her stories...after this looong chapter. Enjoy :)_

_._

* * *

_**It doesn't solve a thing to dress it in a pretty gown  
A stone will not need you to guess if  
You're still going to drown**_

_- Poets Of The Fall, Illusion & Dreams_

_._

* * *

.

**Chapter 100: Master Of Disaster **

.

After having cleaned up and gotten dressed quickly in her room, Lenya was left staring at the note that had tumbled out of her heap of clothes.

She quite frankly didn't know what to do about it. If it was indeed an unsubtle trap laid out for her, would it be better to ignore it? Still, the ever-present curiosity about the reason for such a specific message nagged at her and, seeing as she couldn't sort it out on her own, she set out to seek assistance.

The knock on the door of the room Zevran inhabited remained unanswered at first. Everything was quiet, to the point that Lenya thought he must not be there and had turned around to leave. Just as she'd done so, he opened the door and stopped her. "Ah, my dear Warden," he greeted her in his typical overbearing, yet warm, fashion, "I'm quite surprised to see you up already... after what must have been a strenuous night."

He was losing no time in teasing her, apparently. Lenya, however, didn't take the bait. "I need to ask you something. Can I come in?"

Zevran reacted in an unusually hesitant way to this request, his lean form still blocking the entrance. The reason for his reluctance stuck her head out of the door and smiled at the sight of the Dalish. "Why, good morning, Lenya. Is there something you need?"

Instead of answering, Lenya only arched an eyebrow at the elf, amused at finding Leliana in his room. "I... " Zevran started to explain before reconsidering and stepped aside to let her in. It was funny to see her otherwise so suave friend at a loss for words, not that she needed, or even expected, any explanation from him, really. What they were doing was their business alone. Still, the emptied bottles of wine and the pack of cards strewn about the room spoke volumes about a restless night spent together. Fully dressed, both rogues looked oddly pristine and the slightest bit tired, however.

"We couldn't sleep," Leliana explained as she noticed her roaming gaze, "due to some strange noises keeping us awake." With a grin she added, "Mhm, perhaps the Arl's mansion is haunted?"

"Yes, I remember the ghost screaming for Alistair, again and _again_," Zevran chimed in, feigning a thoughtful pose. "Maybe it harbors an old grudge against our almost-templar? I wonder why that is? Then again, there was another–" He finally fell silent upon seeing Lenya's glare, yet was still too amused for her taste. Her glowering at him didn't hinder her cheeks from warming up, however. She– _they_–hadn't been _that_ loud, had they?

"Aww, my dear, don't fret. We are just messing with you." Zevran tsked, patting her arm in a friendly manner. "We are actually glad you keep enjoying yourself. This is a very healthy behavior you know?"

"What.." Lenya managed, utterly dumbfounded.

"I assume Alistair found the book then, and even made good use of my marked pages?" Her mouth popped open, incapable of forming words, which only fueled his amusement. "Ah yes, I always thought him more the type to learn from books than _orally_." By now, Lenya was stuck between wanting to murder him or digging herself a hole in which to hide in embarrassment. Maybe she could do both before her head burst spontaneously into flames?

"But, I suppose the Arl didn't mean _this_ kind of study while locking Alistair away to learn, no?"

"No." His grin widened at Leliana playing along, in spite of, or due to, Lenya's growing discomfort."By the way, my dear, I can offer you a few more tips later, if you want."

"...A-are you serious?" Finally, she had found her voice again, if more shaky than intended.

"Why, of course, dearest Lenya. Pleasure is best shared when done properly, after all." With the grin turning into a genuine smile, Zevran had the mercy to relent from this particular topic. "But, you came here to ask me something, yes?"

Lenya let out a breath she didn't remember holding, her cheeks still burning. "Y-yes." Fumbling with the paper at first, she eventually managed to hand it to him. "I received a message, directed at me, while walking through the market place yesterday. It is most likely a trap, that much I've already gathered. But, it also bears an insignia I cannot decipher and, for some reason, it unnerves me."

"It is not meant to be deciphered," Zevran said, his brows creasing further the longer he stared at the offered note, the smile gone. "Not when you don't know _what_ to look for." He took a stabilizing breath and swallowed audibly. His odd, startled behavior actually started to make Lenya feel nervous for a now entirely different reason.

"What is it?"

"It is the Crows."

"_What_?" both women said in unison, shocked by his revelation. Lenya had expected it to be one of Loghain's goons, or Howe's; actually, anyone _but_ the Crows. To hear of them resurfacing all of a sudden, and with a personal message directed towards her, was more than worrisome. For once, she was at a loss for how to handle it and found herself looking helplessly at Zevran. The elf, however, did not do more than stare at the note himself for a long, agonizing moment.

"Are they here to finish the job? To kill me?" Lenya balled her hands into fists at her side. The feeling of helplessness subsided quickly with raw anger and defiance in its wake.

"I... doubt it, actually." Exhaling, Zevran started to pace about the room, his uneasiness palpable in each step. "When a contract is accepted, it is the responsibility of the specific members of the Crows who accepted it to fulfill it."

"Meaning you?"

"Yes." He didn't meet her eyes. "And, since I, well, failed to do so–gladly so, in hindsight–the contract is left bare, unfulfilled. Another Crow, aside from the one who first accepted, is not permitted to take on the same contract. It is either success or failure; there is nothing in between."

"So..." Leliana chewed on her lip, equally nervous,"they are after you, Zev?"

Zevran shook his head. "They have no way of knowing I'm with the Wardens. With me failing to assassinate them, I'm presumed dead to the Crows." Finally, he looked up at her, his eyes clouded with... sadness? Regret? Lenya couldn't figure out _what_ exactly it was; the expression alien on his face. "And, I would be, if it weren't for you..." He trailed off, turning away from Lenya's stare under the pretense of examining the document more closely.

She caught Leliana's somber glance in his direction as he did so and, once more, had the feeling that they both knew something they weren't telling her, maybe didn't want to. "And, what now?" she asked instead, not wanting to linger on this strange, melancholic mood.

"I don't know," the elf answered honestly. "But, I know for certain that the Crows wouldn't write a note to you if they'd planned to still kill you, dear."

"Wow, how reassuring." Lenya rolled her eyes, already heading for the door. "So there is only one way to find out, I guess. I want both of you to be ready in a few minutes, armored and armed. We go to them."

"Pardon me for saying so," Leliana spoke up, "but, I don't think this is a smart idea."

The Dalish laughed out loud, a humorless sound."Me either. But, I prefer it to waiting until they ambush us."

"Giving it away to the Crows that I'm still alive?" Zevran's brows creased together. "You are asking much of me here, dear."

Lenya understood his hesitation."I know. But... I can't do this without you, Zev."

He let her answer sink in and gave her a nod. "Then, I will be there."

With her hand on the doorknob, she smiled at him. "Thank you."

.

.

* * *

.

"Give me _one_ good reason not to kill you!"

Despite being pressed against the wall, Lenya's blade at his neck, the older man smirked knowingly. In fact, the way he looked at her with such nonchalance and ease left no doubt that he was only in this dangerous situation because he was _allowing_ it, and that he could escape out of it again at any time he wanted. Lenya didn't appreciate this nagging feeling at all, pushing her dagger in even further in order to change it. No doubt the assassin felt the bite of steel, saw the first drops of blood dripping down his neck, and yet all he did was _smile_. A fake one, overbearing and for show; one she had seen a dozen times before by Zevran.

"Curiosity. Perhaps some intelligence," the human answered calmly, his voice tinged with a thick, foreign accent.

In the dimly lit room of the tavern, Lenya felt the elf more than she saw him advancing. His steps hitched briefly, giving away an unusual hesitance to spring into action. "Ignacio, if this is a trap, I will–"

"Zevran, is it, no?" Paying no heed to the weapon or woman threatening to take his life, the Crow bestowed him with a disparaging look. "You are Taliesin's responsibility. Other Crows may try to kill you but, in my eyes, you're already dead, so you are of no notice." His gaze wandered to her again, shifting to something akin to calculated friendliness. "But, the Warden here, she is of great interest to me."

"You have been hired to kill me!" Lenya spat at him with heat and noticed another shift behind her back as one of Ignacio's goons tried to break free. Not an advisable move, if the one keeping you in check was a huge golem with the propensity to smash things, living or not.

"Keep struggling, little Crow." The golem laughed. "I gladly will crush its head."

The ensuing sigh resounding through the room belonged to Sten, who was occupied with another assassin. "Which bears the question as to why they aren't dead yet."

"I can't stress enough that I wasn't hired to do anything,Warden," Ignacio insisted, using her sudden hesitance to react to his advantage. Again, his eyes flitted toward Zevran with a look otherwise reserved for the dirt under his boots. "An associate was, and he's failed–and failed _badly_."

The animosity he showed the elf was mutual. Zevran raised his chin and scoffed. "I'd like to see you do any better!"

Do you take me for a fool?" Ignacio snapped, losing his controlled countenance for a moment. "That's a contract I'd _never_ have taken. _Ahem_."

"Why?" Blinking, Lenya stepped away from the man. Her confusion made her lower her weapon slowly, although she retained a necessary degree of wariness. "What do you mean by that?"

Leisurely sitting down on the chair next to him, the assassin wiped at the bleeding mark on his neck, as if it were nothing. "This is a question you would be better to direct at the dead Crow, not me."

Her gaze darted reflexively to the silent Zevran, a fatal mistake of distraction if the man were to attack her now. But the Crow remained seated, and only observed her with faintly amused interest.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "You aren't here to... kill me?"

"As I said, neither the Crows, nor I personally, hold a grudge against you, Warden. Yes, a client can always hire more... help, if the job isn't done the first time. But, I'm hoping we can make sure that doesn't happen."

"How so?"

He leaned forward, the faint quirk of his lips the only sign of emotion in his guarded expression. She still hadn't given Leliana the command to lower her bow, neither had she told both of her other companions to release their iron grips on the two other men, but the Crow had clearly noticed her willingness to listen and he knew how to utilize it. "Ferelden is a busy place: Blight, civil war, other mayhem... Lots of people not getting along. Sometimes, they _really_ don't get along. Maybe you want someone to do something about it. So, the people that handle that sort of thing can get real busy. And, it takes time to do a good job–pride in your work and all—but customers have certain _expectations_." Ignacio paused to look at her pointedly. "Not many people to turn to if you're short-staffed in some lines of work."

"Wait, let me get this right..." Lenya guffawed, the absurdity of the thought too much. "You are asking me for _help_?" Her face darkened instantly. "No, I'm no assassin. I fight to survive and for a cause: to end the Blight."

"Sounds very noble indeed, Warden. But, in the end, it is all but a matter of perspective, which doesn't matter to a grieving widow, or to a child left behind." He arched an eyebrow, mustering her with a knowing look that caused a shiver to run down her spine. "Death simply follows certain souls; you cannot deny that. And besides, usually the people we kill deserve it... ahem, _hypothetically_ speaking, of course."

She crossed her arms, glowering down at him. "Let's say, _hypothetically_ speaking, I'm less inclined to kill you... what is in it for me? And why _me_, of all people?"

"Simple. You have crossed our path and yet live. It is rare that one manages to do so. And, I thought you would like to make some coin and make your life easier in Denerim at the same time. You look like the smart type."

"Smart would be to crush its pesky Crow-head!" Shale chimed in.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Lenya relaxed her wary stance and issued her companions orders to stand down.

"You can't be serious, Lenya!" Leliana protested, but she eventually followed suit and, contrary to Sten's actions, lowered her weapon.

Zevran remained tense, his gaze flitting from one face to another. "I really hope you know what you are doing, my dear."

_Trust me_, she mouthed toward him before turning to the master assassin again. "If I accept your work, I want no more Crows after us."

"That, I'm afraid I cannot do. One master has a contract on you Wardens." He let his emotionless mask drop for a moment, showing her a sly grin instead. "But, if you help us out, maybe, if that master asks for help, he'll just get silence, yes?"

"You're a cautious little weasel, Ignacio; what's your angle?" Zevran snapped, storming forward. "If you're playing us false–"

"My dance is not for you, dead Crow. I need to be really... honest sometimes." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin in his hands in a calculating manner. "I hand you a scroll. You read it, you learn about someone interesting. If you find out that something has happened to him, something unfortunate, then, if we talk again, I give you money for "letting me know." You don't like what's on the scroll, you don't do anything. Maybe, he has an accident and someone else tells me all about it." After he'd finished, Ignacio reached behind him and pulled out a scroll, as if he had always expected her cooperation. It was a notion Lenya disliked, and she eyed the rolled document warily for a second or two before taking it.

Zevran glared at the assassin with an unusual, undisguised hatred."Your evasiveness won't save your hide when they nail it to the wall."

"You're already dead in my eyes, whoreson," Ignacio sneered back at him. "Better take care that I don't "learn" otherwise."

"Threatening my friends won't get you my cooperation, Crow," Lenya said without looking up from reading the scroll in her hands. "Because then _I_ will be the one nailing your hide to this very wall."

There was an intake of air, however slight, before the assassin managed to retain his cold, uncaring composure."A _friend, _is he?" the man scoffed."I thought you had better taste, Warden."

"It is not for you to question that. _Especially_ not you." Her eyes darted up over the paper, just enough to let him see her glare. Two could play that silly game of subtle threats and implications, if needed. "By the way, is there some kind of bonus for doing a contract quickly?"

"Depends on the contract. The one you've got, not especially. Why?"

This time, she looked him right in the eyes and smiled before answering. "Because I already killed Paedan."

This time, she was rewarded with a full-fleshed gasp and a widening of his eyes. "What?" he spit out, fighting to regain his bearings, but failing. "Y-you did _what_?"

"Yeah, big ugly human who preyed on supporters of the Grey Wardens to kill them in Loghain's name. The sergeant of the guard had thought it would be in my best interest to get rid of him and his band of idiots." She shrugged. "So I did. Check for yourself, if you must."

"I – uh, no. We are good, Warden." Ignacio cleared his throat. "I believe you."

"You really shouldn't ask me to kill dead people, human. It is kind of embarrassing for the reputation of your 'organization'." Beside her, Zevran chuckled.

"We've already determined you are a far better ally than an enemy, though, I confess, I hadn't expected that. I will see it doesn't happen again, _ahem_."

"You'd better." Lenya crossed her arms, glaring. "Anything else? Or, are you done wasting my time?"

"An interesting question," Sten piped up. "Alas, it was asked far too late." He let go of the man he held and, with a sneer of disgust, turned to leave. "You will find me outside, _kadan_."

Lenya wanted to raise her voice to stop the Qunari from abandoning her, but Ignacio was quicker. "Yes, there is one thing; a task better suited to your... expertise. You will find all the information you need in the chest behind me along with a little gift for telling me about the quite tragic event that has occurred."

She nodded at Leliana to retrieve the items, not wanting to turn her back on the assassin. The bard frowned and hesitated briefly, indicating her disapproval of this alliance. Yet, after a moment, she handed the scroll and money she'd found inside to the Dalish, but not without a slight shake of her head.

"You may understand that his father, a very rich and influential man, is terribly furious about the kidnapping of his son," Ignacio elaborated as she read the scroll. "Enough to let me know about it. So, if you happen to come across the person responsible, you may–"

"...kill him?"

"I never said that, Warden." Calmly, as if the outburst of emotion had never happened, he smirked at her. "In the event that an accident should occur, I would _love_ to hear about it from you. I'm simply so curious about the people and events in your country."

"Yeah, right." Lenya rolled her eyes, fed up with his unnecessarily veiled manner of speaking; as if she hadn't known his true identity from the get-go. "And I will become the next queen of Ferelden." As soon she had uttered it, she regretted the quip, and had to suppress a reflexive wince at its implication. Not wanting to linger on the unwelcome, distracting emotion, Lenya stalked toward the door. "We are going."

"Without crushing their pesky Crow-heads?" Shale appeared shocked and all the more dismayed by the lack of violence.

Lenya turned toward the golem and glanced over at Ignacio and his men. "Well, let me put it this way, Shale. If this task is a trap laid out for us, we will come back for their heads to be crushed."

"The many things It promises and does _not_, is astonishing," the golem muttered, still disgruntled. "Like when the traitor came for a visit and left with its head still attached. The Painted Elf must love to jeopardize Its squishy life, or else It wouldn't leave all Its enemies alive."

"Oh, believe me, the day will come when I will stop doing so. Especially in Loghain's case." Turning to leave, she narrowed her eyes and her tone took on a sinister edge. "And I look forward to it."

.

.

* * *

.

"Well, that was easier than I'd thought."

Standing over Captain Chase's corpse, Lenya wiped her blades clean on a patch of burned grass, gasping for air. The men around her had already scattered in different direction without paying any heed to her. They had fought at her side against the corrupt guard and his few, severely outnumbered men. Clearly, those assisting her had been disguised Crows, if their skill was any indication. Still, the boy was nowhere to be found, which was a most troubling fact in this whole task.

"Tis interesting how you achieved everything you needed to, my friend; except for finding the boy who was actually supposed to be rescued." Morrigan threw her an annoyed glance as she shouldered her staff again. "Which brings me to the question: Why did you bring me along, exactly?"

"Because you looked as though you needed some diversion? Because you are a capable fighter and your magic is a powerful asset to our ranks? And, because you would have lit Eamon's estate on fire otherwise?" Lenya offered her a disarming smile. "Not that I'm not fond of the basic idea of letting Eamon go down in flames, mind you, but we should wait until the whole Landsmeet circus is finally over."

"Better for it to be soon," Sten scoffed, scanning the run-down area of the alley for any additional and potential dangers... or ambushes. Not that Lenya would have been surprised to discover their existence. She trusted Ignacio only as far as she could throw him. Which really wasn't far. At all.

The stench of rotten garbage mixed with the metallic tang of freshly spilled blood became apparent as the mild wind turned into their direction. Its putrid odor made her wrinkle her nose and reinforced her desire to leave as quickly as possible. She brushed a hand across her forehead, but it did little to alleviate the feeling that she was bathing in her own sweat. The sweltering heat the midday-sun was emanating down on them made it hard to concentrate on anything. Even breathing seemed like too much of an exertion for her with the all-surrounding humidity, let alone _fighting_. And, worse of all, the overly hot weather increased the lingering stench of the back alley by tenfold.

Turning to Zevran–who was still shamelessly looting the bodies on the ground–Lenya rolled her eyes. "Are you done now? I want to get out of the sun _before_ I'm grilled and well done, actually."

"Ah, don't fret, my dear. I actually have found–" Freezing mid-sentence, the elf's head snapped toward the direction of a convoluted passageway to his left. He tensed at some sound or movement that even Lenya couldn't distinguish. Even after the battle, his agitation had never really vanished, nor had his silent disagreement with her decision to cooperate with the Crows. However, this sudden halting of all his actions was different from that, and it was alarming. He knew the Crows and their ways better than any of them, of course. So, Lenya perked up, trying to recognize _what_ exactly it was that had gotten his wary attention.

She found nothing.

Deciding it had only been his imagination, she was about to turn to go when, behind some highly stacked up crates, a flicker of a shadow moved and caught her attention. It happened quickly and silently enough that it seemed to be a ghost that the heat had conjured up in her mind, but Lenya knew better than that. Her trained hunter senses told her that there was definitely something–or someone–out there. Watching. Waiting. And, in spite of the heat, this thought made a chill run down her spine. Her companions caught on to her sudden tense mood and posture; their weapons back in their hands and ready to strike, if needed.

"What is it?" Leliana stepped up to her and Zevran and scanned the area for anything unsettling.

Lenya frowned. She disliked standing about in the open in such a convoluted area with its many crates and dark corners. There were too many places to hide, too many possibilities for planning an attack against them."I'm not sure exactly. But, we are not alone."

"I know," Zevran whispered without turning to them, his daggers slipping into his hands with grim determination. "This is an ambush in the making. One that is typical for us. The Crows, I mean."

"Oh, so 'tis a trap, after all." Morrigan shook her head in disgust. The tingling of magic was leaden in the sweltering air as she conjured it forth, making sure it was readily at her disposal. "Who would have ever thought th–" Footsteps behind the witch, behind _everyone_, halted her words. Whoever was observing them had abandoned their sense of subtlety and had finally given up their hiding spot and pretense. By the sound of the scraping on the cobblestones beneath their feet, it seemed to be a large group of men. Lenya groaned inwardly._ Of course._

"And so, here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The Crows send their greetings, once again." The man to which those thickly accented words belonged now stood on a wooden plateau across from them, and he bowed theatrically. He looked down at them with an air of arrogance, his face and bulky frame covered by a hooded cloak. "And, I'm flattered that you haven't forgotten the way we used to approach our tasks together, Zevran; before you had gone rogue, that is."

Instantly, Leliana's bow was directed at him, an arrow taut in its string, ready to fire. But the Crow only laughed, tutting at her like a little child. "I would lower that pretty weapon of yours if I were you, dear. I have several bows trained on you and your lovely friends. You don't want th–"

"Taliesen." The word rattled like a weary sigh from Zevran's lips, silencing him with its unexpected suddenness. Upon hearing the identity, the name of the man, Leliana winced, reinforcing Lenya's suspicion that he was far more than a mere Crow. Some connection with Zevran was undeniable, and not only due to Taliesen's prior choice of words, or arrogant bearing. What kind of connection, or to what extent it reached, however, Lenya couldn't discern by looks alone. His jaw set in a hard line, Zevran glared up at him. "Did they send you?" His voice trembled, his emotions and agitation unusually laid bare. "Or did you volunteer for the job of killing me?"

"Ah, _that_." Taliesen feigned a thoughtful pose and slowly started to walk back and forth on the plateau.. He was putting on a show with his overbearing movements, clearly enjoying mocking them. He must have been certain of his invincible state, of his victory, to do so. She had only known him for a few moments, and Lenya already wanted nothing more than to see him dead. "Nothing personal, I assure you. I just needed to see for myself how the mighty Zevran has coddled up with the Warden he ought to have killed." Taliesen's head, still concealed under the hood, shifted in her direction. Lenya heard him chuckle and narrowed her eyes in contempt. "Though I can understand _why_ you have acted like you did. You always fall for the feisty ones, no?"

"Ugh." Lenya grimaced at the once-over he gave her, feeling dirty. "Can we finally get to the part when I kill you? I haven't got all day, after all."

"My, why so violent, my dear?" he _tsked_, his tone belittling. Turning his attention toward Zevran again, Taliesen added, "Point is, Zev, it doesn't have to end like this. You can return with me. It is not too late. Come back and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake."

The words hung heavy in the air, the silence growing deafening as the elf ceased to answer. Fed up with Taliesen's arrogant theatrics, Lenya sprung forward and snapped at the human. "Zevran doesn't need the Crows any longer. He has _us_ now!"

"Such loyalty you have inspired there. Charming." Taliesen chuckled, dismissing her once more. "Come on, I know you, Zev. Even _better_ than any of them do. Don't be a fool."

Zevran didn't move for another long moment, and his whole body trembled as he finally did. "Just like old times, no?"

"We should simply crush _all_ these pesky birds," Shale piped up, but she was ignored as well.

Amused, Taliesen cocked his head, letting the hood deliberately fall back. A grin bloomed on his grizzled face, scars criss-crossing it."Yes, just like old times. Only better."

"Zev?" The hint of fear and disbelief was all too noticeable in Leliana's voice. "What is the meaning of this?"

Swallowing audibly, the hesitation seemed to suddenly fall from the elf like a heavy cloak. He squared his shoulders and smirked up at the man. "I am no fool, old friend. And, you know me too well." Without a glance toward Lenya and the others, he started to walk up to the Crow, moving towards his side. "I'm glad it was you who came, Taliesen. This makes things... easier."

Lenya felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under her. This could not happening. "_What_?"

"You treacherous bastard!" she heard Morrigan scream, but the sound and words were muffled, distant. Unreal. Like a nightmare. "I'll burn you alive!"

"Marvelous." Laughing, Taliesen patted him on his back. "_This_ is the Zevran I know. Now, there is just one problem to get rid of, no?"

"Yes," he said, fixing Lenya with a look she was unable to decipher. Her mind reeled with utter despondency, unable to grasp the events that had just unfolded. "One problem indeed." The elf shifted and, in one fluid movement, rammed his blade into Taliesen's back. "You."

Suddenly, moments seemed like hours, frozen in time. Taliesen sputtered and blood spilled from his mouth as Zevran twisted the dagger around. Disbelief and shock at the unexpected turn of events were etched into his face as he toppled over. "Coming here was a mistake, my friend. You should have stayed in Antiva."

With a last remorseful glance toward Taliesen, Zevran freed his blade from the man's back just in time to face the attack of the other Crows who gave up their hiding spots to fight openly, and chaos erupted.

.

.

* * *

.

Poison, arrows, clever subterfuge, and traps; funny how insignificant all their opponent's advantages were, when one had a bloodthirsty golem in their ranks.

"Are there _more_ somewhere?" Shale asked, all too hopeful, while standing amidst a bloody pile of limbs and other body parts of what had once been humans. Lenya preferred to not look too closely at the gory havoc the golem had caused.

Wincing at the flesh wound underneath her shoulder guard, she turned to the golem and shrugged with her other, healthy one. "See, I told you there would be heads for you to crush. Don't say I don't keep my promises."

"Hmpf." Shale's white lava eyes glowered down at her. "This is the least It could do, after all the tedious talking."

"It is over." Perking up at Zevran's voice, Lenya followed the sound to its source. She found him crouched next to Taliesen's body, staring at his lifeless form. "For what it is worth, I'm sorry for my deception. But, he was too dangerous, I couldn't risk–" Letting out a shaky sigh, the elf fell silent.

Alarmed by his dejected posture, she stepped closer to him; felt the need to offer support, even if she didn't know _how_. "It is okay. "

"Is it? I'm not so sure, honestly." Avoiding eye contact with her, his shoulders slumped even more. "And, him? He should have known better than that. Always expect a blade in your back, no matter if it be friend or foe. Such is the life of a Crow."

"But, not anymore... Right?" Lenya asked, tentatively.

"Yes." He breathed out, long and heavy. "Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows. They will assume that I am dead along with him. So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out."

"You seemed to know each other well," she said, pointing at Taliesen's bloodied corpse. "Who was he to you?"

"I –" Zevran began, but quickly bit his lip to stop himself from continuing. "No one." It was the most obvious lie he had ever told her and yet she felt no need to dig deeper, to hurt him even more.

Light footsteps came closer, belonging to Leliana. "Zev?" she asked, concern coloring her voice. "Are you okay?"

It was one question too many for him, and the elf darted up and turned away from both of them. "I'm sorry. I... just... can't." With these words, he bolted as fast as he could into the shadowed alley opposite, away from them. Startled, Lenya could do nothing but stare after him, not knowing how to react to his flight. This was so unlike everything she knew about Zevran. But, then again, did she really know him? After all, she _did_ believe his betrayal, even if it had been only for a mere moment.

"Lenya..." Leliana searched her face, meeting her gaze. She didn't need words; Lenya comprehended her intent with one look at her eyes, and nodded. "Go!" Grateful, Leliana mirrored the gesture and darted toward the alley the elf had vanished into. Whatever it was that had unhinged Zevran's emotions in such a tremendous way, the bard understood–knew– it better than she did. Lenya wished she could understand, too, but was aware of being unable to force the matter if Zevran didn't want her to. She was sure he would tell her upon his return.

_If_ he returned.

"What was that all about?" Morrigan asked and waved the matter off in the same moment. "Forget it, I don't care anyway."

"Well, good then." Lenya grimaced and clasped the still bleeding arrow wound on her arm, suddenly aware of the pain. "Because I don't know. Leave them be."

"First sensible thing I've heard you say today." Scoffing, the witch turned away with feigned indifference, yet her steps remained slowly in line with the Dalish. "We should return to the Arl's estate, and not to the tavern, where even more Crows will try to kill us."

"Worried? You?" Lenya teased, noticing her gaze lingering on her wound while the witch pretended to _not_ be looking. "Don't be. I've had worse. It is just a scratch." Feeling light-headed all of a sudden, Lenya stumbled over her own feet on the uneven road.

Thankfully, Morrigan caught her before she could fall and glared down at her. "Enough playing brave, you fool. Stay still." Closing her eyes, she hovered her hand over Lenya's wound and concentrated on summoning her magic. Its energy crackled in the heated air, making the hair on Lenya's neck stand on end. "Ah, there are still splinters of the arrowhead inside. 'Twill need to be cleansed." Another glare. "Which idiotic part of your brain thought it a good idea to just yank the arrow out like that?"

"The 'I have to fight on and survive' part?" Lenya offered, eliciting a groan and an eye roll out of her friend."Besides, you and healing magic? I always thought this wasn't your forte."

"I... dabbled _some_ more." Morrigan grimaced, annoyed. "With a reckless idiot like you, I _had_ to."

"Well, I love you, too, sister." Cautiously, Lenya flexed her arm and regretted the motion instantly.

"Stop that. I haven't fully closed your wound due to the splinter. I have only stopped the bleeding, lest you bleed out before we reach Eamon's estate."

"Now you are exaggerating!" The witch threw her a sour look for this and Lenya relented quickly. "But, thank you, Morrigan. I appreciate your concern. What would I ever do without you?"

The last part was meant to be lighthearted, a friendly jest, yet it caused Morrigan to frown instead. "I–" she started, bit her lip, and then stalked away. "Let us just go. I don't want to linger in this stinking alley."

.

.

* * *

.

"What happened?"

"I tried to avoid an arrow. Alas, the arrow was quicker." It was certainly not the answer Wynne had expected to hear from Lenya, but she was tired of trying to satisfy her nosiness. "Obviously," she added for good measure, wincing as the mage cleaned the wound with a tincture to disinfect it. On the ground, next to her bloodied cuirass, lay several splinters that Wynne had meticulously removed from her arm. Lenya hated when an arrowhead splintered like that on impact, indicating hasty and cheap craftsmanship... or intent. At least it hadn't been one of the poisoned ones the Crows had _also_ used in the battle. It had been pretty much dumb luck for her, under the circumstances.

Seated on a stool, the mage frowned down at her. "You know this is not the answer I seek."

"I didn't start the fight, if that is what you mean. We were ambushed in a back alley."

"By whom?"

"The Crows. Zevran seemed to know one of them well."

"Maker's Breath," she gasped, her eyes widening. "Are you all okay?"

"Aside from a few scratches and dents–as you can see–yes. Though, I'm concerned about Zevran, I confess." Lenya edged closer to the mage, to give her better access to the wound, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Even without a fire crackling in the fireplace, the air within her room was stifling. It was exceptionally hot today and it didn't look as if it was going to cool down any time soon. "I have never seen him as perturbed as he was after the fight. He even ran away and hasn't returned yet. I have the feeling there is something he isn't telling me."

"And this bothers you?"

Looking over her shoulder, Lenya fixed her with a glare. "How could it not? He is my friend, Wynne. I care for him. This Crow may have been my enemy, but the man who died at Zev's hands had been his friend."

"That is... harsh." Wynne breathed out, weighing her next words."Maybe you should give him time to handle this, dear. He is less carefree and nonchalant than he tries to appear."

"I know." Lenya sighed. "I just wish there was some way to help him. He has been always there for m–_ouch_!"

Wynne lifted the needle and thread from her skin, and tutted her impatience. "Hold still, if you don't want a new intricate pattern stitched into your arm."

"You want to _stitch_ the wound? You are not doing your... magic thing?"

She chuckled. "Of course I could do my 'magic thing', dear. But I figured the slower, old way of healing might help to keep you out of trouble until the Landsmeet begins."

Lenya rolled her eyes at her. "Wynne, I do not search for trouble or any battles. It always finds _me_. And, it would be very helpful to be able to defend myself with my main sword arm without flailing in pain. Just saying."

"Hmm, you have a point. Although, seeing as I haven't been with you from the start, indulge me. How did you both manage to survive without healing magic until we met?"

"Sheer dumb luck? And foul-tasting herbal potions of Morrigan's?" she offered, her tone innocent. "Look, I'm very grateful for your help, if that is what you want to hear."

"My, my. I'm not fishing for compliments here, dear." Wynne shook her head, amused. "Quite the contrary, I'm happy to be able to help in your seemingly impossible task. Not so impossible anymore, now that we are only days away from deciding Ferelden's fate and rallying the armies for the last battle, hmm?"

Lenya heaved another sigh, but was reluctant to breach that topic. "Don't remind me. As much I want it to be over before I actually strangle Eamon with my bare hands, I have no knowledge of, nor any interest in, human politics."

"Ah, now that you've mentioned Eamon: he'd asked for you, not long ago."

Lenya flinched as Wynne's magic knitted the torn flesh instead of the needle, the searing pain momentarily drowning every other thought out. She waited until the feeling had passed before speaking. "And why exactly was he looking for me, if I'm allowed to ask? He is the last person I wish to see and I have more than an inkling that this feeling is mutual."

"The Arl didn't say, only that you should come into his study after your wound was treated. Sounded important." Falling silent, the mage carefully repacked her herbs and cleaned all of the used instruments with the disinfecting tincture. Looking up at the Dalish again, she added, "And don't be so harsh to Eamon, dear. Keep in mind that he is just trying to help us. We need his political support at the Landsmeet."

"Trying to _help_? Are you serious?" Lenya snapped at her, darting up from the ground. "Ever since he woke up, Eamon has done nothing but treat Alistair like a mindless, drooling pawn for whatever political schemes he has. Not to mention that he is completely disregarding Alistair's wishes in his crazed, blind fanaticism to put a Theirin on the throne. He is attempting to dictate Alistair's life, in spite of not knowing him, nor caring for him. And, ever since our arrival, Eamon has been keeping him in his room like a prisoner for what he calls political lectures. If _this_ is the help the Arl is offering us, I say fuck that. I'm better off without it."

"You don't think Alistair would make a good king?" Wynne asked diplomatically, not feeding into her ire about the Arl.

"I'm not saying that." Mildly annoyed by the discussion, Lenya exhaled and fished a freshly washed tunic out of her pack to dress again. The fabric felt rough against her raw, newly healed skin. "I'm saying that Eamon hasn't had the courtesy to actually _ask_ Alistair what he wants. Not even _once_. Instead, he is deciding what is best _for_ him, based on the warped picture of a perfect Ferelden in his mind. _This_ is what gets me."

"I see." Pondering, the mage tapped her chin and then decided to drop the matter. "Come to my room later. It is probably better to bandage your arm as well, in order to not irritate your healed, tender skin too much."

"Oh, _now_ you are telling me this? After I'm dressed again?"

"It is because we are in a hurry, dear. You shouldn't keep the Arl waiting."

Lenya laughed out loud."Or, is it because you just want me to have a reason to return to you, so you get to find out what Eamon told me. Don't get your hopes up too high, Wynne. It will be some shit like how I should keep my grubby elven fingers off the future king of Ferelden, or something like that. " She scoffed, the momentarily good mood already vanishing again. "Fuck that noise."

"I do understand your anger, but watch your language, young lady." Wynne gallantly ignored the eye roll that followed her lecture and stood up from the stool. "You may not agree with his methods, but the Arl is only doing what is best in the current situation."

"Yeah? Is it really the _best_?" Lenya sneered, hating the idea of Wynne agreeing with the Arl. Not that it would surprise her, seeing how stuck up on traditions and duty the older woman could be. "What about the current ruler? Anora, it was, I think? Why should I support Eamon's idea of putting Alistair on the throne when there already is a ruler? What is the sense in this? I don't get it."

Wynne exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose to relieve the pressure building up there. "Yes, word is that Anora has been the one who has governed the country instead of Cailan for the past five years and is well-loved by the people of Ferelden. But, she is also an unknown factor for us and, hence, potentially against our task to fight the Blight. How sure is it that we can trust her? How can we know that she isn't conspiring together with Loghain against us? He _is_ her father, after all. And I doubt she would go against him."

"So, you are saying I should support Alistair–against his will–for the throne, just to be on the safe side? Creators, I really hate where this is going. You humans and your politics are _insane_."

Wynne squeezed her healthy shoulder, her expression compassionate. "I know how you feel about it, dear. And about him. This decision won't be easy, for both of you. But, in the end, I'm sure you will do what is best."

"Funny how 'doing what's best' always translates to 'the best for others', don't you think?" Lenya shook her head, disgusted. "Never for Alistair. Or myself, for that matter."

"Such is the hero's path, my dear. You cannot be allowed to be selfish, when so much is at stake."

"Well, good thing that I'm no hero then. I'm a Grey Warden." Heading for the door, Lenya turned around a final time. "And, if you haven't noticed the difference between these two things by now..." She shrugged. "Well, then I can't help you. Thanks for patching me up, though."

.

.

* * *

.

He somehow thought that she would follow, and find him. In the end, she always did.

"Zevran?"

He didn't answer. Sitting still in the corner of the darkened room at the tavern, he simply watched how her silhouette was encompassed by the spare, remaining light. In this moment, she looked like Andraste herself. Or, maybe it was just the poison coursing through his system that made him think so. Either way, she was beautiful.

Leliana breathed out, a shuddering exhale at what must look like a horrid battlefield to her. Once a comfy tavern room, he had turned it into a bloodied, destroyed mess in his unaltered rage. Returning to Ignacio had been a mistake, perhaps, but not more than the ones he had already made in his life. And, he would do it again, any time. For Lenya. For... _her_. He pressed a hand to the bleeding wound in his side, trying to suppress the cough creeping up his throat. Too late. She was already too close to him, her scared expression all too clear to his elven eyes. It was one he had hoped never to see again in her face. She deserved better.

"Maker, somehow I... had thought I would find you here. But, I hadn't expected... _this_." In her desperation, she made a sweeping gesture to emphasize the disastrous state of the room. Ignacio lay dead, not far from him, along with his two goons, blood spilled everywhere. It was a wonder that the owners hadn't checked yet to see what the commotion had been about. But, then again, they had probably been too scared to do so.

"I think I have ruined Lenya's chances to ever join the Crows." Zevran laughed, a bitter, rough tone. _Better this way._

"You are hurt." Ignoring his quip, her eyes frantically scanned the room for something she could use as a bandage.

He wanted her to stop, to not care. "It is okay, _mia cara._"

"No, it is not!" The ripping sound of the sheet would have swallowed her sob, if it hadn't been for his enhanced hearing. _Curse that_. As she kneeled down next to him, he caught a glimpse of her expression; shock turned into raw anger. He squeezed his eyes shut, his head swimming from the blood loss. "We ran into Taliesen and you ran away afterward. This, I understand; why you needed to be away from the place where you had killed him... _Why_ you'd killed him. Then, you did your damnedest to make me lose your trail. I thought you just wanted to be alone, and that I should let you be." He felt the press of the fabric against his wound and winced. Worse even, with her so close, the smell of her sweat-dampened skin became all-encompassing for his senses. "But, now I find you here, wounded, amidst the bodies of the Crows. Are you insane?" She was screaming now, and pure desperation colored her voice and made it tremble. It pained him more than any wound. "Do you value your life so little that you need to throw it away, right after you are free from them?"

Free. A heavy word, laden with implications Zevran couldn't grasp, didn't know. Maybe it was just another description for being lost. He had toyed with the thought of simply vanishing, leaving it all behind, now that the Crows wouldn't search for him any longer. In the end, he couldn't, and he gave in to the rage and desperation that led him here instead; feelings that an assassin shouldn't have, because they were too dangerous to indulge in. The bleeding wound and poison in his system only served to prove him right. Not that it was lethal, just enough for him to fade into the background; to forget, and perhaps to vanish, from all this after all. This was what freedom meant, right? To make it easier for the people around him, to stop being a burden. It could have been that simple, if it hadn't been for the stubborn red-head refusing to let him go.

"I'm sorry," he managed, and he meant so much more than the bloodied chaos he'd created. He was sorry for not being as brave as he'd wanted to appear; for not being the man she deserved; for being a _coward_.

"_Sorry_?" Leliana hiccuped, fiddling with one hand at the bag on her belt, not retreating one bit. She made it very hard to keep his resolve. "That doesn't cut it, Zev. Do you have any idea how worried I was? And not just me. You have people who care about you. Does this mean nothing to you?"

Quite the contrary, it meant the world to him. But, at the same time, it frightened him witless; it was too much, much more than he deserved. She uncorked what smelled like a healing potion, the faint scent of herbs mixing with the metallic tang of blood. Not asking for permission, the bard made him drink the whole vial. Despite its bitterness, the liquid ran down his parched throat like nectar, clearing his senses from the pain in an instant.

"If you don't want to talk, _fine_." Leliana swallowed, hard, bracing herself and then tried to heave him up. "But, I still will bring you to Wynne, come what may."

Zevran didn't let her. "No."

"_No_?"

"I mean, wait," he relented, trying to placate her after igniting her fury with one single word. Apparently, he was good at this. "Ignacio's blade was poisoned, like mine, though mine was a much stronger one than his. Moving now... would be unwise. I have built up a resistance to most of them, but I would rather wait for the potion to take its full effect first."

"Poisoned?" she echoed, her voice going shrill.

"Ah, don't worry, dear. If it were lethal, I would already be dead by now."

Unsurprisingly, she didn't take kindly to his attempt at casual humor, although he had expected anger and not the despondency with which she eventually spoke. "Why are you _always_ doing this?"

"What?" He didn't dare to look her into the eyes, afraid of what he would find within.

"Talking about your life, about yourself, as if it is worth nothing?"

The question hit him hard, like a punch to his gut. Being momentarily unable to do anything other than stare, Zevran fought to regain his bearings; his cool, casual self. Eventually, he managed. "I'm alive, am I not? So, why is it important to you?"

Leliana glanced sideways, away from him, and tensed. Her fingers curled into fists and, for a moment, it looked as if she were fighting the desire to hit him. "Because I love you!" Brows furrowed together, her stare fixed on him in anger, and something more. The gleam of tears formed at the edges of her eyes, making him feel as miserable as he should. "And, more often than not, I wish I did _not_ because you are so frustrating and make it so damn hard. And I... I—" He didn't even know how or when he'd leaned forward, only that he had. And then the soft press of her lips was all that mattered. Was that warmth coursing through him? No, certainly it must be the poison or the potion finally catching up to him.

Or, maybe it had been there all along, with her.

Leliana gasped, half with surprise, half with desire. Her fingertips caressed the back of his neck, renewing the feeling that had been absent in him for so long. _Yes, it had._ The thought, the answer to his self-imposed question, lingered; didn't want to go away. Perhaps... the thought that it didn't have to, was welcomed within the chaos that was his mind.

"I'm sorry," Zevran repeated, and now he meant to make it better, instead of expressing regret and excusing his multitude of failures and shortcomings.

She took a moment to collect herself and yet her breath came out in a shudder. Still, she understood his intent, somehow she did. "You better be." Retreating ever so slightly, Leliana sank down next to him, blood notwithstanding. An odd picture certainly, and yet fitting. Bard and assassin reunited at the scene of a murder. Oh, the ironic poetry wasn't lost on him.

"Remember how you told me that I was able to choose who I am, not long ago?" She paused to heave a sigh." So can you, Zev. I want you to do what is best for you."

He blinked, completely taken aback. How should one react to a request that was completely foreign and... kind? He was so used to fulfilling any desire but his own, that it felt strange to be actually asked and given this possibility. "I... am not sure how to respond to that. Nobody has ever... I mean, normally, these things are decided by others."

"I know." Leliana shrugged. "Time to change that, no? Your life is your own, not owned by the Crows any longer, or anybody. So, it is for you to decide."

"I confess, I... had toyed with the idea of leaving, now that the Crows aren't hunting me any longer." Unsure of her reaction, Zevran glanced over at her. Inwardly, he was still bracing himself for rejection, even if it seemed foolish. But forming these words was much harder than he'd thought; made him feel bare. "Yet, now... I would much rather like to... stay? Is that good?"

Her lip quirked upward, smiling. "If that is what you wish, it _is_, _mon amour_."

"Then stay I shall." He let out a breath he didn't remember holding. "I'm with you until the end... provided you do not tire of me first. Or I die. Or you die. But, there you go."

"Zev?"

"_Si, amora?_"

"Shut up." She laughed out loud, stood up, and reached for his hand. "Let's get you to Wynne, shall we?"

Zevran took it, and let her help him. Being free didn't have to mean being lost. Not anymore.

Not when he was free to choose its meaning for himself.

.

.

* * *

.

The Arl wasn't alone in his study. Though, much to Lenya's dismay, the other person with him wasn't Alistair either, nor even human.

A female elf sat in Eamon's upholstered chair while the Arl leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his expression stern. When Lenya entered the room, she turned toward the elf with great interest. Her long, dark hair was bound back into a convenient ponytail; her complexion fair-skinned but plain, like the dark red dress she wore. She looked like a maid, which confused Lenya all the more as to why the elf was in Eamon's room.

"Ah, Warden. I trust you've made yourself comfortable." Her gaze flicked from the elf to the Arl in an instant, wary of his sudden friendliness and this particular remark, given the events of this morning.

Lenya crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. She wouldn't be taken in by him, no matter how hard he tried. "Here I am, Eamon. What is this about? What do you want? And make it quick, as I want to spend as little time in your presence as possible."

The smile vanished from the Arl's face, displeased by her hostile attitude. It didn't matter to her; it had never been genuine in the first place. "Well, either way, it will probably be the last rest you'll have for a while." Ignoring her glare, he pointed at the elf beside him. "This is Erli–"

"Warden!" The woman jumped up from her seat, anxious. "I'm so glad you are finally here. You have to help me, _please_."

Well, at least she didn't lose any time in making her intentions clear. Her straight-forwardness was refreshing, and all too rare these days. Lenya could work with that. There was just one little detail left to know. "And, who are you, flat ear?"

The elf glanced at her, confused at the name given to her, but quickly regained her countenance. Shoulders back, she pushed her chin up in the air, prouder than any of the cattle ever would. "I am Erlina, Queen Anora's handmaiden." Her strange accent sounded not unlike Leliana's, though it was far more pronounced than the bard's. "She sent me here to ask for your help."

"Anora? As in Loghain's daughter?" Lenya arched an eyebrow at her, not liking where this was going. "You are kidding, right? Why would she want me to help her, of all people?"

"I wish I was, Warden. But, the queen, she is in a difficult position. She loved her husband, no? And trusted her father to protect him. When he returned with no king and only dark rumors, what is she to think?" Folding her hands, Erlina started to walk through the study, carrying herself far more gracefully than her appearance would have indicated. "She is worried, no? But, when she tries to speak with him, he does not answer. He tells her "not to trouble herself.""

"You... speak of Ostagar?"

The elf nodded. "You were there, no?" Lenya grimaced; the gesture answer enough for Erlina. "Yes, you saw what happened; all those deaths, and the king among them. My queen did not, but she still had her doubts."

Apparently, she was less straightforward than Lenya had initially thought. Each word had a double meaning, waiting for the Dalish to decipher them. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a weary sigh. Between encountering the Crows and dealing with Eamon, one could easily get fed up with veiled meanings and word games."Are you implying that Anora thinks that her father had something to do with Cailan's death?"

She only gave her a pointed look, not responding directly. _Again_. "Loghain, he is very subtle, no? But Rendon Howe, he is privy to all the secrets and... not so subtle. He might know... more than her father chooses to tell her."

Lenya snorted, her tone sarcastic. "The human-sized rat? Such a sympathetic, trust-worthy fellow. I can't possibly imagine _what_ could ever go wrong, should the queen seek his help on her own, truly."

Her sarcasm earned her a brief glare from both the Arl and the elf. Still, it left her unimpressed. "This is a serious matter, Warden. I would appreciate it if you would treat it as such, for once," Eamon intervened, meddling and annoying as always. Barely able to suppress the roll of her eyes his words caused, Lenya chose to shift her gaze back to Erlina. The less she saw of the man, the better.

The queen's handmaiden inhaled sharply, as if bracing herself to continue."A visit from the queen to the new Arl of Denerim was only a matter of courtesy. As soon as she had arrived there, she demanded answers."

"Let me guess: he made her a more permanent guest than the queen had wanted?"

"He calls her every sort of name, "traitor" being the kindest, and keeps her locked in a guest room."

She gave another snort. "Told you." To avoid another pair of peeved looks, Lenya started to walk back and forth herself. "You see, this is a nice story and all, and I'm really sorry for your queen. But I don't understand what it all has to do with me, or better said, _us?_" _Which reminds me._ She whirled around to Eamon, glaring. "By the way, if this is a Warden matter, where the fuck is Alistair? Still keeping him prisoner over dusty books and a little of your indoctrination, my lord? Oh, that is too kind, really."

He chewed on her words for a moment or two, struggling to not take the bait. "I have heard of your newest run-ins and fights, Warden." Eamon regarded her with disdain. "I would prefer if we could keep him out of such unnecessary trouble until the Landsmeet is over. A man of his standing shouldn't be running around Denerim and slaughtering thugs like you did today. Have you any idea what kind of impression it would make on the nobles we are trying to win over to vote for the rightful king?"

"Counter question here, instead." Lenya smiled sweetly at him, if only to keep herself from choking him with her bare hands. "Have you decided that for Alistair, or was he allowed to do so for himself for once? Oh, wait, _why_ am I even asking?" She turned back to Erlina before being tempted to do something _entirely different_, clenching her jaw. "Now, that aside, it still doesn't explain why you have come to me with a request for help, of all people. Why not her guards, or anyone closer to her and in power? You are aware..." She flinched, hating to voice these words. "...that we are the opposing party here, right?"

"Which _is_ exactly the reason I am here," Erlina answered, falling back into the same desperate tone she had had in the beginning. "If the palace guard besiege Howe's estate, my lady will certainly be killed before they can reach her. And, as a fellow elf, you should know best that we cannot approach just anyone. In fact, I was only able to escape because the guards didn't pay any heed to an elf dressed as servant." Well, this explained her appearance, at least."It made me invisible and insignificant in their eyes, something I used to my advantage this time, but it won't be one for long. I heard Howe say she would be a greater ally dead than alive. I fear for her life, Warden."

"I'm not like you. I'm Dalish." Arms crossed, Lenya raised her chin. "I go where I want. I will _never_ submit to any human."

"This explains much..." Eamon muttered under his beard, side-eying her. Clearing his throat and ignoring Lenya's ensuing glower, he added,"We may have no choice but to trust Anora. The queen is well-loved by her people. If Loghain succeeds in pinning her death on me–"

"Wait, _that_ is what this is all about?" Lenya fixed the Arl with a hateful stare, unable to believe it. "You're searching for someone to do your dirty work for you? Someone who is expendable and maybe has a little accident while stumbling into this trap? So, that's what this whole 'let's keep Alistair out of it' is about? Oh, this is rich." She threw her hands up, then stalked toward Eamon and leaned into him in a threatening manner. "Listen, old fart, and listen _well_: Should I even consider taking on this inanity of a task that looks like a trap from ten miles away, it is up to me, and me alone, if I take Alistair with me or not. While he is already warming the throne and ruling gloriously over Ferelden in your twisted mind, he is _still_ my fellow Grey Warden. Are we clear?"

"Oh, I'm certain, Warden, that he is much more to y–" Before the Arl could end whatever certainly enlightening sentence he had been about to form, the door sprang open. Two heavily armed guards and a wildly flailing, human-shaped bundle in their midst appeared within its frame. The whole form was completely wrapped in what looked like one of the heavy, red curtains from the entrance hall, and he or she was doing their best to escape their miserable captivity. But, it was to no avail; the grip of the guards was too strong.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, my lord. But, we captured this woman as she was trying to sneak into the estate. Probably one of Loghain's spies."

"I knew it!" Erlina exclaimed, glancing wide-eyed at the figure. "I felt like I was being followed by someone when I left Howe's estate."

"Let gooo, you Maker-damned bastards. Let _gooo_," came the muffled words from under the thick, kicking and screaming fabric. Whoever it was, she had no intent of giving in to her fate; quite the opposite. "How dare you treat me like this? As soon as I am out of here, I will kill you both!"

"This threat won't help your cause, lady," Eamon said calmly. Then, after a moment of weighing the risk, the Arl motioned his guards to remove the curtain holding her in place. The men did a double-take at their lord's command, obviously afraid of the captive's wrath if they were to do as directed. "I believe it is only fair to see whom we are dealing with here. Show me your face, spy."

She struggled, kicking at the hands grasping her with all of her might, like a caged animal fighting for its life. It took a moment of carful maneuvering for the guards to remove the fabric in such a way that the woman was still captured, but finally visible to them. Beneath her cropped, pitch-black hair, dark blue eyes fixed Eamon with a fiery glare. Lines of scars, some shadowed and some more pronounced, ran along her dirt-stained cheeks. One particularly long line cut through her upper and lower lips, more noticable when she spoke with the same heat that still resided in her eyes."I'm no spy, Eamon, and you _know_ that!" Confused, Lenya glanced over at the Arl, only to see him actually... _shocked_ and at a loss for words.

Instantly, Lenya's gaze shot back to the person who had managed to cause this state, frowning as the woman's ire shifted to her."_Who_ are you?"

"My name is Evelyn Cousland. I'm the last living descendant of my family and noble house due to Howe's filthy treachery. And, for this, I want _revenge_."

.

.

.

* * *

_Hello, my name is Evelyn Cousland. You killed my father. Prepare to die./_Princess Bride_. Gah, my Evy -hugs her and gets mauled to death in return – xD Maker, I love her. And I waited sooo long to get her finally into the story. I wish I had more time to introduce her, but that has to suffice for now, due to length. More about the how and what and why, next time :p And with that, ladies and gents. OEaH will happily reside in AU-land from now on :D Reeeeeviiiiiiieeeew?_

_._

_._

* * *

**RR:**

* * *

**MB18932:** Haha, yeah. The smut wasn't planned, actually. But what to do when having a pair of young, horny Wardens unable to keep it in their pants *cough* Ah well, the lovey-dovey smut times are called off for the time being, with one tiny exception perhaps, but the chapter above is all about Zevran and no Alistair at all. For the first time, since well...ever I have no scene with him whatsoever. So I haven't forgotten about the plot, actually ;) And Lenya as queen? Lol all social fuckery it would cause aside, she would troll the hell out of the nobles. And her no-nonsense attitude with putting up with their bs, would most likely lead to a war. Or her assassination. Ooops. Seriously, for all people involved, including herself, it is better she doesn't touch politics with a ten-foot pole xD Because...well I'm a bit further in my writing, and there she is so very much fed up from all this political bs already, she would love to punch faces. All of them... if I would let her. And this actually one week _before_ the LM. XD So yeah, better not ;) Thanks for your review :)

**AdahlenMahariel:** Hey, nice to see you being still around :D You are on tumblr? What's your name? I had no idea *squee* Anyway, yes I the greatest respect for kickass women like Anora, who stand their political ground with wit and intrigue against the many men that want to see her gone. Eamon inclusive. He is such a sexist prick to her, ugh, I can't even. People criticize her for being too cold, emotionless and other bs, but ever thought about that letting her guards down will be used against her then? And it already has, considering the letters and plans Eamon has made behind her back about getting rid of her in favor of Celine. Ugh, gross, gross _gross_ sexism. Anyway I have many _many_ feels about her and I'm excited to finally be able to write her. Anora will have no small part in the few chapters pre -Landsmeet, of course. If Evelyn is not stealing all the show, like she currently does in Howe's dungeon, cough. But Lenya, she actually will be on good terms with the queen, so to speak. Alistair...ahem, not so much, for many (unfair) reasons. It will be interesting, to say the least. And to be an ass to Eamon never gets old, lol. Thanks for your review :D

**Swooping Dragon: **Yeah, of all the LM possibilities, I think it is no secret when I give away that Loghain won't survive. It...just doesn't fit Lenya's character to spare him, not after all what he had done. She would never be able to trust him, not a single second long, so yeah. Sten has become a bit a string along character for me, tbh, because I have no special plans for him anymore. So basically, he is just there, sometimes, or lately often, moping xD Though I still like the dynamic between them, even if he huffed off like a spoiled brat in the last chapter. He overall very much respects her, which is quite the feat, seeing his background and (fucked up) view of women. However, he remains a valuable asset to the group, even if the story naturally fixes on other elements now. Thanks so much for your review. So nice to see you staying around *hugs*

**Phygmalion: **Not sure, exactly. It seems to me just something Eamon would do, for whatever reasons. I think your thoughts to the matter are not wrong, I don't see Eamon sees Alistair for the man he is, but an instrument to form and play as he sees fit. He has (canonically) no idea of Alistair's life in the last past ten years, nor does he particularly cares for his opinion, whatsoever. So yeah, your thought is not to far stretched here. And my subconsciousness must have taken these facts in consideration, when writing his dialogue. Heh. Tis a good question, actually. Maybe, when I find time and space I will address this toward Sten. Don't promise it, though, since there is so much other stuff to cover already. But for all my love for the Qunari, he is a tad...well, single-minded. His dialogue implies that all what counts is the Archdemon, at all cost. In fact the "at least we would walk in the right direction" is taken directly from the toolset, when ask "should we rather charge at the archdemon instead?" So I think his comprehension of attacking when ready is rather limited? Dunno, just a feeling/interpretation here. But hey, Lenya will get him some cookies next time. Thanks so much for your review, the updates should come more regularly again now, to get this monster finally done. Since I have a small buffer of chaps already done and Suil as beta-sama (Bi-weekly, most likely)

**Ygrain33: **Heh, I suppose we all would have. Lenya being a troll is awesome. And I actually planned this scene due to this. But then it got longer and longer. Ah well. And we all know how well she reacts to people in authority, especially ones shitting on her first, right? Lol. Thanks so much for your review and all the best for you personally *hugs*

**LifeWithoutMind: **Haha, no problem. And it is rather apt summary of this chapter, heh. Gotta love Lenya, she is such a troll at times. But Len/Al will keep it in their pants for now. There are more pressing matters, after all. Thanks for taking your time to leave feedback, signed in or not ;)

**Kirabaros: **Lenya is also someone values choices and freedom, two things she had to push back for a long time now. And nothing seems to change concerning this, which is more and more frustrating her, understandably so. I shouldn't have to bring up the reasons why she is against Alistair becoming king, no? Of course because Alistair does not want so, but she has also a lot of egoistic motives. The little bit she is still allowed to and which kind of is in danger of being robbed away as well. It sucks to be her atm, quite frankly. She swept up and caught in between human politics, the stalemate of it and it frustrates her to no end. Damned if she does, damned if she doesn't, ya know. It is really an unsatisfying situation, which will only get worse, instead of better.

**Bastable1993:** Oh well, this question should be answered by now, as I have hopefully given the whole Taliesen encounter a somewhat fresh spin. Aww and you are too kind with your words, except perhaps toward Eamon, but that is welcomed too *cackle* I do have found back my rhythm in writing, however, so updates should come more regulary now, with Suil being the new beta-sama and all ;) I suppose bi-weekly is all in all very realistic, since I have near a handful chapters already written and need about a week- two weeks to write another one. So yay for more regularly updates? :D Thanks so much for your review and enthusiasm always nice to hear from ya :D (Ps: I love Gandalf's quote, one of my faves from LotR ;) )

**Suilven: **Beta-sama and reigning angst-queen, I'm unworthy of your presence here in my review section *kneels down* Seeing you have the questionable privilege to read the wordy mess of chapters before anyone else, feedback will be handled via email etc from now on. Fine with me :p So let me keep it short and thank you for jumping in for (poor) tklivory on such short note. I'm really reaaaaally grateful for this, especially because you know my story so well. *hugs*

**Janizari: **Damn, do I miss a lot of Morri-opportunities, lately. But hey, no longer, she is back. If even only briefly, due to it being Zevran's (and Leliana's) show this chapter. And I heard all the reader I turned into Lel/Zev shipper squealing around the world. And nothing hurts anymore. Well, at least not until reaching Howe's estate, with Evelyn in tow. This will get...err..interesting, to say the least. Lenya is always stellar in trolling. A secret talent of her, I suppose. You should have seen the glare of tiny rage Alistair had thrown her way ingame, when she suggested for fun to support Loghain. Fun times xD Thanks so much for your review, they never fail to make me smile :)

**Charlie019:** Hey, welcome back in da Dalish hood (the review section) xD Hope you are good. And about the elvish phrases...a lot of it is made up, put together from two words, or collected online. Alas'bora (idiot) for example is a term I kindly borrowed from my former beta Mackillian and her story. So I take by far not the credit for them. The sentence structure is pretty much leaned on the english one and I am quite sure it is not really correct. But there are no grammar rules I can follow, so I take the words and jumble them together for a sentence. That is it all what is to this magic, lol. Thanks for your review. We will go back to a faster publish schedule now, so yay?

**Artilyon-rand: **Heya, nice to see you are still reading :D Alas, I must confess that I had/have a hard time to decipher what you wanted to say there. I suppose you wish Alistair not to become king and stay with Lenya? Did I get that right? Well, don't we wish that all? Lol. Alas life ain't that easy most the time and they way to the LM still stony. (Not that it will get any easier for them after the LM and the (then) solved question of a ruler. Heh. The story is laced in drama and angst alone for the remaining 10-15 chapter, I suppose. Thanks for your review, dearie :D

**8XiongMao8: **Oh, god, each time I read your review, I want to high-five you so hard xD And I love your rambling. Never be sorry about that. About Loghain: As you said, his intention are noble, but the half-crazed methods and his paranoia are destroying this good-will in the same moment it is made. He is a war hero, but one fallen from grace and hence more than a mustache-twirling villain. Though above all else, he is a damn hypocrite, when you listen more closely to his dialogue in the LM. Fun fact: I love Anora and Cauthrien, the two women at his side, to pieces, but I'm very meh toward Loghain. I confess, while I can acknowledge him being well-written, I do not care much for him. At all. I never had a Warden so far being able to trust him enough to spare him and overall, while he makes a good Warden later on (in awakening) for me he is no fair trade for Alistair. You know the guy who had your back all the time? Against a guy who may or may not stab you into it and is (without meta gaming) an unknown factor of risk for the Warden? Yeeeaaah. Also the thing about selling elves into slavery is a huuuuuge red flag for me. And omg, I request the highest of five for the things you said about Anora. I mean it is okay when one doesn't like her, but this downright abusive and sexist behavior toward her in this fandom is disgusting me. She is a hard character to appreciate, yes, but if one takes the time to see some things from her POV, one might learn something beside "cold-hearted bitch, power-hungry harpy" *makes retching noises* My disgust is founded in the rightful belief that a lot of this dismissive behavior and insults toward a character like her, is grounded in misogynistic motives. Because how dare a woman to stand up against men in the political world, or knowing what she wants and not shy to say it. Doesn't she know her place? *barfs again* How dare she to go against my poor Ali-bear and not kneel to my Warden the moment she sees her/him. ABUUBUUH *imitates crying sarcastically* And here, I better stop, before I rant on all night and never get the chapter online xD I have heard about BioWare's default option of the Warden being a Dalish female, which makes me happy. Because it is otherwise only the (human noble) dudebro and expected it to be here the same. So yay? And while it won't have any impact on the way I will play DA3 (having saves and my own choices and that) it sends me flailing with happy feels when people tell me Lenya is canon for them. You are even the second person telling me this and I'm just _asfhsdhfhsdghdfgkl_ This is so *squeal* I hope the rest of the story doesn't change your opinion on that. Stay awesome, dear and thanks so much for your rambly reviews. Always a pleasure to read, really.

**Guest:** OMG, you indeed read the whole story in 24 hours? WOW. Wow. I'm flabbergasted. (which is btw a funny looking word xD) Have you even slept, you brave soul? I mean it is like 700k of words and personally I would need ages to do so, but one day? I...you rendered me speechless, dearest nonny. And I am glad I could convince you with my sometimes very rambly chapters/style. Writing Lenya is a blast, especially to find new nuances to her character. I love to delve into a character's head and find their voice and what makes them tick. And as said, I have the greatest respect for characters like Anora and I look forward to write her. I have planned a few scenes from her POV and I can just hope I will do her justice. Thanks so much for your lovely words and review. Updates should come more regularly now. So do stay around, yes? :D


	108. Seek You Out

_*Pokes her readers with a stick* Hey you alive still? Somehow there was/is a staggering amount of disappearance of my regular readers/reviewers lately/over the last months. So either the chapter was that crappy or people are indeed busy with such trivialities like RL. Heh. In any case, if you are still reading give me a holler please, even if it just a brief "I'm still here" because I miss a lot of you guys. And of course the exchange that stems from it. I will update bi-weekly now and try to keep that up until the end of the story. To finally get it done, that is. Because perhaps the story goes already on for too long and gets stale? Dunno, but I hope not. However thanks so much for reading, reviewing and, well, everything. _

_Especially to __**Suilven**__, who once more wielded her magic beta stick :) Enjoy. _

* * *

_**So I'll seek you out, just to find myself  
And I'll worry 'bout consequences later  
I hear you out, till I hear myself  
Hear myself in you **_

– _Poets Of The Fall, Seek You Out_

.

* * *

.

**Chapter 101: Seek You Out**

.

"L-lady Cousland?"

In the stillness of the shocked moment that ensued, Eamon gaped at her in disbelief.

Breathing heavily, Evelyn blew a wayward strand of hair out of her face and shifted her glare to the guards still holding her captive. In an instant, the two men stepped away from her, gasping at their mistake. "We are sorry, my lady. W-we had no idea!" Lenya arched an eyebrow, watching the suddenly cowering guards with amused wonder. Funny what a difference a simple name-drop could make for humans.

Not caring much for their apology, Evelyn waited until the curtain containing her had unwrapped on its own and fallen, rustling, to the ground. Ragged, arbitrary patches of smudged darker and lighter leather hugged her muscular, trained form; not unlike the dresses Morrigan preferred to wear, though much less revealing. The dirty leathers covering her seemed fitting somehow, raw and wild, like her, as well as her unbound anger that flared within. Finally freed, the human rolled her shoulders and threw Eamon a dark look. She stepped closer to him and, leaning in, she was scarcely shorter in height than the Arl.

With this kind of body language, it almost seemed as if she was threatening Eamon, who promptly flinched back from her close proximity. "What?" She smirked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other with an air of superiority. "Surprised to see me? You look like you have seen a ghost, my lord."

"N-no," he breathed out, stabilizing himself as he searched for words."I-it is just very unexpected to see you are alive. _If_ you are who you claim to be."

"Oh, please Eamon, you knew my... father." Her gaze lowered upon mentioning him, yet the ire returned tenfold in the next moment. "Don't make me walk to my hide-out to get my family signet ring and come back to ram it up your–" Lenya's ensuing snort made her pause and reconsider her words with a sigh. "Sorry."

"N-no, I mean no disrespect, my lady. But, you sneak into my house like a thief and claim to be Bryce's daughter who he had rarely brought to court so far." Eamon frowned. "I confess your resemblance to Eleanor Cousland _is_ striking, yet you can't blame me for being cautious these days."

"So am I. And so I have been for the past year. Surviving on my own, always waiting and lingering for _one_ single chance to get my hands on that filthy bastard. But Howe has been always too well protected or has hidden himself behind high walls like the dirty coward he is." Grimacing, Evelyn turned around to shift her gaze to Erlina, her eyes narrowing. "When I saw the queen's handmaiden walk out of Howe's estate, I needed to know what this was about, so I followed her. Imagine my surprise when she vanished into your estate, one of Loghain's main opponents. And yet I couldn't be sure; I remained cautious. I couldn't risk giving away my identity by simply walking through the main door and announcing my name and intent. Not in Loghain's city."

"I see," Eamon said, stroking his beard. "And yet you are here now."

"Quite by chance, my lord. Obviously," She looked over her shoulder at the flustered guards, who seemed to shrink even more under her stare. Eamon dismissed them with a wave of his hands. Evelyn waited until the door was closed behind them before continuing. "Ever since I had heard the whispering in the streets of your return, that a Landsmeet had been called, I had intended to seek you out. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? Though, I'm not... sure how far Loghain falls under this category, but he has teamed up with this rat and, thus, is not to be trusted."

"On that, we can agree, Lady Cousland." The Arl nodded and contemplated her words with a frown. "I'm simply not certain what you expect of me here, since we are in a delicate situation already."

"Well, then let me break it down for you, my lord," Evelyn sneered, narrowing her eyes at him in clear distaste. She seemed to dislike his opportunism and unwillingness to help as much as Lenya did, not that she cared about the human noble who had swooped in here all of a sudden, but it was all too typical of the Arl to search for an advantage for himself first and foremost. "I need refuge until the Landsmeet. I'm sick of running, of hiding like a criminal, while this murderous thug is sleeping in silken sheets and decorates himself with stolen titles." She tensed and her fingers curled into fists, her voice tightly controlled as she struggled not to shout."I want my family's name cleared. I want back what rightfully belongs to _me!_ ...And Howe's head, of course."

"Well, it is your lucky day then," Lenya piped up, unable to remain silent any longer, "because the queen's handmaiden is desperately searching for someone to accompany her to that human-sized rat's estate."

Evelyn whirled around to her, still furious. "And _who_ are you?"

Lenya shrugged, unimpressed by her antics. "Oh, just the Grey Warden Loghain has wanted to kill for over a year. Shows how successful he has been, huh? Not that I blame him; insanity can put quite a damper on following through with your plans." With that, she turned to leave, no longer caring. "Anyway, have fun, y'all. And good luck with your revenge and such, _Cous-whatever._ Going to cross my fingers for you."

"Wait, Warden!" Erlina cried out, stopping her steps with her intensity. "You_ can't_ simply leave like that!"

"Oh, I can do _so much more_ than that, believe me."

"B-but the queen..."

"Maybe she will rescue her as well, if you ask her nicely. She seems to be quite... motivated."

Behind her back, she heard Evelyn scoffing. "I don't care about the queen. I just want Howe!"

"Warden!" Eamon thundered. "You are hopefully aware of the consequences that Anora's death would have for the Landsmeet, especially if Howe and Loghain are able to pin her demise on me. And by me, I actually mean _us_. We'll never be able to rally the troops against the Blight without the country united! Loghain would have all our heads before we were even able to gather what few troops we now have! Do you really want to risk this?"

Slowly, Lenya pressed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to control her temper seething up within her. She couldn't say what pained her more: the futility of escaping this situation, or that Eamon was actually _right_. Breathing in and out, she counted to ten, if only to suppress the desire to murder all three of them on the spot. A moment later, she felt calm enough to turn around again. "You... _fucking_ idiots!"

...Or _not_.

The Arl blinked, shocked by her language. "Pardon me?"

"You stupid humans and your Creator-damned _insane_ politics. Have you even the slightest idea how absoluty crazy it is to quarrel over a throne when there is an Archdemon running rampant?" She threw her hands up, all the weeks-long, pent up frustration escaping her at once in a huge tirade. "But, _no_, instead of sucking it up and issuing a call to arms like any _sane_ individual would do to actually end this threat, you are too caught up in sitting on your asses and talking endlessly. Or, you are busy planning schemes and killing each other for the trite reason of gaining power. And, you are doing this all at a time when there will be _no_ fucking Ferelden _left_ to fight over, once the darkspawn have their way! Creators, I can't even _begin_ to fathom how you humans ever managed to snatch our homeland away from us since you can't do a single thing on your own." Breathing raggedly, she glared at them with all the hatred she could muster, which was_ a lot_. "Not to mention that during these months of me seemingly solving every damn problem in Ferelden, you still have no trouble whatsoever in finding new ones, which is why we can't simply go out there and kill this sodding Archdemon!"

Silence descended after Lenya finally managed to stop the words from tumbling out in her fit, though she was still shaking. A moment later, Evelyn was the first one to end the shocked stillness, laughing out loud. "Are you done now?"

The Dalish fixed her with a glower, which ended with a weary sigh. "I... suppose so."

"Good." Her mouth curled up into the first smile Lenya had ever seen from her. "A very passionate speech, I confess. I'm not sure if it would be usable at the Landsmeet as it is, but I'm certain that your beginning with 'you fucking idiots' would get their attention, at least."

Being unsure if this was simple humor or a condescending lecture, Lenya refrained from replying to her comment. Eamon cleared his throat, trying to get their attention again, with success. "We should think about how we can reach Queen Anora and bring her back safely."

"And by 'we', you actually mean me. Right, my lord?" Lenya quipped, mirroring his words from earlier with a sardonic smile.

"I have some uniforms," Erlina said, shifting uncomfortably at being in the middle of the tension between the Arl and the Warden. "Arl Howe hires so many new guards every day, a few more will not cause much stir."

"_No_."

All heads whirled toward Lenya, with the Arl looking more and more desperate with each moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling something like 'Maker preserve me', before he felt ready to face her. "And _why_ is this plan now not to your liking, Warden?"

"Because I doubt Erlina possesses uniforms that will fit all of the diverse companions I will choose to take with me," Lenya answered, speaking slowly as if to a child. "And, because we will have to fight either way, on our way in or out. I doubt they will let us leave just like that with the queen in tow. And, for that, I need my flexibility, not an iron-clad uniform as a disguise hindering me from doing so."

"Fair enough." Evelyn shrugged. Her voice quivered, hatred plain within; maybe even a hint of pain."Howe came into my family's home and he and his men murdered each and every one of them, down to the last... child. So, it would be only fair to return the favor."

The Arl looked as if he wanted to protest, but then waved it off. "Just be certain that Anora escapes unharmed, then."

Erlina uttered a string of what sounded like Orlesian profanity under her breath before regaining her calm demeanor. "Ah well, it is your decision, Warden. I only hope you know what you are doing."

"I could follow through with your plan instead, flat ear, though I doubt that you have uniforms my size. Not to mention that would fit a dwarf, or a Qunari, or...?"

"...No. I needed to take what I could find in a hurry, and these uniforms... they are made for humans. _Male_ humans," she gave in with a sigh. "But, dusk is approaching soon, yes? Might I at least suggest we use the cover of darkness to get into Howe's estate? I will show you to the servants' entrance then. We must slip in and out with my queen before anyone is the wiser."

"Oh, they will be too dead to notice," Evelyn added.

"Fine with me," Lenya agreed, pointedly ignoring the human's blood lust. "I need some time to discuss this with my companions anyway. But, before I leave this room, in agreement with taking on this insane task, there is a little detail. Minor, really." She turned to Eamon, her smile fake. "It is up to me, and me alone, if I choose to take Alistair with me, since he is _still_ a Grey Warden. Are we clear?"

Not waiting for an answer, Lenya hurried out of the door.

.

.

* * *

.

_Five days,_ Alistair thought as he turned the corner, frowning at the plate of food in his hand. _Five days until the Landsmeet. How in the Maker's name–_

A very distinctive pull in the base of his stomach stopped the thoughts and got his attention instead. Looking up, he couldn't help but grin, even if Lenya was still at the other end of the hall and hadn't even seen him yet. But, she felt him, too; undeniably so. Maybe the thought was a bit sappy, but the link between them, the ability for him to always be able to sense her presence, was probably the only aspect of the taint that he never wanted to give up.

Finally noticing him herself, her head tilted to the side as if doing a double take while listening. Alistair felt his steps quickening without intent, the pull of the taint quickly overruled by the thrill that seeing her never failed to cause within him. Lenya looked up, although instead of the usual half-smile, her eyebrows were creased together, her expression sullen.

"Atish'an..." The longing edge within her voice sent a shiver down his spine in spite of the sweltering heat of summer. Yet something seemed... off, was troublesome. She started to run toward him to erase the last bit of distance between them as quickly as possible, and basically threw herself into his arms.

"Hey..." Looking left and right, he discovered a wayward chair next to him and reached out to place the plate on it. "..._exactly_ the woman I hoped to see," he said with a smile and bent over to kiss the top of her head. Lenya didn't answer. Her arms around his waist only squeezed harder, her nose buried within the folds of his tunic, slowly breathing in and out. He let her, giving her this moment and enjoying her closeness himself.

"Ugh, you are so hot..." Lenya mumbled after another moment and eventually retreated from the embrace.

He laughed. "Why thank you, love."

"No, I mean the heat today and you–"

"I know, Len. I was just teasing you, hoping to scare away the massive raincloud over your head before we all drown here, you know?" His attempt of humor fell flat, making him pause. Curling his fingers under her chin, he made her look up at him. "Want to talk about it?"

"No." She shook her head, grimacing. "No talking, no discussing anything, please. I'm so sick of it right now. Can I simply be with you for a moment instead?"

"Oh, hard day, huh?"

"Alistair, _please_."

"Certainly." He nodded and closed the gap between them with a few steps in order to embrace her again. "Whatever you need, love."

She didn't stay in his hug for long, ducking under his arms to break free. "No cuddles, please. You are so huge and warm when all I want to do today is to rip my clothes off and never move again. Creators, are all shem-cities so damn stifling in summer?"

"All right," he relented with a sigh and pouted, though more for show than true exasperation. "You are a hard woman to please today, you know? But, I would love to see– " The sound of a voice approaching closer made him lapse into silence. It was probably only a maid doing her daily work, yet it was also an effective reminder to him that they were still standing in the middle of the hall for all to see. Taking her hand, he moved toward the closest door to his right and pressed the handle down.

"What are you doing?"

"More privacy," he hurried to say, and poked his head into the room. By the look of it, it seemed to be an old, unused storeroom. It was dimly lit and narrow inside, and the smell of dust lingered in the air. It wasn't the most romantic place available, but it would suffice for now. Alistair stepped inside and quickly closed the door after Lenya had entered. "Also, I'm _kind of_ hiding from Eamon right now," he added a bit bashfully.

"Oh?" He heard the smile in her voice. Her elven eyes gleamed up at him in an amused manner, reflecting the remaining light in the half dark. Again, they reminded him all too much of a cat's. "Can't possibly imagine _why_." Lenya leaned against the wooden door and encouraged him to close the gap between them. "_Sooo_," she drawled, her fingers wrapping around the sides of his waist, "can we go back to the not-talking, please?"

He didn't need to be told twice, feeling the tingle of excitement down in his stomach at the prospect. "Your wish is my command, my lady." Refraining from embracing her, Alistair braced his weight against the door instead and leaned in for a first, tentative kiss. Lenya responded readily to it, yet the tension in her form didn't release. So, he let his lips slip past hers to brush softly over her cheek and pointed ear, down her throat. He breathed in; the scent of dried blood, sweat, and herbs still lingered upon her skin there. An odd mixture, yet familiar; not repulsive. Removing one arm from the door, Alistair let the backside of his hand flutter over the furrowed lines of her face to ease the tension lying underneath.

He grinned into the hollow of her throat as he noticed how one of her hands had wandered down from his waist to his ass, giving it a good squeeze. Still, Alistair refrained from giving in to the impulse to press his hips against her body, and kept a slight distance. As much as the idea of taking it further, a quick tryst in this dark corner, excited him, it wasn't the reason they were here. He just wanted to make her feel good, and free her mind from whatever sorrows it contained. She deserved it and so much more.

While nipping at the sensitive skin of her throat, Alistair moved his fingertips slowly over her side, gliding down to the small of her back and under her shirt. It earned him a contented sigh, her stance more relaxed than before. Feeling more bold, he let his hand wander and then slipped it into her leggings, intending to release the rest of her tension. Nibbling at her earlobe, he ceased all other movements for a moment and gave her the option to push his hand away. Lenya chose not to; instead, she ground her hips against his fingers, encouraging him to move. A groan escaped him, mingling with hers, the feeling of her wet warmth divine under his fingertips. Alistair curled his fingers to rub the area around her sensitive spot and set a quick tempo meant for a fast release, not a gentle caress. Eyes closed, Lenya's head tipped back, leaning against the wood of the door.

Not relenting in his caresses, he simply watched her for a moment. He loved how her teeth always bit down on her lower lip to prevent _these_ little wonderful sounds and sighs from escaping; how her hands furled into fists within his tunic or roamed aimlessly over his body, all her intentions of affectionate gestures rendered useless in her ecstasy; or, the little crease between her eyebrows that furrowed even more the closer to release she was. Ducking in, he smiled and placed a kiss on this particular _furrowed_ crease. As he'd suspected, Lenya tensed soon after with a strangled cry, coming quickly and hard. This moment, the distant, enraptured expression written upon her face, was what he undoubtedly loved most about being intimate with her because it meant he'd managed to give her pleasure; expressing his love for her when words were not enough.

Lenya's half-lidded eyes gazed up at him when he leaned in for a kiss, languorous and sweet. A slow burn settled in the base of his stomach; the warm, contented feeling of afterglow. And, this was in spite of being the one who had _given,_ instead of taking, the pleasure. There was a satisfaction in that for him, and there always had been, especially when she was as boneless and relaxed as she was now; the tension finally gone.

"Creators," she breathed, raggedly. " Are you solving everything with sex now?"

"No?" Alistair replied, confused and mildly offended by her question. "You told me not to talk, or to hug you. I respected that. So, I figured _this_ would probably help you to relax. You _are_ always relaxed afterward, after all." He frowned. "Was that wrong of me? I didn't have the impression it was, love."

"No, it wasn't," Lenya said after reconsidering and she relented with a sigh. "I would have stopped you otherwise. Maybe I even needed that. I don't know." She reached out to touch his face, her fingertips trying to smooth away the lines of his frown. "Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you, it wasn't fair. I'm not the easiest person to deal with today, I guess."

He leaned into her touch, slowly exhaling. "It is okay. Did it help you, at least?"

"Yes," Lenya nodded, attempting a smile that died halfway on her lips. "I'm feeling more relaxed now, but also sweaty, tired, and cranky. I just want to curl up in a corner and not deal with the shit that is constantly flung at me."

"Oh, make that two of us, Len. But, there is not much choice, is there? I mean, I can hide from Eamon in dusty storerooms all day–and I would, if it was with you–but the Landsmeet is in five days either way, whether I want it to be or not."

"Right..." Lenya glanced sideways, avoiding looking at him. "Not much choice, indeed. There never is. And it sucks."

_Great, so much for cheering her up, you idiot_. "Still," Alistair tried anew, smiling at her. "I missed you. It is absurd, since we were only apart for hours, but I did. I guess it's because we have always been together, all this time." _Five days_, the thought echoed and lingered in his mind, heavy with uncertainty. So, he needed to voice those words, not only for her, but also for himself. "And, you should know I don't intend to change that, no matter what." He pulled her toward him, needed her closeness, her rule of no hugs notwithstanding. She didn't object, and let it happen. "I love you." He leaned in to nuzzle her cheek, his stubble scraping audibly against her warm, soft skin. For a moment, everything else seemed far away. The center of his world, secure in his arms, was all that mattered.

Lenya remained silent and still for another moment."Yeah, me neither," she eventually managed, backing away from his embrace. "It is just... I should go. It is way too hot in here and I promised Wynne to come back after –" She bit her lip, frowning. "Anyway, we will talk when I am back, okay?"

"Fine with me, love. I'm totally out of the loop on Warden business, ever since I've had to take part in these political lectures. Or, well, _hiding_ from them." He paused, doing a double take. "Wait, back from _what_?"

"Oh, you should ask Eamon about _that_. Maybe he will be honest with you, for once." She stretched herself up to give him a quick peck on his lips. "Love you."

And with that, she was gone.

.

.

* * *

.

"_Zevran_?"

Of all the places where Lenya would have expected to see him again, Wynne's room would have been the last one she would have thought.

"Aye, in the flesh, my dear." She gaped at the numerous layers of bloodied cloth next to him on the ground. Lying in the mage's bed, he attempted a smile, seemingly having noticed her shocked state. "Or, what is left of it."

"Out of my way, child," Wynne said with a grumble, and shoved her aside. The mage carried a small, wooden bucket filled with steaming water toward the bed, refusing even Leliana's help. Sweat ran down her furrowed eyebrows; her stern gaze solely fixed on her immobile patient. Her seriousness and no-nonsense attitude meant business, and her thoughts were highly focused on her healing arts. And yet, while dousing a clean cloth in the heavily herb-scented water, she found time to speak. "That he is still conscious is a wonder of the Maker."

"Or, my resistance toward poison, my dear Wynne. I do, however, appreciate your concern and care. May I rest my head on your bosom later? It would ease even what little pain is left."

"Alas, the poison didn't numb his tongue," Wynne retorted, and pointedly let the hot cloth fall on his wounded midriff to shut him up. The elf flinched with a muffled cry of pain, squirming away from her touch, though his movements seemed oddly slower and more cumbersome than usual. "What did the Arl want, dear?" she asked conversationally while cleaning Zevran's wound.

"The queen has been kidnapped and is being held in Howe's estate. And, guess who has been elected to get her out?" Wynne halted her motions to turn around towards her, open-mouthed. "Yep, I'm the lucky one. Apparently, being a Grey Warden means not being able to rally aid against the Blight until every _other_ problem is solved. Oh, what a fucking joy."

"This is bad news," Leliana said, pressing her lips together.

"I know, right?" Lenya looked over at the bard standing next to the bed, still fully armed and clad in her leather armor. "These humans are truly incapable of doing _anything_ on their own. Not to mention that it still _could_ be a trap laid out by Loghain's daughter."

"No, I mean..." She heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead with her fingers, distressed. "If the queen is killed by Howe, it would have far-reaching consequences for the Landsmeet, especially if someone were to blame it on us."

Lenya rolled her eyes. "Not you, too. Eamon said the same thing, aside from being his usual, disillusioned, annoying self."

"Sorry." Leliana smiled, apologetically. "I grew up in Orlais and am a trained bard, so I know a thing or two about politics and their nasty schemes."

"In Antiva, we have a saying," Zevran piped up, his face covered by Wynne's form bowing over him. "'Only a dead politician is a good politician'. Hmm, that might be the reason why there are so few of them and so many positions vacant, though."

"I think I like your country's approach to such matters more, Zev. However... I'm even more interested in the meaning of..." she made a sweeping gesture toward him,"... all this."

Zevran didn't reply at first. Then, he breathed out, as if to muster his strength for the following words. "Yes, I think I owe you an explanation, Lenya."

_Lenya? _She frowned. He rarely called her by her name, nor had he ever sounded so grave. "You are a free man, Zev. You don't owe me anything. However, as your friend, I was worried about your disappearance, of course."

"Then, let me _give_ you an explanation," he corrected himself, and looked at Wynne. "Can we have a moment, please?"

The mage shook her head. "I still haven't bandaged your wound and–"

"I promise not to run away, dearest Wynne," he said with a smile, interrupting her. "I will be here when you come back, yes?"

Leliana's eyes flicked from one person to the other, seemingly unsure. "Are you certain this is the right time, Zev?"

"Yes, _amora_. It is about time, actually."

If this didn't sound serious, Lenya didn't know _what_ did. But, before Leliana could leave the room with a rather reluctant Wynne in tow, she turned to the bard. "Leliana?"

"Yes?"

"You had better rest until sundown, since I plan to take you with me to Howe's estate. It won't be an easy task. So, I could really use your help and expertise." Lenya glanced over at Zevran. "Unless you–"

"No-no," she hurried to say. "This is a very important matter, no? I'm happy to help you with this, Lenya."

"Thank you," she said, meaning so much more than just her willingness to accompany her.

"You are welcome." The lingering look in Leliana's eyes gave away that she _understood_.

.

~V~

.

The lock clicked in the door; the only sound for a long while.

Lenya didn't know how to start, nor what to ask, even now when she _could_. And, the growing silence from his side told her that she wasn't alone in this notion. Walking over to the left side of his–Wynne's–bed, the Dalish sat herself down on the ground, waiting. Zevran lay there in stillness, his gaze directed at the stone-cobbled ceiling; the steady rhythm of his breath audible.

"I'm sorry," he said, just as Lenya had almost given up any hope of hearing a word from him. He turned his head toward her with a wince, all too slowly. "I did not thank you. It occurs to me now that you have freed me from the Crows, and yet I did not think to thank you for it. Instead, I ran away to kill Ignacio in a fit of rage."

Lenya blinked, needing a moment to digest this new information. "_What_?"

"I blamed him for sending Taliesen after me. He hadn't... but, by then it was already too late to step away from a fight."

"I... see. This is the reason for your current state, I take it?"

"Ah, it was stupid of me, I know." He sighed. "All my life, I was taught not to be led by my emotions, how it is too dangerous for an assassin. I lived by this rule well. And yet, when I entered his room in the tavern, I was filled with so much hatred for the Crows, for everything that they are, that they _have done_."

The sad edge in his voice made her perk up. She waited for more to come, for him to continue. Zevran waited a long moment before he did. "Remember when Ignacio said that the contract to kill you was one he would never have taken? None of the Crows wanted to do it, actually. I was the only one willing to do it; I was so full of myself." He shook his head slightly, and laughed at his own expense. "Honestly, if someone had said to me just a year ago, "Zevran, my lad, you're going to fail against your most important mark and it will be the smartest thing you've ever done," I would have slit his throat."

"Yeah, ironic how _that_ went, isn't it?" Lenya smiled at him, fondly. "I spared you, more out of necessity than compassion. I couldn't stand your presence for a long time. Now... I don't want to be without your company._ Na dar ma lethallan_, Zev."

"Ah, it is nearly impossible to escape my charming personality, I know." The chuckle died quickly on his lips. Lapsing into a momentary silence, he stared at the ceiling again. "Though... you should know that I hadn't planned to survive our encounter. That day, the ambush... I had _hoped_ you would kill me, in fact."

His confession hit her like a hard punch to her gut. Robbed of all air to be able to speak, Lenya only stared.

"You didn't. Obviously," he continued quickly, still not looking at her. "You took my little suicide plan and turned it into... so much more. I confess, in the beginning, it was just my curiosity which kept me at your side and from trying to assassinate you anew. This, and... practical thinking. You provided me with much needed protection from the Crows, and I hoped you'd kill the ones pursuing me, should it come to a confrontation." Zevran lapsed into silence, swallowing thickly. "But, I never thought to find all _this_. People genuinely caring about me, I never had... I wasn't allowed to, for it was too dangerous." Another pause. "What we are doing here... stopping the Blight. I cannot think of anything I have ever done which is so worthy."

Lenya finally managed to add blinking to her bleak gaping; her mind still struggling to fully comprehend his confession, its meaning. Tentatively, she slid closer to him. "Why?" Her throat felt sour and parched all of a sudden, the one single word pressed out under strain.

He turned toward her at last. Licking his lips, Zevran seemed to search for a fitting explanation."I know it has been a while since then, but do you remember how you saved me from the Fade? The dream of the demon I was caught up in?" He scoffed. "Or a nightmare, more like?"

She swallowed to alleviate the burning in her throat. It did help a little. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what he meant. Then, the memory hit her, hard: the foreign place covered in nearly complete darkness; the elven woman begging for her life before being killed and mocked by Zevran. And, the other man at his side, laughing... had been Taliesen.

"All true, basically," he said, noticing her consternation about the rediscovered memory. "The woman you saw..." Zevran halted in order to draw in a shaky breath. "Her name was Rinna. She was bright, fiery, and beautiful like Antiva's midday sun. Quick with her blades, but even more so with words and wit."

"You loved her." It wasn't a question.

His eyes glazed over with a sheen of tears, only slightly. Zevran closed them to prevent them from falling, from her seeing them. Too late; every gesture of his was one of pure regret."Yes," he whispered and his brows deepened to a pained scowl.

She stiffened, feeling on the verge of tears herself. Disbelief nagged her insides, adding to the shock. "But... you killed her..."

"No, I didn't. _This_ was the part the Fade got wrong." He swallowed, his eyes still closed. "Everything else, however, fits. I did nothing to prevent Taliesen from killing her. In fact... I cursed and spat on her while she bled out on Antiva's streets, like... I did in the Fade." He laughed out loud bitterly. "This is why I never wanted to talk about it. With anyone. Especially not with you, after what you had seen there."

"But, I don't understand why have y—"

"Because I was a coward," he snapped, interrupting her, his voice raw and tinged with self-loathing. "I _wanted_ to believe the others more than her, thought she was begging on her knees, swearing she hadn't betrayed us, the Crows. A coward, who was too scared to be in love. Hence, he sold her out rather than believe in her innocence, in her love and loyalty toward the Crows... in _me_." His breath came out in small, trembling gasps, the pain palpable. "A coward, who couldn't live with the guilt of having killed an innocent woman, the one he'd loved and yet doomed to her death for the crime of doing so. And, he kept running, hoping that the one contract deemed impossible would _finally_ put an end to this cowardice, his biggest mistake."

"Oh..." Frowning, she reached out for his hand and squeezed it. "_Emma ir abalas, lethallan,_" she brought out as a broken sound, feeling her sight slowly blurring. "I... had no idea."

He brought the back of his hand up to her face and caressed her cheek softly. "Ah, don't be sad for my sake, _bella_. You have already so much to worry abou–"

"_Don't_ tell me what to do or feel, you idiot!" Lenya snapped, her voice thick with tears.

"See?" Zevran laughed out loud, not offended. "This is one of the thousand reasons why I'm proud to call you a friend. You are fierce, stubborn, caring, and a force of nature on the battlefield. I almost pity the Archdemon for being pitted against you. But, most of all, dear... you made me stop being a coward, and gave me a new purpose in sparing me. I intend to see this through to the end with you." He smiled faintly, brushing a wayward strand of her blonde hair away. "After all... someone must take responsibility for preventing your untimely death. A suitable task for a friend, yes?"

Lenya didn't know how or when she'd leaned forward to hug him, only that she had. His hiss of pain made her aware of it being a mistake in his delicate state and she backed away, still crying, though now the tears were more those of gratefulness than of sorrow. She sniffed to compose herself and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. "You don't have to die either, you know?"

"Oh, _I'm_ not going to die." He chuckled, going back to his usual teasing self. Maybe he even did so for her sake, as a distraction. As always, it was hard to tell with her friend. "It's always the Grey Wardens who die. Did you not read stories as a child? The hero _always_ dies."

Lenya decided to play along, to humor him. "Well, good thing that I'm no hero then."

"Ah, my dear Lenya, now you are selling yourself short. Rallying and uniting troops in your year-long battle against the Blight _is_ quite heroic, after all. So, I fear you aren't going to get out of this whole 'hero and duty for Ferelden' shtick, dear. And, the hero always dies, as I said. Unless..." He feigned a thoughtful pose, tapping his finger against his chin. "...the hero has a trusty sidekick with her, of course. Then... the sidekick dies, instead. ..._Brasca_, I knew there was a catch. This friendship business is for the birds, I see."

Whatever his purpose was with this kind of rambling, it worked. Chuckling, Lenya shook her head, the sadness forgotten. "I wish you could come with me later. Unfortunately, it seems like you are going to need quite a while to recover." She grimaced. "Pesky Crows."

Zevran nodded. "I wouldn't be much use to you now, alas. The poison needs time to wear off still; I hardly have any feeling in my limbs right now." Lenya frowned. "Oh, don't look at me like that, dear. I will be fine in a day or two. You go and slaughter your way through Howe's home to rescue Ferelden's fair queen." He paused to consider his words. "..._Brasca_, I do miss all the fun, no?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Not sure if 'fun' is the right description for a task I was bullied into by Eamon and the queen's whiny handmaiden, Zev."

"Oh, I don't know, dear." One corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-smile. "It sounds like a fairy tale to me: Slay the evil Howe dragon and rescue the queen held captive within his castle. Ah, marvelous." Zevran looked up at her, all hints of humor suddenly gone from his face and tone. "Just come back safely, yes?"

"No problem." Lenya let out a snort, her tone sarcastic. "I'm merely entering the area of one of our direct enemies, and Loghain's best buddy, for this task. What can possibly go wrong, I wonder?"

"I was being serious, for once."

"I know." Slowly, she stood up from the ground. "Hence, you should know that I can't promise that, Zev. But, I can promise to _try_."

He nodded, smiling. "That is enough for me. Now, go out there and kick some ass. ...And, thank you. For everything."

"Anytime, _lethallan_." Taking a deep breath and a moment to curse the impending sunset, Lenya turned away and walked toward the door to prepare herself for the task at hand.

Zevran waited until she was almost out of the door before laughing and adding, "Ah, little Grey Wardens, they do grow up so fast, no?"

.

.

**Review please :) **

* * *

**RR:**

* * *

_Well, this will be rather a quick RR this time o.O_

**MB18932:** Err, it is rather completely that you judge a character for fandom's popular/usual take on them, even before she has been properly introduced. So how about you..._don't_? And wait to see what my plans for her are. Hey, you may even be surprised. Because being Cousland doesn't mean automatically queen. Contrary to popular belief this is _not_ her default state and especially not Evelyn's. And perhaps you remember that I usually subvert popular tropes, no? However, glad you liked the Zev/Lel parts and thank you for your review :)

**Kirabaros: **Basically, the idea of Evelyn came to me, because ingame I found it always a bit unrealistic that the nobles in the LM take the word of a (Dalish) elf and let her decide over the fade of Ferelden, Warden or not. So basically Evelyn came to life to give Lenya more credit and voice in the LM, but her character and role within grew from there. It gives the whole rescue the queen arc a more intense note, due to Howe...and other things ;) So she has a major role for a couple of chapters, a lot of interactions with the other characters and companions, but don't expect me to unpack her whole backstory there. While I have it in mind, it wouldn't fit into the story and the narrow frame of pre-LM and post LM. Tho, she won't end up as a caricature of a Cousland, nor as a plot device. I like my characters well developed and she hopefully will be at that, even in the bit of time. I'm a bit ahead in what is posted and so far I'm satisfied with her role and amount of development in this brief period of time/chapters. And I like to have non-Wardens or other characters from other origins in the story myself, for it makes it more organic and vivid, imo. And yeah, Lenya's frustration with politics knows no boundaries indeed. And it only gets always worse, heh. Thanks for your steady feedback. Tis especially encouraging with chapters like the last one, where about fifty percent of my regular reader/reviewer have gone AWOL o.O So yeah, thanks so much.

**Suilven: **My beta goddess *squee* Thank you so much for the last weeks and all your help. I still can't believe how fast you always plow through all the word monster I sent you, wow. And you even left a review in spite having read this chapter a thousand times already. (?) Squee. Aww, thanks for commenting on Zevran and Leliana. I really loved this part of the chapter most, the long awaited resolving of the Lel/Zev arc. And was honestly bummed about the lack of feedback about it and in general. Ah well, busy people, busy life, I guess. Sigh. Anyhow, like we all have learned from G.R.R. Martin tis never good to get too attached to a character, because he or she or all of them may die a horrible, unexpected death *muffled rains of castamere plays in the background* xD A taste of a more dark side of OEaH gives for you with the next chapter, while the other lovelies have to wait a tad longer for it still. You know, questionable privilege of a beta and all, heh *hugs*

**Inclassandbored: **Heh, one can understand Lenya's anger and frustration with Eamon, no? ;) Glad to see you are still reading and thanks for your review.

**Janizari: **Heh, fact is that she will get all Inigo Montoya on Howe :D And Shale will be Fezzik later on, like you said a very bloodthirsty one Err...no, no. _No_. I really like Anora and don't understand fandom's blind hatred for her. But I suppose that is a fate a female character gets for A) not bowing to the PC the moment they meet and B) "standing in the way" of "Alibear" How dare she to want to keep the throne and avoid her certain death when being disposed? The nerves. Ugh. /snark. Thank you for your review, however :)

**LionessPaige:** And I squeed when I saw what you have done for me :D Wow, wow, _wow_ thanks so much for the great Lenyastair art (google _Pepsichugger_ and _puppy eyes_, if you (as in the other readers) are interested in seeing it. Since I can't post links here) Like I said Cousland is mainly there to help Lenya out for the LM, but of course she gets her portion of character development. And her role is already bigger than planned, as it always happens with characters, heh. Like Anora, who I currently write, Cousland won't be a caricature of what fandom often sees in them. Means becoming queen as the whole and single goal for Cousland in life and Anora, well the "ice queen trope/ coldhearted b*tch", which is utter bs, quite frankly. Fanart aside, it is always great to hear feedback from a long-time lurker and I thank you so much for your enthusiasm and love for my never-ending monster.


End file.
